diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:33:25 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:33:25 -0700 |
| commit | 57a94f78eb30bb33878eac7754c616ef4bd12668 (patch) | |
| tree | f1598d66ecaebcabf68c0c3aa7a76370edd579ae | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9582.txt | 3034 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9582.zip | bin | 0 -> 39652 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
5 files changed, 3050 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9582.txt b/9582.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d30f1e --- /dev/null +++ b/9582.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3034 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Personal Poems II, by Whittier, +Part 2, From Volume IV., The Works of Whittier: Personal Poems +#27 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 II + Part 2, From Volume IV., The Works of Whittier: Personal Poems + + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: December 2005 [EBook #9582] +[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 2 *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + PERSONAL POEMS + + BY + + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + +CONTENTS: + + 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 + + +THE CROSS. + + Richard Dillingham, a young member of the Society of Friends, died + in the Nashville penitentiary, where he was confined for the act of + aiding the escape of fugitive slaves. + +"The cross, if rightly borne, shall be +No burden, but support to thee;" +So, moved of old time for our sake, +The holy monk of Kempen spake. + +Thou brave and true one! upon whom +Was laid the cross of martyrdom, +How didst thou, in thy generous youth, +Bear witness to this blessed truth! + +Thy cross of suffering and of shame +A staff within thy hands became, +In paths where faith alone could see +The Master's steps supporting thee. + +Thine was the seed-time; God alone +Beholds the end of what is sown; +Beyond our vision, weak and dim, +The harvest-time is hid with Him. + +Yet, unforgotten where it lies, +That seed of generous sacrifice, +Though seeming on the desert cast, +Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. +1852. + + + +THE HERO. + +The hero of the incident related in this poem was Dr. Samuel Gridley +Howe, the well-known philanthropist, who when a young man volunteered +his aid in the Greek struggle for independence. + +"Oh for a knight like Bayard, +Without reproach or fear; +My light glove on his casque of steel, +My love-knot on his spear! + +"Oh for the white plume floating +Sad Zutphen's field above,-- +The lion heart in battle, +The woman's heart in love! + +"Oh that man once more were manly, +Woman's pride, and not her scorn: +That once more the pale young mother +Dared to boast `a man is born'! + +"But, now life's slumberous current +No sun-bowed cascade wakes; +No tall, heroic manhood +The level dulness breaks. + +"Oh for a knight like Bayard, +Without reproach or fear! +My light glove on his casque of steel, +My love-knot on his spear!" + +Then I said, my own heart throbbing +To the time her proud pulse beat, +"Life hath its regal natures yet, +True, tender, brave, and sweet! + +"Smile not, fair unbeliever! +One man, at least, I know, +Who might wear the crest of Bayard +Or Sidney's plume of snow. + +"Once, when over purple mountains +Died away the Grecian sun, +And the far Cyllenian ranges +Paled and darkened, one by one,-- + +"Fell the Turk, a bolt of thunder, +Cleaving all the quiet sky, +And against his sharp steel lightnings +Stood the Suliote but to die. + +"Woe for the weak and halting! +The crescent blazed behind +A curving line of sabres, +Like fire before the wind! + +"Last to fly, and first to rally, +Rode he of whom I speak, +When, groaning in his bridle-path, +Sank down a wounded Greek. + +"With the rich Albanian costume +Wet with many a ghastly stain, +Gazing on earth and sky as one +Who might not gaze again. + +"He looked forward to the mountains, +Back on foes that never spare, +Then flung him from his saddle, +And placed the stranger there. + +"'Allah! hu!' Through flashing sabres, +Through a stormy hail of lead, +The good Thessalian charger +Up the slopes of olives sped. + +"Hot spurred the turbaned riders; +He almost felt their breath, +Where a mountain stream rolled darkly down +Between the hills and death. + +"One brave and manful struggle,-- +He gained the solid land, +And the cover of the mountains, +And the carbines of his band!" + +"It was very great and noble," +Said the moist-eyed listener then, +"But one brave deed makes no hero; +Tell me what he since hath been!" + +"Still a brave and generous manhood, +Still an honor without stain, +In the prison of the Kaiser, +By the barricades of Seine. + +"But dream not helm and harness +The sign of valor true; +Peace hath higher tests of manhood +Than battle ever knew. + +"Wouldst know him now? Behold him, +The Cadmus of the blind, +Giving the dumb lip language, +The idiot-clay a mind. + +"Walking his round of duty +Serenely day by day, +With the strong man's hand of labor +And childhood's heart of play. + +"True as the knights of story, +Sir Lancelot and his peers, +Brave in his calm endurance +As they in tilt of spears. + +"As waves in stillest waters, +As stars in noonday skies, +All that wakes to noble action +In his noon of calmness lies. + +"Wherever outraged Nature +Asks word or action brave, +Wherever struggles labor, +Wherever groans a slave,-- + +"Wherever rise the peoples, +Wherever sinks a throne, +The throbbing heart of Freedom finds +An answer in his own. + +"Knight of a better era, +Without reproach or fear! +Said I not well that Bayards +And Sidneys still are here?" +1853. + + + +RANTOUL. + + No more fitting inscription could be placed on the tombstone of + Robert Rantoul than this: "He died at his post in Congress, and his + last words were a protest in the name of Democracy against the + Fugitive-Slave Law." + +One day, along the electric wire +His manly word for Freedom sped; +We came next morn: that tongue of fire +Said only, "He who spake is dead!" + +Dead! while his voice was living yet, +In echoes round the pillared dome! +Dead! while his blotted page lay wet +With themes of state and loves of home! + +Dead! in that crowning grace of time, +That triumph of life's zenith hour! +Dead! while we watched his manhood's prime +Break from the slow bud into flower! + +Dead! he so great, and strong, and wise, +While the mean thousands yet drew breath; +How deepened, through that dread surprise, +The mystery and the awe of death! + +From the high place whereon our votes +Had borne him, clear, calm, earnest, fell +His first words, like the prelude notes +Of some great anthem yet to swell. + +We seemed to see our flag unfurled, +Our champion waiting in his place +For the last battle of the world, +The Armageddon of the race. + +Through him we hoped to speak the word +Which wins the freedom of a land; +And lift, for human right, the sword +Which dropped from Hampden's dying hand. + +For he had sat at Sidney's feet, +And walked with Pym and Vane apart; +And, through the centuries, felt the beat +Of Freedom's march in Cromwell's heart. + +He knew the paths the worthies held, +Where England's best and wisest trod; +And, lingering, drank the springs that welled +Beneath the touch of Milton's rod. + +No wild enthusiast of the right, +Self-poised and clear, he showed alway +The coolness of his northern night, +The ripe repose of autumn's day. + +His steps were slow, yet forward still +He pressed where others paused or failed; +The calm star clomb with constant will, +The restless meteor flashed and paled. + +Skilled in its subtlest wile, he knew +And owned the higher ends of Law; +Still rose majestic on his view +The awful Shape the schoolman saw. + +Her home the heart of God; her voice +The choral harmonies whereby +The stars, through all their spheres, rejoice, +The rhythmic rule of earth and sky. + +We saw his great powers misapplied +To poor ambitions; yet, through all, +We saw him take the weaker side, +And right the wronged, and free the thrall. + +Now, looking o'er the frozen North, +For one like him in word and act, +To call her old, free spirit forth, +And give her faith the life of fact,-- + +To break her party bonds of shame, +And labor with the zeal of him +To make the Democratic name +Of Liberty the synonyme,-- + +We sweep the land from hill to strand, +We seek the strong, the wise, the brave, +And, sad of heart, return to stand +In silence by a new-made grave! + +There, where his breezy hills of home +Look out upon his sail-white seas, +The sounds of winds and waters come, +And shape themselves to words like these. + +"Why, murmuring, mourn that he, whose power +Was lent to Party over-long, +Heard the still whisper at the hour +He set his foot on Party wrong? + +"The human life that closed so well +No lapse of folly now can stain +The lips whence Freedom's protest fell +No meaner thought can now profane. + +"Mightier than living voice his grave +That lofty protest utters o'er; +Through roaring wind and smiting wave +It speaks his hate of wrong once more. + +"Men of the North! your weak regret +Is wasted here; arise and pay +To freedom and to him your debt, +By following where he led the way!" +1853. + + + +WILLIAM FORSTER. + + William Forster, of Norwich, England, died in East Tennessee, in + the 1st month, 1854, while engaged in presenting to the governors + of the States of this Union the address of his religious society on + the evils of slavery. He was the relative and coadjutor of the + Buxtons, Gurneys, and Frys; and his whole life, extending al-most + to threescore