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Other Books by the Same Author 
 
 J- 
 
 "Hawthorne's Country" 
 \ 
 
 "Longfellow's Country" 
 
 "Browning's Italy" 
 
 "Browning's England" 
 
 "Ajicient Myths in Modern Poets" 
 
 "A Guide to Mythology" 
 
 FOR YOUNG READERS 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 33 E. 17th Street, Union Square North New York 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022110062 
 
When The Shadows Are Long 
 
THE POETS' 
 NEW ENGLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 HELEN ARCHIBALD CLARKE 
 
 Author of 
 
 "Browning's Italy," "Browning's England," 
 
 "Ancient Myths in Modern Poets," "Longfellow's Country," 
 
 "Hawthorne's Country," etc., etc. 
 
 ; 1 
 i 
 
 NEW YOEK 
 
 The Bakee & Taylor Company 
 
 1911 
 
 -» 
 
 S 
 
Copyright, 1911, hy 
 The Bakee and Taylob Company 
 
 Published October, 1911 
 
 A^U-H-^Sl 
 
 William O. Heicitt, Brooklyn, N. T. 
 
 T4 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 The author begs to ax:knowledge her thanks to 
 Houghton, MifHin & Co. for permission to make 
 illustrative quotations from their Cambridge editions 
 of Whittier, Longfellow, Emerson, Holmes and 
 Lowell; and to D. Appleton & Co. for permission 
 to make illustrative quotations from their Roslyn 
 edition of Bryant. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. Nature: From the Hills to the Sea - 1 
 
 II. Romance: Legendary and Historical - 73 
 
 III. History: From the Birth of the Nation 
 
 to its Majority - - . - 143 
 
 IV. Friendship: Personal and Literary - 225 
 
 V. Thought: Emotional and Intellectual - 291 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 "When the Shadows are Long" — Frontispiece in color 
 
 by G. H. Hood. 
 Merrimac at Newburyport, from a photograph by 
 
 Ethel C. Brown 10 
 
 Mount Washington from Lake Winnipesaukee . 16 
 
 Tulips in the Public Garden, Boston .... 38 
 
 The Longfellow House, Portland ..... 54 
 
 Surf at Nahant : Longfellow's Summer Home . 56 
 Salt Marshes : Hampton, from a photograph by Ethel 
 
 C. Brown 58 
 
 Off the Coast of Rockport, Cape Ann . . 60 
 Monadnock, from a photograph by E. D. Putnam, 
 
 Antrim, N. H 66 
 
 OiF the Coast of New England 70 
 
 Cotton Mather .76 
 
 Among the "White Hills" 88 
 
 Nantucket 118 
 
 Old South Church 120 
 
 Portsmouth . . ..... 124< 
 
 Marblehead ... 130 
 
 Pemaquid Point 136 
 
 The Saco River . . ... 138 
 
 The Minute Man ... ... 146 
 
 Old Boston ... .... 150 
 
 The Tea-Party House on Hollis Street, Boston . . 156 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACINfr 
 PAGE 
 
 The Washington Elm, Cambridge ... 162 
 
 Concord Bridge and Soldiers' Monument . . .168 
 
 Statue of William Lloyd Garrison, Commonwealth 
 
 Avenue, Boston 172 
 
 Lincoln .190 
 
 Bunker Hill Monument .... 206 
 
 Peace Jubilee . 224 
 
 Bryant, 1794-1878 228 
 
 Emerson, 1803-1882, from a photograph by Ethel C. 
 