and ten years, was a pore and beautiful example of + Christian benevolence. He had travelled over Europe, and visited + most of its sovereigns, to plead against the slave-trade and + slavery; and had twice before made visits to this country, under + impressions of religious duty. He was the father of the Right Hon. + William Edward Forster. He visited my father's house in Haverhill + during his first tour in the United States. + +The years are many since his hand +Was laid upon my head, +Too weak and young to understand +The serious words he said. + +Yet often now the good man's look +Before me seems to swim, +As if some inward feeling took +The outward guise of him. + +As if, in passion's heated war, +Or near temptation's charm, +Through him the low-voiced monitor +Forewarned me of the harm. + +Stranger and pilgrim! from that day +Of meeting, first and last, +Wherever Duty's pathway lay, +His reverent steps have passed. + +The poor to feed, the lost to seek, +To proffer life to death, +Hope to the erring,--to the weak +The strength of his own faith. + +To plead the captive's right; remove +The sting of hate from Law; +And soften in the fire of love +The hardened steel of War. + +He walked the dark world, in the mild, +Still guidance of the Light; +In tearful tenderness a child, +A strong man in the right. + +From what great perils, on his way, +He found, in prayer, release; +Through what abysmal shadows lay +His pathway unto peace, + +God knoweth : we could only see +The tranquil strength he gained; +The bondage lost in liberty, +The fear in love unfeigned. + +And I,--my youthful fancies grown +The habit of the man, +Whose field of life by angels sown +The wilding vines o'erran,-- + +Low bowed in silent gratitude, +My manhood's heart enjoys +That reverence for the pure and good +Which blessed the dreaming boy's. + +Still shines the light of holy lives +Like star-beams over doubt; +Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives +Some dark possession out. + +O friend! O brother I not in vain +Thy life so calm and true, +The silver dropping of the rain, +The fall of summer dew! + +How many burdened hearts have prayed +Their lives like thine might be +But more shall pray henceforth for aid +To lay them down like thee. + +With weary hand, yet steadfast will, +In old age as in youth, +Thy Master found thee sowing still +The good seed of His truth. + +As on thy task-field closed the day +In golden-skied decline, +His angel met thee on the way, +And lent his arm to thine. + +Thy latest care for man,--thy last +Of earthly thought a prayer,-- +Oh, who thy mantle, backward cast, +Is worthy now to wear? + +Methinks the mound which marks thy bed +Might bless our land and save, +As rose, of old, to life the dead +Who touched the prophet's grave +1854. + + + +TO CHARLES SUMNER. + +If I have seemed more prompt to censure wrong +Than praise the right; if seldom to thine ear +My voice hath mingled with the exultant cheer +Borne upon all our Northern winds along; +If I have failed to join the fickle throng +In wide-eyed wonder, that thou standest strong +In victory, surprised in thee to find +Brougham's scathing power with Canning's grace combined; +That he, for whom the ninefold Muses sang, +From their twined arms a giant athlete sprang, +Barbing the arrows of his native tongue +With the spent shafts Latona's archer flung, +To smite the Python of our land and time, +Fell as the monster born of Crissa's slime, +Like the blind bard who in Castalian springs +Tempered the steel that clove the crest of kings, +And on the shrine of England's freedom laid +The gifts of Cumve and of Delphi's' shade,-- +Small need hast thou of words of praise from me. +Thou knowest my heart, dear friend, and well canst guess +That, even though silent, I have not the less +Rejoiced to see thy actual life agree +With the large future which I shaped for thee, +When, years ago, beside the summer sea, +White in the moon, we saw the long waves fall +Baffled and broken from the rocky wall, +That, to the menace of the brawling flood, +Opposed alone its massive quietude, +Calm as a fate; with not a leaf nor vine +Nor birch-spray trembling in the still moonshine, +Crowning it like God's peace. I sometimes think +That night-scene by the sea prophetical, +(For Nature speaks in symbols and in signs, +And through her pictures human fate divines), +That rock, wherefrom we saw the billows sink +In murmuring rout, uprising clear and tall +In the white light of heaven, the type of one +Who, momently by Error's host assailed, +Stands strong as Truth, in greaves of granite mailed; +And, tranquil-fronted, listening over all +The tumult, hears the angels say, Well done! +1854. + + + +BURNS + +ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM. + +No more these simple flowers belong +To Scottish maid and lover; +Sown in the common soil of song, +They bloom the wide world over. + +In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, +The minstrel and the heather, +The deathless singer and the flowers +He sang of live together. + +Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns +The moorland flower and peasant! +How, at their mention, memory turns +Her pages old and pleasant! + +The gray sky wears again its gold +And purple of adorning, +And manhood's noonday shadows hold +The dews of boyhood's morning. + +The dews that washed the dust and soil +From off the wings of pleasure, +The sky, that flecked the, ground of toil +With golden threads of leisure. + +I call to mind the summer day, +The early harvest mowing, +The sky with sun and clouds at play, +And flowers with breezes blowing. + +I hear the blackbird in the corn, +The locust in the haying; +And, like the fabled hunter's horn, +Old tunes my heart is playing. + +How oft that day, with fond delay, +I sought the maple's shadow, +And sang with Burns the hours away, +Forgetful of the meadow. + +Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead +I heard the squirrels leaping, +The good dog listened while I read, +And wagged his tail in keeping. + +I watched him while in sportive mood +I read "_The Twa Dogs_" story, +And half believed he understood +The poet's allegory. + +Sweet day, sweet songs! The golden hours +Grew brighter for that singing, +From brook and bird and meadow flowers +A dearer welcome bringing. + +New light on home-seen Nature beamed, +New glory over Woman; +And daily life and duty seemed +No longer poor and common. + +I woke to find the simple truth +Of fact and feeling better +Than all the dreams that held my youth +A still repining debtor, + +That Nature gives her handmaid, Art, +The themes of sweet discoursing; +The tender idyls of the heart +In every tongue rehearsing. + +Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, +Of loving knight and lady, +When farmer boy and barefoot girl +Were wandering there already? + +I saw through all familiar things +The romance underlying; +The joys and griefs that plume the wings +Of Fancy skyward flying. + +I saw the same blithe day return, +The same sweet fall of even, +That rose on wooded Craigie-burn, +And sank on crystal Devon. + +I matched with Scotland's heathery hills +The sweetbrier and the clover; +With Ayr and Doon, my native rills, +Their wood-hymns chanting over. + +O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, +I saw the Man uprising; +No longer common or unclean, +The child of God's baptizing! + +With clearer eyes I saw the worth +Of life among the lowly; +The Bible at his Cotter's hearth +Had made my own more holy. + +And if at times an evil strain, +To lawless love appealing, +Broke in upon the sweet refrain +Of pure and healthful feeling, + +It died upon the eye and ear, +No inward answer gaining; +No heart had I to see or hear +The discord and the staining. + +Let those who never erred forget +His worth, in vain bewailings; +Sweet Soul of Song! I own my debt +Uncancelled by his failings! + +Lament who will the ribald line +Which tells his lapse from duty, +How kissed the maddening lips of wine +Or wanton ones of beauty; + +But think, while falls that shade between +The erring one and Heaven, +That he who loved like Magdalen, +Like her may be forgiven. + +Not his the song whose thunderous chime +Eternal echoes render; +The mournful Tuscan's haunted rhyme, +And Milton's starry splendor! + +But who his human heart has laid +To Nature's bosom nearer? +Who sweetened toil like him, or paid +To love a tribute dearer? + +Through all his tuneful art, how strong +The human feeling gushes +The very moonlight of his song +Is warm with smiles and blushes! + +Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, +So "Bonnie Doon" but tarry; +Blot out the Epic's stately rhyme, +But spare his Highland Mary! +1854. + + + +TO GEORGE B. CHEEVER + +So spake Esaias: so, in words of flame, +Tekoa's prophet-herdsman smote with blame +The traffickers in men, and put to shame, +All earth and heaven before, +The sacerdotal robbers of the poor. + +All the dread Scripture lives for thee again, +To smite like lightning on the hands profane +Lifted to bless the slave-whip and the chain. +Once more the old Hebrew tongue +Bends with the shafts of God a bow new-strung! + +Take up the mantle which the prophets wore; +Warn with their warnings, show the Christ once more +Bound, scourged, and crucified in His blameless poor; +And shake above our land +The unquenched bolts that blazed in Hosea's hand! + +Not vainly shalt thou cast upon our years +The solemn burdens of the Orient seers, +And smite with truth a guilty nation's ears. +Mightier was Luther's word +Than Seckingen's mailed arm or Hutton's sword! +1858. + + + +TO JAMES T. FIELDS + +ON A BLANK LEAF OF "POEMS PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED." + +Well thought! who would not rather hear +The songs to Love and Friendship sung +Than those which move the stranger's tongue, +And feed his unselected ear? + +Our social joys are more than fame; +Life withers in the public look. +Why mount the pillory of a book, +Or barter comfort for a name? + +Who in a house of glass would dwell, +With curious eyes at every pane? +To ring him in and out again, +Who wants the public crier's bell? + +To see the angel in one's way, +Who wants to play the ass's part,-- +Bear on his back the wizard Art, +And in his service speak or bray? + +And who his manly locks would shave, +And quench the eyes of common sense, +To share the noisy recompense +That mocked the shorn and blinded slave? + +The heart has needs beyond the head, +And, starving in the plenitude +Of strange gifts, craves its common food,-- +Our human nature's daily bread. + +We are but men: no gods are we, +To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, +Each separate, on his painful peak, +Thin-cloaked in self-complacency. + +Better his lot whose axe is swung +In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's +Who by the him her spindle whirls +And sings the songs that Luther sung, + +Than his who, old, and cold, and vain, +At Weimar sat, a demigod, +And bowed with Jove's imperial nod +His votaries in and out again! + +Ply, Vanity, thy winged feet! +Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! +Who envies him who feeds on air +The icy splendor of his seat? + +I see your Alps, above me, cut +The dark, cold sky; and dim and lone +I see ye sitting,--stone on stone,-- +With human senses dulled and shut. + +I could not reach you, if I would, +Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; +And (spare the fable of the grapes +And fox) I would not if I could. + +Keep to your lofty pedestals! +The safer plain below I choose +Who never wins can rarely lose, +Who never climbs as rarely falls. + +Let such as love the eagle's scream +Divide with him his home of ice +For me shall gentler notes suffice,-- +The valley-song of bird and stream; + +The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, +The flail-beat chiming far away, +The cattle-low, at shut of day, +The voice of God in leaf and breeze; + +Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, +And help me to the vales below, +(In truth, I have not far to go,) +Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. +1858. + + + +THE MEMORY OF BURNS. + + Read at the Boston celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the + birth of Robert Burns, 25th 1st mo., 1859. In my absence these + lines were read by Ralph Waldo Emerson. + +How sweetly come the holy psalms +From saints and martyrs down, +The waving of triumphal palms +Above the thorny crown +The choral praise, the chanted prayers +From harps by angels strung, +The hunted Cameron's mountain airs, +The hymns that Luther sung! + +Yet, jarring not the heavenly notes, +The sounds of earth are heard, +As through the open minster floats +The song of breeze and bird +Not less the wonder of the sky +That daisies bloom below; +The brook sings on, though loud and high +The cloudy organs blow! + +And, if the tender ear be jarred +That, haply, hears by turns +The saintly harp of Olney's bard, +The pastoral pipe of Burns, +No discord mars His perfect plan +Who gave them both a tongue; +For he who sings the love of man +The love of God hath sung! + +To-day be every fault forgiven +Of him in whom we joy +We take, with thanks, the gold of Heaven +And leave the earth's alloy. +Be ours his music as of spring, +His sweetness as of flowers, +The songs the bard himself might sing +In holier ears than ours. + +Sweet airs of love and home, the hum +Of household melodies, +Come singing, as the robins come +To sing in door-yard trees. +And, heart to heart, two nations lean, +No rival wreaths to twine, +But blending in eternal green +The holly and the pine! + + + +IN REMEMBRANCE OF JOSEPH STURGE. + +In the fair land o'erwatched by Ischia's mountains, +Across the charmed bay +Whose blue waves keep with Capri's silver fountains +Perpetual holiday, + +A king lies dead, his wafer duly eaten, +His gold-bought masses given; +And Rome's great altar smokes with gums to sweeten +Her foulest gift to Heaven. + +And while all Naples thrills with mute thanksgiving, +The court of England's queen +For the dead monster so abhorred while living +In mourning garb is seen. + +With a true sorrow God rebukes that feigning; +By lone Edgbaston's side +Stands a great city in the sky's sad raining, +Bareheaded and wet-eyed! + +Silent for once the restless hive of labor, +Save the low funeral tread, +Or voice of craftsman whispering to his neighbor +The good deeds of the dead. + +For him no minster's chant of the immortals +Rose from the lips of sin; +No mitred priest swung back the heavenly portals +To let the white soul in. + +But Age and Sickness framed their tearful faces +In the low hovel's door, +And prayers went up from all the dark by-places +And Ghettos of the poor. + +The pallid toiler and the negro chattel, +The vagrant of the street, +The human dice wherewith in games of battle +The lords of earth compete, + +Touched with a grief that needs no outward draping, +All swelled the long lament, +Of grateful hearts, instead of marble, shaping +His viewless monument! + +For never yet, with ritual pomp and splendor, +In the long heretofore, +A heart more loyal, warm, and true, and tender, +Has England's turf closed o'er. + +And if there fell from out her grand old steeples +No crash of brazen wail, +The murmurous woe of kindreds, tongues, and peoples +Swept in on every gale. + +It came from Holstein's birchen-belted meadows, +And from the tropic calms +Of Indian islands in the sunlit shadows +Of Occidental palms; + +From the locked roadsteads of the Bothniaii peasants, +And harbors of the Finn, +Where war's worn victims saw his gentle presence +Come sailing, Christ-like, in, + +To seek the lost, to build the old waste places, +To link the hostile shores +Of severing seas, and sow with England's daisies +The moss of Finland's moors. + +Thanks for the good man's beautiful example, +Who in the vilest saw +Some sacred crypt or altar of a temple +Still vocal with God's law; + +And heard with tender ear the spirit sighing +As from its prison cell, +Praying for pity, like the mournful crying +Of Jonah out of hell. + +Not his the golden pen's or lip's persuasion, +But a fine sense of right, +And Truth's directness, meeting each occasion +Straight as a line of light. + +His faith and works, like streams that intermingle, +In the same channel ran +The crystal clearness of an eye kept single +Shamed all the frauds of man. + +The very gentlest of all human natures +He joined to courage strong, +And love outreaching unto all God's creatures +With sturdy hate of wrong. + +Tender as woman, manliness and meekness +In him were so allied +That they who judged him by his strength or weakness +Saw but a single side. + +Men failed, betrayed him, but his zeal seemed nourished +By failure and by fall; +Still a large faith in human-kind he cherished, +And in God's love for all. + +And now he rests: his greatness and his sweetness +No more shall seem at strife, +And death has moulded into calm completeness +The statue of his life. + +Where the dews glisten and the songbirds warble, +His dust to dust is laid, +In Nature's keeping, with no pomp of marble +To shame his modest shade. + +The forges glow, the hammers all are ringing; +Beneath its smoky vale, +Hard by, the city of his love is swinging +Its clamorous iron flail. + + +But round his grave are quietude and beauty, +And the sweet heaven above,-- +The fitting symbols of a life of duty +Transfigured into love! +1859. + + + +BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE + +John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day: +"I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay. +But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free, +With her children, from the gallows-stair put up a prayer for me!" + +John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die; +And lo! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh. +Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild, +As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child. + +The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart; +And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart. +That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent, +And round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent! + +Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good +Long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood! +Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies; +Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice. + +Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the Northern rifle hear, +Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear. +But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes scale, +To teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail! + +So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array; +In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay. +She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove; +And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love! +1859. + + + +NAPLES + +INSCRIBED TO ROBERT C. WATERSTON, OF BOSTON. + + Helen Waterston died at Naples in her eighteenth year, and lies + buried in the Protestant cemetery there. The stone over her grave + bears the lines, + + Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms, + And let her henceforth be + A messenger of love between + Our human hearts and Thee. + +I give thee joy!