 Brown . 238 
 
 Whittier, 1807-1892 .254 
 
 Longfellow, 1807-1882 .262 
 
 Beaver Brook 268 
 
 Hohnes, 1809-1894 272 
 
 Lowell, 1819-1891 . . .282 
 
 Harvard in Earlier Days 288 
 
 The Whittier Homestead at Haverhill, from a photo- 
 graph by Ethel C. Brown 302 
 
 Whittier Memorial, Haverhill, from a photograph by 
 
 Ethel C. Brown 310 
 
 Longfellow's Study at Craigie House 316 
 
 Beacon Street House of Holmes, from a photograph by 
 
 Ethel C. Brown 322 
 
 "Elmwood," Lowell's Home 330 
 
 Emerson's Home 
 
NATURE: 
 FROM THE HILLS TO THE SEA 
 
^The tremulous shadow of the Sea! Agaimt its ground 
 Of silvery light, rock, hill and tree. 
 Still as a picture, clear and free. 
 With varying outline mark the coast for miles arovmd.' 
 
 — ^Whittler. 
 
I 
 
 Natuee: Feom the Hills to the Sea 
 
 THE poet who could not find constant inspira- 
 tion in the beautiful and varied scenery of 
 New England would be as dull to beauty as 
 the individual made proverbial by Shakespeare who 
 has no music in his soul. Other portions of the coun- 
 try have grander and more awe-inspiring scenes to 
 oifer, but about nature in New England there is at 
 once a strength and a reticence which make it pecu- 
 liarly dear both to those who have been born within 
 her borders and to those coming from afar who have 
 adopted into their hearts "the stern and rock-bound 
 coast" of the Pilgrims, its stony fields and its fir- 
 clad hills. These are the things which give accent to 
 the New England landscape, yet how much more 
 there is! Often the "stern and rock-bound coast" 
 loses itself in fair reaches of marsh-land or sandy 
 beaches, perhaps a mile wide, from the heart of which 
 one seems to look up to the dark blue of the far-away 
 ocean. Interspersed with the stony fields, there is 
 many a thriving farm sunning itself upon the verdant 
 slopes of low-lyiag hills; and while in the more north- 
 ern portions evergreens — ^firs, and pines and cedars 
 — are in the ascendant, the sturdiness of their outlines 
 is in many regions relieved by trees of temperaments 
 
4 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 less stem, especially the nervous birch, — "Quivering 
 to tell her woe, but ah! dumb, dumb forever!" Even 
 on the coast, maples, beeches and oaks are not infre- 
 quent, not to speak of an occasional tree of some other 
 variety, while inland these and many other trees di- 
 versify the open lands or cluster together in the woods. 
 In her most umbrageous neighborhoods, however, the 
 trees do not run riot in their leaves. The foUage of 
 New England is reticent, too ; the other trees seem to 
 have borrowed something of the quiet dignity of the 
 pines and firs among which they live. 
 
 Moreover, to speak merely of a "rock-bound coast" 
 is to give but a meager idea of the scenery of a shore 
 whose rocks have been fashioned by the forces of 
 nature, now into lofty cliffs rent by chasms, within 
 whose depths the ocean lets loose its loudest thunders ; 
 now into a chaos of jagged bowlders, or again into 
 huge, symmetrical blocks over which one may walk, 
 provided an alert eye be kept for an occasional co- 
 lossal step up or down, as easily as upon a floor. 
 
 The farther up the coast or "down east," as the 
 phrase is, one goes, the higher become the shores, until 
 at last are reached the fir-clad hills that dabble their 
 feet in the ocean spray. Striking inland, rock and 
 cliflF become wonderful groups of mountains, from 
 whose highest peaks might be flashed signal lights, 
 starting with Graylock, at the extreme west of Mas- 
 sachusetts, and ending with the lonely giant Katahdin 
 in the north of Maine. 
 
 Lakes of many shapes, sometimes in chains, some- 
 times single, adorn its hillsides and valleys. Frolick- 
 ing streams tumble down its mountain sides to become 
 either impetuous or torpid rivers, which, more often 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 5 
 
 than not, find their way to the sea in broad estuaries, 
 where tide and current fight daily for mastery. 
 