--I know to thee +The dearest spot on earth must be +Where sleeps thy loved one by the summer sea; + + +Where, near her sweetest poet's tomb, +The land of Virgil gave thee room +To lay thy flower with her perpetual bloom. + +I know that when the sky shut down +Behind thee on the gleaming town, +On Baiae's baths and Posilippo's crown; + +And, through thy tears, the mocking day +Burned Ischia's mountain lines away, +And Capri melted in its sunny bay; + +Through thy great farewell sorrow shot +The sharp pang of a bitter thought +That slaves must tread around that holy spot. + +Thou knewest not the land was blest +In giving thy beloved rest, +Holding the fond hope closer to her breast, + +That every sweet and saintly grave +Was freedom's prophecy, and gave +The pledge of Heaven to sanctify and save. + +That pledge is answered. To thy ear +The unchained city sends its cheer, +And, tuned to joy, the muffled bells of fear + +Ring Victor in. The land sits free +And happy by the summer sea, +And Bourbon Naples now is Italy! + +She smiles above her broken chain +The languid smile that follows pain, +Stretching her cramped limbs to the sun again. + +Oh, joy for all, who hear her call +From gray Camaldoli's convent-wall +And Elmo's towers to freedom's carnival! + +A new life breathes among her vines +And olives, like the breath of pines +Blown downward from the breezy Apennines. + +Lean, O my friend, to meet that breath, +Rejoice as one who witnesseth +Beauty from ashes rise, and life from death! + +Thy sorrow shall no more be pain, +Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, +Writing the grave with flowers: "Arisen again!" +1860. + + + +A MEMORIAL + + Moses Austin Cartland, a dear friend and relation, who led a + faithful life as a teacher and died in the summer of 1863. + +Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, +The solemn vista to the tomb +Must know henceforth another shadow, +And give another cypress room. + +In love surpassing that of brothers, +We walked, O friend, from childhood's day; +And, looking back o'er fifty summers, +Our footprints track a common way. + +One in our faith, and one our longing +To make the world within our reach +Somewhat the better for our living, +And gladder for our human speech. + +Thou heard'st with me the far-off voices, +The old beguiling song of fame, +But life to thee was warm and present, +And love was better than a name. + +To homely joys and loves and friendships +Thy genial nature fondly clung; +And so the shadow on the dial +Ran back and left thee always young. + +And who could blame the generous weakness +Which, only to thyself unjust, +So overprized the worth of others, +And dwarfed thy own with self-distrust? + +All hearts grew warmer in the presence +Of one who, seeking not his own, +Gave freely for the love of giving, +Nor reaped for self the harvest sown. + +Thy greeting smile was pledge and prelude +Of generous deeds and kindly words; +In thy large heart were fair guest-chambers, +Open to sunrise and the birds; + +The task was thine to mould and fashion +Life's plastic newness into grace +To make the boyish heart heroic, +And light with thought the maiden's face. + +O'er all the land, in town and prairie, +With bended heads of mourning, stand +The living forms that owe their beauty +And fitness to thy shaping hand. + +Thy call has come in ripened manhood, +The noonday calm of heart and mind, +While I, who dreamed of thy remaining +To mourn me, linger still behind, + +Live on, to own, with self-upbraiding, +A debt of love still due from me,-- +The vain remembrance of occasions, +Forever lost, of serving thee. + +It was not mine among thy kindred +To join the silent funeral prayers, +But all that long sad day of summer +My tears of mourning dropped with theirs. + +All day the sea-waves sobbed with sorrow, +The birds forgot their merry trills +All day I heard the pines lamenting +With thine upon thy homestead hills. + +Green be those hillside pines forever, +And green the meadowy lowlands be, +And green the old memorial beeches, +Name-carven in the woods of Lee. + +Still let them greet thy life companions +Who thither turn their pilgrim feet, +In every mossy line recalling +A tender memory sadly sweet. + +O friend! if thought and sense avail not +To know thee henceforth as thou art, +That all is well with thee forever +I trust the instincts of my heart. + +Thine be the quiet habitations, +Thine the green pastures, blossom-sown, +And smiles of saintly recognition, +As sweet and tender as thy own. + +Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow +To meet us, but to thee we come, +With thee we never can be strangers, +And where thou art must still be home. +1863. + + + +BRYANT ON HIS BIRTHDAY + + Mr. Bryant's seventieth birthday, November 3, 1864, was celebrated + by a festival to which these verses were sent. + +We praise not now the poet's art, +The rounded beauty of his song; +Who weighs him from his life apart +Must do his nobler nature wrong. + +Not for the eye, familiar grown +With charms to common sight denied, +The marvellous gift he shares alone +With him who walked on Rydal-side; + +Not for rapt hymn nor woodland lay, +Too grave for smiles, too sweet for tears; +We speak his praise who wears to-day +The glory of his seventy years. + +When Peace brings Freedom in her train, +Let happy lips his songs rehearse; +His life is now his noblest strain, +His manhood better than his verse! + +Thank God! his hand on Nature's keys +Its cunning keeps at life's full span; +But, dimmed and dwarfed, in times like these, +The poet seems beside the man! + +So be it! let the garlands die, +The singer's wreath, the painter's meed, +Let our names perish, if thereby +Our country may be saved and freed! +1864. + + + +THOMAS STARR KING + + Published originally as a prelude to the posthumous volume of + selections edited by Richard Frothingham. + + +The great work laid upon his twoscore years +Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears, +Who loved him as few men were ever loved, +We mourn no blighted hope nor broken plan +With him whose life stands rounded and approved +In the full growth and stature of a man. +Mingle, O bells, along the Western slope, +With your deep toll a sound of faith and hope! +Wave cheerily still, O banner, half-way down, +From thousand-masted bay and steepled town! +Let the strong organ with its loftiest swell +Lift the proud sorrow of the land, and tell +That the brave sower saw his ripened grain. +O East and West! O morn and sunset twain +No more forever!--has he lived in vain +Who, priest of Freedom, made ye one, and told +Your bridal service from his lips of gold? +1864. + + + +LINES ON A FLY-LEAF. + +I need not ask thee, for my sake, +To read a book which well may make +Its way by native force of wit +Without my manual sign to it. +Its piquant writer needs from me +No gravely masculine guaranty, +And well might laugh her merriest laugh +At broken spears in her behalf; +Yet, spite of all the critics tell, +I frankly own I like her well. +It may be that she wields a pen +Too sharply nibbed for thin-skinned men, +That her keen arrows search and try +The armor joints of dignity, +And, though alone for error meant, +Sing through the air irreverent. +I blame her not, the young athlete +Who plants her woman's tiny feet, +And dares the chances of debate +Where bearded men might hesitate, +Who, deeply earnest, seeing well +The ludicrous and laughable, +Mingling in eloquent excess +Her anger and her tenderness, +And, chiding with a half-caress, +Strives, less for her own sex than ours, +With principalities and powers, +And points us upward to the clear +Sunned heights of her new atmosphere. + +Heaven mend her faults!--I will not pause +To weigh and doubt and peck at flaws, +Or waste my pity when some fool +Provokes her measureless ridicule. +Strong-minded is she? Better so +Than dulness set for sale or show, +A household folly, capped and belled +In fashion's dance of puppets held, +Or poor pretence of womanhood, +Whose formal, flavorless platitude +Is warranted from all offence +Of robust meaning's violence. +Give me the wine of thought whose head +Sparkles along the page I read,-- +Electric words in which I find +The tonic of the northwest wind; +The wisdom which itself allies +To sweet and pure humanities, +Where scorn of meanness, hate of wrong, +Are underlaid by love as strong; +The genial play of mirth that lights +Grave themes of thought, as when, on nights +Of summer-time, the harmless blaze +Of thunderless heat-lightning plays, +And tree and hill-top resting dim +And doubtful on the sky's vague rim, +Touched by that soft and lambent gleam, +Start sharply outlined from their dream. + +Talk not to me of woman's sphere, +Nor point with Scripture texts a sneer, +Nor wrong the manliest saint of all +By doubt, if he were here, that Paul +Would own the heroines who have lent +Grace to truth's stern arbitrament, +Foregone the praise to woman sweet, +And cast their crowns at Duty's feet; +Like her, who by her strong Appeal +Made Fashion weep and Mammon feel, +Who, earliest summoned to withstand +The color-madness of the land, +Counted her life-long losses gain, +And made her own her sisters' pain; +Or her who, in her greenwood shade, +Heard the sharp call that Freedom made, +And, answering, struck from Sappho's lyre +Of love the Tyrtman carmen's fire +Or that young girl,--Domremy's maid +Revived a nobler cause to aid,-- +Shaking from warning finger-tips +The doom of her apocalypse; +Or her, who world-wide entrance gave +To the log-cabin of the slave, +Made all his want and sorrow known, +And all earth's languages his own. +1866. + + + +GEORGE L. STEARNS + + No man rendered greater service to the cause of freedom than Major + Stearns in the great struggle between invading slave-holders and + the free settlers of Kansas. + +He has done the work of a true man,-- +Crown him, honor him, love him. +Weep, over him, tears of woman, +Stoop manliest brows above him! + +O dusky mothers and daughters, +Vigils of mourning keep for him! +Up in the mountains, and down by the waters, +Lift up your voices and weep for him, + +For the warmest of hearts is frozen, +The freest of hands is still; +And the gap in our picked and chosen +The long years may not fill. + +No duty could overtask him, +No need his will outrun; +Or ever our lips could ask him, +His hands the work had done. + +He forgot his own soul for others, +Himself to his neighbor lending; +He found the Lord in his suffering brothers, +And not in the clouds descending. + +So the bed was sweet to die on, +Whence he saw the doors wide swung +Against whose bolted iron +The strength of his life was flung. + +And he saw ere his eye was darkened +The sheaves of the harvest-bringing, +And knew while his ear yet hearkened +The voice of the reapers singing. + +Ah, well! The world is discreet; +There are plenty to pause and wait; +But here was a man who set his feet +Sometimes in advance of fate; + +Plucked off the old bark when the inner +Was slow to renew it, +And put to the Lord's work the sinner +When saints failed to do it. + +Never rode to the wrong's redressing +A worthier paladin. +Shall he not hear the blessing, +"Good and faithful, enter in!" +1867 + + + +GARIBALDI + +In trance and dream of old, God's prophet saw +The casting down of thrones. Thou, watching lone +The hot Sardinian coast-line, hazy-hilled, +Where, fringing round Caprera's rocky zone +With foam, the slow waves gather and withdraw, +Behold'st the vision of the seer fulfilled, +And hear'st the sea-winds burdened with a sound +Of falling chains, as, one by one, unbound, +The nations lift their right hands up and swear +Their oath of freedom. From the chalk-white wall +Of England, from the black Carpathian range, +Along the Danube and the Theiss, through all +The passes of the Spanish Pyrenees, +And from the Seine's thronged banks, a murmur strange +And glad floats to thee o'er thy summer seas +On the salt wind that stirs thy whitening hair,-- +The song of freedom's bloodless victories! +Rejoice, O Garibaldi! Though thy sword +Failed at Rome's gates, and blood seemed vainly poured +Where, in Christ's name, the crowned infidel +Of France wrought murder with the arms of hell +On that sad mountain slope whose ghostly dead, +Unmindful of the gray exorcist's ban, +Walk, unappeased, the chambered Vatican, +And draw the curtains of Napoleon's bed! +God's providence is not blind, but, full of eyes, +It searches all the refuges of lies; +And in His time and way, the accursed things +Before whose evil feet thy battle-gage +Has clashed defiance from hot youth to age +Shall perish. All men shall be priests and kings, +One royal brotherhood, one church made free +By love, which is the law of liberty +1869. + + + +TO LYDIA MARIA CHILD, + +ON READING HER POEM IN "THE STANDARD." + + Mrs. Child wrote her lines, beginning, "Again the trees are clothed + in vernal green," May 24, 1859, on the first anniversary of Ellis + Gray Loring's death, but did not publish them for some years + afterward, when I first read them, or I could not have made the + reference which I did to the extinction of slavery. + +The sweet spring day is glad with music, +But through it sounds a sadder strain; +The worthiest of our narrowing circle +Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. + +O woman greatly loved! I join thee +In tender memories of our friend; +With thee across the awful spaces +The greeting of a soul I send! + +What cheer hath he? How is it with him? +Where lingers he this weary while? +Over what pleasant fields of Heaven +Dawns the sweet sunrise of his smile? + +Does he not know our feet are treading +The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? +That, in our crowning exultations, +We miss the charm his presence gave? + +Why on this spring air comes no whisper +From him to tell us all is well? +Why to our flower-time comes no token +Of lily and of asphodel? + +I feel the unutterable longing, +Thy hunger of the heart is mine; +I reach and grope for hands in darkness, +My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. + +Still on the lips of all we question +The finger of God's silence lies; +Will the lost hands in ours be folded? +Will the shut eyelids ever rise? + +O friend! no proof beyond this yearning, +This outreach of our hearts, we need; +God will not mock the hope He giveth, +No love He prompts shall vainly plead. + +Then let us stretch our hands in darkness, +And call our loved ones o'er and o'er; +Some day their arms shall close about us, +And the old voices speak once more. + +No dreary splendors wait our coming +Where rapt ghost sits from ghost apart; +Homeward we go to Heaven's thanksgiving, +The harvest-gathering of the heart. +1870. + + +THE SINGER. + + This poem was written on the death of Alice Cary. Her sister + Phoebe, heart-broken by her loss, followed soon after. Noble and + richly gifted, lovely in person and character, they left behind + them only friends and admirers. + +Years since (but names to me before), +Two sisters sought at eve my door; +Two song-birds wandering from their nest, +A gray old farm-house in the West. + +How fresh of life the younger one, +Half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun! +Her gravest mood could scarce displace +The dimples of her nut-brown face. + +Wit sparkled on her lips not less +For quick and tremulous tenderness; +And, following close her merriest glance, +Dreamed through her eyes the heart's romance. + +Timid and still, the elder had +Even then a smile too sweetly sad; +The crown of pain that all must wear +Too early pressed her midnight hair. + +Yet ere the summer eve grew long, +Her modest lips were sweet with song; +A memory haunted all her words +Of clover-fields and singing birds. + +Her dark, dilating eyes expressed +The broad horizons of the west; +Her speech dropped prairie flowers; the gold +Of harvest wheat about her rolled. + +Fore-doomed to song she seemed to me +I queried not with destiny +I knew the trial and the need, +Yet, all the more, I said, God speed? + +What could I other than I did? +Could I a singing-bird forbid? +Deny the wind-stirred leaf? Rebuke +The music of the forest brook? + +She went with morning from my door, +But left me richer than before; +Thenceforth I knew her voice of cheer, +The welcome of her partial ear. + +Years passed: through all the land her name +A pleasant household word became +All felt behind the singer stood +A sweet and gracious womanhood. + +Her life was earnest work, not play; +Her tired feet climbed a weary way; +And even through her lightest strain +We heard an undertone of pain. + +Unseen of her her fair fame grew, +The good she did she rarely knew, +Unguessed of her in life the love +That rained its tears her grave above. + +When last I saw her, full of peace, +She waited for her great release; +And that old friend so sage and bland, +Our later Franklin, held her hand. + +For all that patriot bosoms stirs +Had moved that woman's heart of hers, +And men who toiled in storm and sun +Found her their meet companion. + +Our converse, from her suffering bed +To healthful themes of life she led +The out-door world of bud and bloom +And light and sweetness filled her room. + +Yet evermore an underthought +Of loss to come within us wrought, +And all the while we felt the strain +Of the strong will that conquered pain. + +God giveth quietness at last! +The common way that all have passed +She went, with mortal yearnings fond, +To fuller life and love beyond. + +Fold the rapt soul in your embrace, +My dear ones! Give the singer place +To you, to her,--I know not where,-- +I lift the silence of a prayer. + +For only thus our own we find; +The gone before, the left behind, +All mortal voices die between; +The unheard reaches the unseen. + +Again the blackbirds sing; the streams +Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, +And tremble in the April showers +The tassels of the maple flowers. + +But not for her has spring renewed +The sweet surprises of the wood; +And bird and flower are lost to her +Who was their best interpreter. + +What to shut eyes has God revealed? +What hear the ears that death has sealed? +What undreamed beauty passing show +Requites the loss of all we know? + +O silent land, to which we move, +Enough if there alone be love, +And mortal need can ne'er outgrow +What it is waiting to bestow! + +O white soul! from that far-off shore +Float some sweet song the waters o'er. +Our faith confirm, our fears dispel, +With the old voice we loved so well! +1871. + + + +HOW MARY GREW. + + These lines were in answer to an invitation to hear a lecture of + Mary Grew, of Philadelphia, before the Boston Radical Club. The + reference in the last stanza is to an essay on Sappho by T. W. + Higginson, read at the club the preceding month. + +With wisdom far beyond her years, +And graver than her wondering peers, +So strong, so mild, combining still +The tender heart and queenly will, +To conscience and to duty true, +So, up from childhood, Mary Grew! + +Then in her gracious womanhood +She gave her days to doing good. +She dared the scornful laugh of men, +The hounding mob, the slanderer's pen. +She did the work she found to do,-- +A Christian heroine, Mary Grew! + +The freed slave thanks her; blessing comes +To her from women's weary homes; +The wronged