 Few of the beauties of New England scenery have 
 been left unsung by her master poets. It is true that 
 all have not displayed an equal intensity of vision, but 
 all show in their work the influence of their mother- 
 land upon them — ^not merely in their descriptions di- 
 rect, of nature, but in more subtle ways. Doubtless, 
 the future scientific student of literature will classify 
 his New England poets with the same glibness that 
 he now does the Elizabethans or the Lake school 
 among English poets, placing them in their proper 
 anthropological niche according to their geography. 
 
 Among the group of poets which has caused New 
 England to glow with a steady and gentle radiance 
 in the great world of English letters, John Greenleaf 
 Whittier must be accorded the first rank as a painter 
 of landscapes. Not only in those poems classified by 
 himself as nature poems, but also in his poems of ro- 
 mance and legend there is always a nature setting to 
 lend its charm to the living beings upon whom the 
 chief interest centers. Sometimes the vista includes 
 nature modified by the ruthless hand of man in mills 
 and factories ; again nature may be compressed into an 
 old-fashioned New England interior, but always the 
 reader will see pictures, as if to the poet's pen had 
 been added the magic of the artist's brush. 
 
 Whittier's, however, was no impressionistic or sym- 
 bolistic touch. He observed minutely and painted his 
 poetic pictures with a conscientious fidelity to detail, 
 reminding one of the early school of Enghsh landscape 
 painters. 
 
 One would hardly be likely to regard the town of 
 
6 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Haverhill, where Whittier was bom, nor that of the 
 not far-distant Amesbury, his home for the major 
 part of his life, as the key to New England scenery. 
 Yet Whittier seems to make it so. From what point 
 of vantage does he see all that he describes? Did he 
 go forth upon his housetop as upon" a pinnacle of 
 magic vision from which he could descry every moun- 
 tain splendor from Chocorua to Agamenticus, every 
 shimmering lake stretching northwards to Winnepe- 
 saukee, every ocean sentinel from the bold headlands 
 of Cape Ann to the terraced rocks of Pemaquidl 
 
 Closest at hand would be the low-lying hills, the 
 sandy beaches flanked by glistening sand dunes and 
 the salt marshes which give so rare an idyllic beauty to 
 the New England coast in the neighborhood of Ips- 
 wich, Newburyport and Hampton. To sail in and 
 out among the islands of this marshland upon the 
 blue reaches of placid water, prosaically called inlets 
 but better deserving the name of giant sapphires, en- 
 circling lowlands and hills in jeweled girdles, is an 
 experience not easily to be forgotten. The delicate 
 coloring of the marsh grass, the gracious outlines of 
 the bare hills, the snowy gleams of the sand dimes, the 
 soft radiancy of the atmosphere seem to lift one into a 
 world of mirage. Nothing is real; but who would 
 leave this mystical world of unreality! We murmur, 
 like the lotos-eaters: We have come "imto a land" 
 where it is "always afternoon"; let us "return 
 no more." 
 
 The wonderful glamor of this shore, with its ac- 
 companying inland scenes, our poet-magician pre- 
 serves in one of his sweeping views from his pinnacle 
 of magic vision, thus: 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ''I see, far southward, this quiet day. 
 The hills of Newbury rolling away, 
 With the many tints of the season gay, 
 Dreamily blending in autumn mist 
 Crimson and gold and amethyst. 
 Long and low, with dwarf trees crowned, 
 Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, 
 A stone's toss over the narrow sound. 
 Inland as far as the eye can go. 
 The hills curve round like a bended bow ; 
 A silver arrow from out them sprung, 
 I see the shine of the Quasycung ; 
 And, round and round, over valley and hill, 
 Old roads winding as old roads will. 
 Here to a ferry, and there to a mill; 
 And glimpses of chimneys and gabled eaves, 
 Through green elm arches and maple leaves — ■ 
 Old homesteads sacred to all that can 
 Gladden or sadden the heart of a man 
 Over whose thresholds of oak and stone 
 Life and death have come and gone! 
 There pictured tiles in the fireplace show, 
 Great beams sag from the ceiling low. 
 The dresser glitters with polished wares. 
 The long clock ticks on the polished stairs, 
 And the low, broad chimney shows the crack 
 By the earthquake made a century back. 
 Up from their midst springs the village spire. 
 With the crest of its cock in the sun afire ; 
 Beyond are orchards and planting lands. 
 And great salt marshes and glimmering sands; 
 And, where north and south the coast-lines run. 
 The bhnk of the sea in breeze and sun." 
 