and erring find in her +Their censor mild and comforter. +The world were safe if but a few +Could grow in grace as Mary Grew! + +So, New Year's Eve, I sit and say, +By this low wood-fire, ashen gray; +Just wishing, as the night shuts down, +That I could hear in Boston town, +In pleasant Chestnut Avenue, +From her own lips, how Mary Grew! + +And hear her graceful hostess tell +The silver-voiced oracle +Who lately through her parlors spoke +As through Dodona's sacred oak, +A wiser truth than any told +By Sappho's lips of ruddy gold,-- +The way to make the world anew, +Is just to grow--as Mary Grew +1871. + + + +SUMNER + + "I am not one who has disgraced beauty of sentiment by deformity of + conduct, or the maxims of a freeman by the actions of a slave; but, + by the grace of God, I have kept my life unsullied." + --MILTON'S _Defence of the People of England_. + +O Mother State! the winds of March +Blew chill o'er Auburn's Field of God, +Where, slow, beneath a leaden arch +Of sky, thy mourning children trod. + +And now, with all thy woods in leaf, +Thy fields in flower, beside thy dead +Thou sittest, in thy robes of grief, +A Rachel yet uncomforted! + +And once again the organ swells, +Once more the flag is half-way hung, +And yet again the mournful bells +In all thy steeple-towers are rung. + +And I, obedient to thy will, +Have come a simple wreath to lay, +Superfluous, on a grave that still +Is sweet with all the flowers of May. + +I take, with awe, the task assigned; +It may be that my friend might miss, +In his new sphere of heart and mind, +Some token from my band in this. + +By many a tender memory moved, +Along the past my thought I send; +The record of the cause he loved +Is the best record of its friend. + +No trumpet sounded in his ear, +He saw not Sinai's cloud and flame, +But never yet to Hebrew seer +A clearer voice of duty came. + +God said: "Break thou these yokes; undo +These heavy burdens. I ordain +A work to last thy whole life through, +A ministry of strife and pain. + +"Forego thy dreams of lettered ease, +Put thou the scholar's promise by, +The rights of man are more than these." +He heard, and answered: "Here am I!" + +He set his face against the blast, +His feet against the flinty shard, +Till the hard service grew, at last, +Its own exceeding great reward. + +Lifted like Saul's above the crowd, +Upon his kingly forehead fell +The first sharp bolt of Slavery's cloud, +Launched at the truth he urged so well. + +Ah! never yet, at rack or stake, +Was sorer loss made Freedom's gain, +Than his, who suffered for her sake +The beak-torn Titan's lingering pain! + +The fixed star of his faith, through all +Loss, doubt, and peril, shone the same; +As through a night of storm, some tall, +Strong lighthouse lifts its steady flame. + +Beyond the dust and smoke he saw +The sheaves of Freedom's large increase, +The holy fanes of equal law, +The New Jerusalem of peace. + +The weak might fear, the worldling mock, +The faint and blind of heart regret; +All knew at last th' eternal rock +On which his forward feet were set. + +The subtlest scheme of compromise +Was folly to his purpose bold; +The strongest mesh of party lies +Weak to the simplest truth he told. + +One language held his heart and lip, +Straight onward to his goal he trod, +And proved the highest statesmanship +Obedience to the voice of God. + +No wail was in his voice,--none heard, +When treason's storm-cloud blackest grew, +The weakness of a doubtful word; +His duty, and the end, he knew. + +The first to smite, the first to spare; +When once the hostile ensigns fell, +He stretched out hands of generous care +To lift the foe he fought so well. + +For there was nothing base or small +Or craven in his soul's broad plan; +Forgiving all things personal, +He hated only wrong to man. + +The old traditions of his State, +The memories of her great and good, +Took from his life a fresher date, +And in himself embodied stood. + +How felt the greed of gold and place, +The venal crew that schemed and planned, +The fine scorn of that haughty face, +The spurning of that bribeless hand! + +If than Rome's tribunes statelier +He wore his senatorial robe, +His lofty port was all for her, +The one dear spot on all the globe. + +If to the master's plea he gave +The vast contempt his manhood felt, +He saw a brother in the slave,-- +With man as equal man he dealt. + +Proud was he? If his presence kept +Its grandeur wheresoe'er he trod, +As if from Plutarch's gallery stepped +The hero and the demigod, + +None failed, at least, to reach his ear, +Nor want nor woe appealed in vain; +The homesick soldier knew his cheer, +And blessed him from his ward of pain. + +Safely his dearest friends may own +The slight defects he never hid, +The surface-blemish in the stone +Of the tall, stately pyramid. + +Suffice it that he never brought +His conscience to the public mart; +But lived himself the truth he taught, +White-souled, clean-handed, pure of heart. + +What if he felt the natural pride +Of power in noble use, too true +With thin humilities to hide +The work he did, the lore he knew? + +Was he not just? Was any wronged +By that assured self-estimate? +He took but what to him belonged, +Unenvious of another's state. + +Well might he heed the words he spake, +And scan with care the written page +Through which he still shall warm and wake +The hearts of men from age to age. + +Ah! who shall blame him now because +He solaced thus his hours of pain! +Should not the o'erworn thresher pause, +And hold to light his golden grain? + +No sense of humor dropped its oil +On the hard ways his purpose went; +Small play of fancy lightened toil; +He spake alone the thing he meant. + +He loved his books, the Art that hints +A beauty veiled behind its own, +The graver's line, the pencil's tints, +The chisel's shape evoked from stone. + +He cherished, void of selfish ends, +The social courtesies that bless +And sweeten life, and loved his friends +With most unworldly tenderness. + +But still his tired eyes rarely learned +The glad relief by Nature brought; +Her mountain ranges never turned +His current of persistent thought. + +The sea rolled chorus to his speech +Three-banked like Latium's' tall trireme, +With laboring oars; the grove and beach +Were Forum and the Academe. + +The sensuous joy from all things fair +His strenuous bent of soul repressed, +And left from youth to silvered hair +Few hours for pleasure, none for rest. + +For all his life was poor without, +O Nature, make the last amends +Train all thy flowers his grave about, +And make thy singing-birds his friends! + +Revive again, thou summer rain, +The broken turf upon his bed +Breathe, summer wind, thy tenderest strain +Of low, sweet music overhead! + +With calm and beauty symbolize +The peace which follows long annoy, +And lend our earth-bent, mourning eyes, +Some hint of his diviner joy. + +For safe with right and truth he is, +As God lives he must live alway; +There is no end for souls like his, +No night for children of the day! + +Nor cant nor poor solicitudes +Made weak his life's great argument; +Small leisure his for frames and moods +Who followed Duty where she went. + +The broad, fair fields of God he saw +Beyond the bigot's narrow bound; +The truths he moulded into law +In Christ's beatitudes he found. + +His state-craft was the Golden Rule, +His right of vote a sacred trust; +Clear, over threat and ridicule, +All heard his challenge: "Is it just?" + +And when the hour supreme had come, +Not for himself a thought he gave; +In that last pang of martyrdom, +His care was for the half-freed slave. + +Not vainly dusky hands upbore, +In prayer, the passing soul to heaven +Whose mercy to His suffering poor +Was service to the Master given. + +Long shall the good State's annals tell, +Her children's children long be taught, +How, praised or blamed, he guarded well +The trust he neither shunned nor sought. + +If for one moment turned thy face, +O Mother, from thy son, not long +He waited calmly in his place +The sure remorse which follows wrong. + +Forgiven be the State he loved +The one brief lapse, the single blot; +Forgotten be the stain removed, +Her righted record shows it not! + +The lifted sword above her shield +With jealous care shall guard his fame; +The pine-tree on her ancient field +To all the winds shall speak his name. + +The marble image of her son +Her loving hands shall yearly crown, +And from her pictured Pantheon +His grand, majestic face look down. + +O State so passing rich before, +Who now shall doubt thy highest claim? +The world that counts thy jewels o'er +Shall longest pause at Sumner's name! +1874. + + + +THEIRS + +I. +Fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act +A history stranger than his written fact, +Him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom +Of that great hour when throne and altar fell +With long death-groan which still is audible. +He, when around the walls of Paris rung +The Prussian bugle like the blast of doom, +And every ill which follows unblest war +Maddened all France from Finistere to Var, +The weight of fourscore from his shoulders flung, +And guided Freedom in the path he saw +Lead out of chaos into light and law, +Peace, not imperial, but republican, +And order pledged to all the Rights of Man. + +II. +Death called him from a need as imminent +As that from which the Silent William went +When powers of evil, like the smiting seas +On Holland's dikes, assailed her liberties. +Sadly, while yet in doubtful balance hung +The weal and woe of France, the bells were rung +For her lost leader. Paralyzed of will, +Above his bier the hearts of men stood still. +Then, as if set to his dead lips, the horn +Of Roland wound once more to rouse and warn, +The old voice filled the air! His last brave word +Not vainly France to all her boundaries stirred. +Strong as in life, he still for Freedom wrought, +As the dead Cid at red Toloso fought. +1877. + + + +FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. + +AT THE UNVEILING OF HIS STATUE. + +Among their graven shapes to whom +Thy civic wreaths belong, +O city of his love, make room +For one whose gift was song. + +Not his the soldier's sword to wield, +Nor his the helm of state, +Nor glory of the stricken field, +Nor triumph of debate. + +In common ways, with common men, +He served his race and time +As well as if his clerkly pen +Had never danced to rhyme. + +If, in the thronged and noisy mart, +The Muses found their son, +Could any say his tuneful art +A duty left undone? + +He toiled and sang; and year by year +Men found their homes more sweet, +And through a tenderer atmosphere +Looked down the brick-walled street. + +The Greek's wild onset gall Street knew; +The Red King walked Broadway; +And Alnwick Castle's roses blew +From Palisades to Bay. + +Fair City by the Sea! upraise +His veil with reverent hands; +And mingle with thy own the praise +And pride of other lands. + +Let Greece his fiery lyric breathe +Above her hero-urns; +And Scotland, with her holly, wreathe +The flower he culled for Burns. + +Oh, stately stand thy palace walls, +Thy tall ships ride the seas; +To-day thy poet's name recalls +A prouder thought than these. + +Not less thy pulse of trade shall beat, +Nor less thy tall fleets swim, +That shaded square and dusty street +Are classic ground through him. + +Alive, he loved, like all who sing, +The echoes of his song; +Too late the tardy meed we bring, +The praise delayed so long. + +Too late, alas! Of all who knew +The living man, to-day +Before his unveiled face, how few +Make bare their locks of gray! + +Our lips of praise must soon be dumb, +Our grateful eyes be dim; +O brothers of the days to come, +Take tender charge of him! + +New hands the wires of song may sweep, +New voices challenge fame; +But let no moss of years o'ercreep +The lines of Halleck's name. +1877. + + + +WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT. + +Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn +Beside her sea-blown shore; +Her well beloved, her noblest born, +Is hers in life no more! + +No lapse of years can render less +Her memory's sacred claim; +No fountain of forgetfulness +Can wet the lips of Fame. + +A grief alike to wound and heal, +A thought to soothe and pain, +The sad, sweet pride that mothers feel +To her must still remain. + +Good men and true she has not lacked, +And brave men yet shall be; +The perfect flower, the crowning fact, +Of all her years was he! + +As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage, +What worthier knight was found +To grace in Arthur's golden age +The fabled Table Round? + +A voice, the battle's trumpet-note, +To welcome and restore; +A hand, that all unwilling smote, +To heal and build once more; + +A soul of fire, a tender heart +Too warm for hate, he knew +The generous victor's graceful part +To sheathe the sword he drew. + +When Earth, as if on evil dreams, +Looks back upon her wars, +And the white light of Christ outstreams +From the red disk of Mars, + +His fame who led the stormy van +Of battle well may cease, +But never that which crowns the man +Whose victory was Peace. + +Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore +Thy beautiful and brave, +Whose failing hand the olive bore, +Whose dying lips forgave! + +Let age lament the youthful chief, +And tender eyes be dim; +The tears are more of joy than grief +That fall for one like him! +1878. + + + +BAYARD TAYLOR. + +I. +"And where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?" +My sister asked our guest one winter's day. +Smiling he answered in the Friends' sweet way +Common to both: "Wherever thou shall send! +What wouldst thou have me see for thee?" She laughed, +Her dark eyes dancing in the wood-fire's glow +"Loffoden isles, the Kilpis, and the low, +Unsetting sun on Finmark's fishing-craft." +"All these and more I soon shall see for thee!" +He answered cheerily: and he kept his pledge +On Lapland snows, the North Cape's windy wedge, +And Tromso freezing in its winter sea. +He went and came. But no man knows the track +Of his last journey, and he comes not back! + +II. +He brought us wonders of the new and old; +We shared all climes with him. The Arab's tent +To him its story-telling secret lent. +And, pleased, we listened to the tales he told. +His task, beguiled with songs that shall endure, +In manly, honest thoroughness he wrought; +From humble home-lays to the heights of thought +Slowly he climbed, but every step was sure. +How, with the generous pride that friendship hath, +We, who so loved him, saw at last the crown +Of civic honor on his brows pressed down, +Rejoiced, and knew not that the gift was death. +And now for him, whose praise in deafened ears +Two nations speak, we answer but with tears! + +III. +O Vale of Chester! trod by him so oft, +Green as thy June turf keep his memory. Let +Nor wood, nor dell, nor storied stream forget, +Nor winds that blow round lonely Cedarcroft; +Let the home voices greet him in the far, +Strange land that holds him; let the messages +Of love pursue him o'er the chartless seas +And unmapped vastness of his unknown star +Love's language, heard beyond the loud discourse +Of perishable fame, in every sphere +Itself interprets; and its utterance here +Somewhere in God's unfolding universe +Shall reach our traveller, softening the surprise +Of his rapt gaze on unfamiliar skies! +1879. + + + +OUR AUTOCRAT. + + Read at the breakfast given in honor of Dr. Holmes by the + publishers of the Atlantic Monthly, December 3, 1879. + +His laurels fresh from song and lay, +Romance, art, science, rich in all, +And young of heart, how dare we say +We keep his seventieth festival? + +No sense is here of loss or lack; +Before his sweetness and his light +The dial holds its shadow back, +The charmed hours delay their flight. + +His still the keen analysis +Of men and moods, electric wit, +Free play of mirth, and tenderness +To heal the slightest wound from it. + +And his the pathos touching all +Life's sins and sorrows and regrets, +Its hopes and fears, its final call +And rest beneath the violets. + +His sparkling surface scarce betrays +The thoughtful tide beneath it rolled, +The wisdom of the latter days, +And tender memories of the old. + +What shapes and fancies, grave or gay, +Before us at his bidding come +The Treadmill tramp, the One-Horse Shay, +The dumb despair of Elsie's doom! + +The tale of Avis and the Maid, +The plea for lips that cannot speak, +The holy kiss that Iris laid +On Little Boston's pallid cheek! + +Long may he live to sing for us +His sweetest songs at evening time, +And, like his Chambered Nautilus, +To holier heights of beauty climb, + +Though now unnumbered guests surround +The table that he rules at will, +Its Autocrat, however crowned, +Is but our friend and comrade still. + +The world may keep his honored name, +The wealth of all his varied powers; +A stronger claim has love than fame, +And he himself is only ours! + + + +WITHIN THE GATE. + +L. M. C. + + I have more fully expressed my admiration and regard for Lydia + Maria Child in the biographical introduction which I wrote for the + volume of Letters, published after her death. + +We sat together, last May-day, and talked +Of the dear friends who walked +Beside us, sharers of the hopes and fears +Of five and forty years, + +Since first we met in Freedom's hope forlorn, +And heard her battle-horn +Sound through the valleys of the sleeping North, +Calling her children forth, + +And youth pressed forward with hope-lighted eyes, +And age, with forecast wise +Of the long strife before the triumph won, +Girded his armor on. + +Sadly, ass name by name we called the roll, +We heard the dead-bells toll +For the unanswering many, and we knew +The living were the few. + +And we, who waited our own call before +The inevitable door, +Listened and looked, as all have done, to win +Some token from within. + +No sign we saw, we heard no voices call; +The impenetrable wall +Cast down its shadow, like an awful doubt, +On all who sat without. + +Of many a hint of life beyond the veil, +And many a ghostly tale +Wherewith the ages spanned the gulf between +The seen and the unseen, + +Seeking from omen, trance, and dream to gain +Solace to doubtful pain, +And touch, with groping hands, the garment hem +Of truth sufficing them, + +We talked; and, turning from the sore unrest +Of an all-baffling quest, +We thought of holy lives that from us passed +Hopeful unto the last, + +As if they saw beyond the river of death, +Like Him of Nazareth, +The many mansions of the Eternal days +Lift up their gates of praise. + +And, hushed to silence by a reverent awe, +Methought, O friend, I saw +In thy true life of word, and work, and thought +The proof of all we sought. + +Did we not witness in the life of thee +Immortal prophecy? +And feel, when with thee, that thy footsteps trod +An everlasting road? + +Not for brief days thy generous sympathies, +Thy scorn of selfish ease; +Not for the poor prize of an earthly goal +Thy strong uplift of soul. + +Than thine was never turned a fonder heart +To nature and to art +In fair-formed Hellas in her golden prime, +Thy Philothea's time. + +Yet, loving beauty, thou couldst pass it by, +And for the poor deny +Thyself, and see thy fresh, sweet flower of fame +Wither in blight and blame. + +Sharing His love who holds in His embrace +The lowliest of our race, +Sure the Divine economy