8 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Of course, there are hilltops, both at Haverhill and 
 Amesbury, where wonderful views are to be had, and 
 we may climb them and behold the views and humbly 
 wish we might see all the poet sees. 
 
 But even Whittier could not see the whole of New 
 England to his entire satisfaction from his pinnacle 
 of magic vision. Like any ordinary mortal, he de- 
 scends, perhaps to wander along the river path — a 
 lovely walk, sometimes past banks so steep there is 
 hardly room for it to hold its own between the bluff 
 and the water, and again past little vales nestling be- 
 tween the ridges. At every turn he sees a fresh pic- 
 ture. "On the river's farther side," he beholds "the 
 hilltops glorified," and now the river rolling dark 
 "through willowy vistas," or again the hills swing 
 open to the light. "Through their green gates the 
 sunshine showed, a long slant splendor downward 
 flowed." At another time he follows the river path 
 in his last autumn walk, when "The silver birch its 
 buds of purple shows, and scarlet berries tell where 
 blossomed the sweet wild-rose." 
 
 Whittier loved the Merrimac as Longfellow loved 
 the Charles or Emerson the Musketaquid; and in his 
 care-taking manner he has left no aspect untouched 
 of this typical New England river, with its arms rest- 
 ing upon the shoulders of the sea. 
 
 The Merrimac rises in the hills of New Hampshire 
 and finally winds its way to the sea through north- 
 eastern Massachusetts. Before civilization had set its 
 fat, pursy finger upon it, it flowed by forests and 
 wooded hills, where giant oaks and pines communed 
 together in solemn conclave. So many plunges did 
 the river make in its course that the Indians of the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 9 
 
 north called it the Merrimack, or place of strong cur- 
 rents. In those far-distant times it was the haunt of 
 several varieties of fish. Even after Haverhill was a 
 settled fact, East Haverhill was known as Shad 
 Parish, and shad was actually used for manure. Stur- 
 geon were so abundant that the southern Indians 
 called the river Monomack, or the river of sturgeons ; 
 and to the salmon and alewives HaverhiU owed one of 
 her most important early industries. Salmon were so 
 much a glut in the market that it was often stipulated 
 in the indentures of apprentices that they should not 
 be forced to eat salmon more than six times a week. 
 Where are they now? Mostly fled before the march 
 of improvement, for the Merrimac has become one of 
 the most noted water-powers in the world. Her falls 
 have been dammed to turn countless mill-wheels, and 
 only flying fish could now get up the stream from the 
 sea to feed and breed. Efforts were made for some 
 time to keep a fishway open, but I believe the fish are 
 now few and of a very poor quality. 
 
 The part of the Merrimac most familiar to Whit- 
 tier flowed through the county of Essex from Haver- 
 hill to the sea. It probably had much the same aspect 
 in his day that it has now, for the march of improve- 
 ment was well under way, as we may know by his own 
 frequent references to the disturbing machinery of the 
 mills. The border line of Massachusetts is only three 
 miles north of the river, and along this part of its 
 course the boundary line follows all the river's turn- 
 ings. Haverhill and Amesbury are both on the north 
 bank of the river, separated by Merrimac, formerly a 
 part of Amesbury. 
 