must be +Conservative of thee! + +For truth must live with truth, self-sacrifice +Seek out its great allies; +Good must find good by gravitation sure, +And love with love endure. + +And so, since thou hast passed within the gate +Whereby awhile I wait, +I give blind grief and blinder sense the lie +Thou hast not lived to die! +1881. + + + +IN MEMORY. + +JAMES T. FIELDS. + +As a guest who may not stay +Long and sad farewells to say +Glides with smiling face away, + +Of the sweetness and the zest +Of thy happy life possessed +Thou hast left us at thy best. + +Warm of heart and clear of brain, +Of thy sun-bright spirit's wane +Thou hast spared us all the pain. + +Now that thou hast gone away, +What is left of one to say +Who was open as the day? + +What is there to gloss or shun? +Save with kindly voices none +Speak thy name beneath the sun. + +Safe thou art on every side, +Friendship nothing finds to hide, +Love's demand is satisfied. + +Over manly strength and worth, +At thy desk of toil, or hearth, +Played the lambent light of mirth,-- + +Mirth that lit, but never burned; +All thy blame to pity turned; +Hatred thou hadst never learned. + +Every harsh and vexing thing +At thy home-fire lost its sting; +Where thou wast was always spring. + +And thy perfect trust in good, +Faith in man and womanhood, +Chance and change and time, withstood. + +Small respect for cant and whine, +Bigot's zeal and hate malign, +Had that sunny soul of thine. + +But to thee was duty's claim +Sacred, and thy lips became +Reverent with one holy Name. + +Therefore, on thy unknown way, +Go in God's peace! We who stay +But a little while delay. + +Keep for us, O friend, where'er +Thou art waiting, all that here +Made thy earthly presence dear; + +Something of thy pleasant past +On a ground of wonder cast, +In the stiller waters glassed! + +Keep the human heart of thee; +Let the mortal only be +Clothed in immortality. + +And when fall our feet as fell +Thine upon the asphodel, +Let thy old smile greet us well; + +Proving in a world of bliss +What we fondly dream in this,-- +Love is one with holiness! +1881. + + + +WILSON + + Read at the Massachusetts Club on the seventieth anniversary the + birthday of Vice-President Wilson, February 16, 1882. + +The lowliest born of all the land, +He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand +The gifts which happier boyhood claims; +And, tasting on a thankless soil +The bitter bread of unpaid toil, +He fed his soul with noble aims. + +And Nature, kindly provident, +To him the future's promise lent; +The powers that shape man's destinies, +Patience and faith and toil, he knew, +The close horizon round him grew, +Broad with great possibilities. + +By the low hearth-fire's fitful blaze +He read of old heroic days, +The sage's thought, the patriot's speech; +Unhelped, alone, himself he taught, +His school the craft at which he wrought, +His lore the book within his, reach. + +He felt his country's need; he knew +The work her children had to do; +And when, at last, he heard the call +In her behalf to serve and dare, +Beside his senatorial chair +He stood the unquestioned peer of all. + +Beyond the accident of birth +He proved his simple manhood's worth; +Ancestral pride and classic grace +Confessed the large-brained artisan, +So clear of sight, so wise in plan +And counsel, equal to his place. + +With glance intuitive he saw +Through all disguise of form and law, +And read men like an open book; +Fearless and firm, he never quailed +Nor turned aside for threats, nor failed +To do the thing he undertook. + +How wise, how brave, he was, how well +He bore himself, let history tell +While waves our flag o'er land and sea, +No black thread in its warp or weft; +He found dissevered States, he left +A grateful Nation, strong and free! + + + +THE POET AND THE CHILDREN. + +LONGFELLOW. + +WITH a glory of winter sunshine +Over his locks of gray, +In the old historic mansion +He sat on his last birthday; + +With his books and his pleasant pictures, +And his household and his kin, +While a sound as of myriads singing +From far and near stole in. + +It came from his own fair city, +From the prairie's boundless plain, +From the Golden Gate of sunset, +And the cedarn woods of Maine. + +And his heart grew warm within him, +And his moistening eyes grew dim, +For he knew that his country's children +Were singing the songs of him, + +The lays of his life's glad morning, +The psalms of his evening time, +Whose echoes shall float forever +On the winds of every clime. + +All their beautiful consolations, +Sent forth like birds of cheer, +Came flocking back to his windows, +And sang in the Poet's ear. + +Grateful, but solemn and tender, +The music rose and fell +With a joy akin to sadness +And a greeting like farewell. + +With a sense of awe he listened +To the voices sweet and young; +The last of earth and the first of heaven +Seemed in the songs they sung. + +And waiting a little longer +For the wonderful change to come, +He heard the Summoning Angel, +Who calls God's children home! + +And to him in a holier welcome +Was the mystical meaning given +Of the words of the blessed Master +"Of such is the kingdom of heaven!" +1882 + + + +A WELCOME TO LOWELL + +Take our hands, James Russell Lowell, +Our hearts are all thy own; +To-day we bid thee welcome +Not for ourselves alone. + +In the long years of thy absence +Some of us have grown old, +And some have passed the portals +Of the Mystery untold; + +For the hands that cannot clasp thee, +For the voices that are dumb, +For each and all I bid thee +A grateful welcome home! + +For Cedarcroft's sweet singer +To the nine-fold Muses dear; +For the Seer the winding Concord +Paused by his door to hear; + +For him, our guide and Nestor, +Who the march of song began, +The white locks of his ninety years +Bared to thy winds, Cape Ann! + +For him who, to the music +Her pines and hemlocks played, +Set the old and tender story +Of the lorn Acadian maid; + +For him, whose voice for freedom +Swayed friend and foe at will, +Hushed is the tongue of silver, +The golden lips are still! + +For her whose life of duty +At scoff and menace smiled, +Brave as the wife of Roland, +Yet gentle as a Child. + +And for him the three-hilled city +Shall hold in memory long, +Those name is the hint and token +Of the pleasant Fields of Song! + +For the old friends unforgotten, +For the young thou hast not known, +I speak their heart-warm greeting; +Come back and take thy own! + +From England's royal farewells, +And honors fitly paid, +Come back, dear Russell Lowell, +To Elmwood's waiting shade! + +Come home with all the garlands +That crown of right thy head. +I speak for comrades living, +I speak for comrades dead! +AMESBURY, 6th mo., 1885. + + + +AN ARTIST OF THE BEAUTIFUL. + +GEORGE FULLER + +Haunted of Beauty, like the marvellous youth +Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve! How passing fair +Her shapes took color in thy homestead air! +How on thy canvas even her dreams were truth! +Magician! who from commonest elements +Called up divine ideals, clothed upon +By mystic lights soft blending into one +Womanly grace and child-like innocence. +Teacher I thy lesson was not given in vain. +Beauty is goodness; ugliness is sin; +Art's place is sacred: nothing foul therein +May crawl or tread with bestial feet profane. +If rightly choosing is the painter's test, +Thy choice, O master, ever was the best. +1885. + + + +MULFORD. + +Author of The Nation and The Republic of God. + +Unnoted as the setting of a star +He passed; and sect and party scarcely knew +When from their midst a sage and seer withdrew +To fitter audience, where the great dead are +In God's republic of the heart and mind, +Leaving no purer, nobler soul behind. +1886. + + + +TO A CAPE ANN SCHOONER + +Luck to the craft that bears this name of mine, +Good fortune follow with her golden spoon +The glazed hat and tarry pantaloon; +And wheresoe'er her keel shall cut the brine, +Cod, hake and haddock quarrel for her line. +Shipped with her crew, whatever wind may blow, +Or tides delay, my wish with her shall go, +Fishing by proxy. Would that it might show +At need her course, in lack of sun and star, +Where icebergs threaten, and the sharp reefs are; +Lift the blind fog on Anticosti's lee +And Avalon's rock; make populous the sea +Round Grand Manan with eager finny swarms, +Break the long calms, and charm away the storms. +OAK KNOLL, 23 3rd mo., 1886. + + + +SAMUEL J. TILDEN. + +GREYSTONE, AUG. 4, 1886. + +Once more, O all-adjusting Death! +The nation's Pantheon opens wide; +Once more a common sorrow saith +A strong, wise man has died. + +Faults doubtless had he. Had we not +Our own, to question and asperse +The worth we doubted or forgot +Until beside his hearse? + +Ambitious, cautious, yet the man +To strike down fraud with resolute hand; +A patriot, if a partisan, +He loved his native land. + +So let the mourning bells be rung, +The banner droop its folds half way, +And while the public pen and tongue +Their fitting tribute pay, + +Shall we not vow above his bier +To set our feet on party lies, +And wound no more a living ear +With words that Death denies? + +1886 + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PERSONAL POEMS, PART 2 *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named 9582.txt or 9582.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* diff --git a/9582.zip b/9582.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d139e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/9582.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..876f0fc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #9582 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9582) |