 The house in which Whittier was born is in East 
 
10 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Haverhill, and is just nine miles from his home in 
 Amesbury. One more township beyond Amesbury — 
 Salisbury — and the sea is reached. On these banks 
 Whittier dwelt during the whole of his life, in a region 
 of such loveliness that more than one celebrated voice 
 has been raised in its praise. Even the pursy finger 
 of civilization could not spoil it. It might blot out the 
 forests and dam the river, but it could not drain the 
 lakes; and where there once were forests, there are 
 now the scarcely less beautiful tinted fields of culti- 
 vation, or rolling green pastures. A prose description 
 of the scenery written by Whittier in a review of a 
 book by the Rev. P. S. Boyd, "Up and Down the 
 Merrimac," and reprinted for the first time by Mr. 
 Samuel T. Pickard in his little book, "Whittier- 
 Land," would serve almost as well to-day as it did 
 when it was written. 
 
 "The scenery of the lower valley of the Merrimac 
 is not bold nor remarkably picturesque, but there is a 
 great charm in the panorama of its soft green inter- 
 vales: its white steeples rising over thick clusters of 
 elms and maples, its neat villages on the slopes of 
 gracefully rounded hills, dark belts of woodland and 
 blossoming or fruited orchards, which would almost 
 justify the words of one who formerly sojourned on 
 its banks, that the Merrimac is the fairest river this 
 side of Paradise." 
 
 We must turn to Whittier's poetry, however, if we 
 would be thoroughly initiated into the charm which 
 attaches itself to this river. In "The Bridal of Penna- 
 cook," we see the wild and free Merrimac of pre- 
 civilized days, before the dull jar of the loom and 
 the wheel, the gliding of shuttles, the ringing of 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 11 
 
 steel had made its banks more or less hideous with 
 noise. 
 
 "0 child of that white-crested mountain whose springs 
 Gush forth in the shade of the cliflF-eagle's wings, 
 Down whose slopes to the lowlands thy wild waters shine, 
 Leaping gray walls of rock, flashing through the dwarf 
 pine; 
 
 "From that cloud-contained cradle so cold and so lone, 
 From the arms of that wintry-locked mother of stone, 
 By hills hung with forests, through vales wide and free, 
 Thy mountain-born brightness glanced down to the sea! 
 
 "No bridge arched thy waters save that where the trees 
 Stretched their long arms above thee and kissed in the breeze ; 
 No sound save the lapse of the waves on the shores. 
 The plunging of otters, the light dip of oars." 
 
 A view of the Merrimac of a later day, as well as 
 one of Haverhill when it was called Pentucket, is 
 given in the poet's narrative of the attack upon the 
 town in 1708. Then it was a frontier village, with but 
 thirty houses. At the dead of night it was surprised 
 by a combined force of French and Indians under the 
 command of two Frenchmen, De Chaillons and Hertel 
 de RouviUe. The sunset picture of the town and its 
 surroundings upon this fatal night is charming. 
 
 "How sweetly on the wood-girt town 
 The mellow light of sunset shone! 
 Each small, bright lake, whose waters still 
 Mirror the forest and the hill. 
 Reflected from its waveless breast 
 
12 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The beauty of a cloudless west, 
 Glorious as if a glimpse were given 
 Within the western gates of heaven, 
 Left by the spirit of the star 
 Of sunset's holy hour ajar ! 
 
 "Beside the river's tranquil flood 
 The dark and low-waUed dwellings stood. 
 Where many a rood of open land 
 Stretched up and down on either hand. 
 With corn-leaves waving freshly green 
 The thick and blackened stumps between. 
 Behind, unbroken, deep and dread. 
 The wild, untraveled forest spread, 
 Back to those mountains white and cold, 
 Of which the Indian trapper told, 
 Upon whose summits never yet 
 Was mortal foot in safety set." 
 
 The poem affords another glimpse of the Merrimac 
 by moonlight. 
 
 "Hours passed away. By moonlight sped 
 The Merrimac along his bed. 
 Bathed in the pallid lustre, stood 
 Dark cottage-waU and rock and wood. 
 Silent, beneath that tranquil beam. 
 As the hushed grouping of a dream." 
 
 There are many other lovely sketches of the Merri- 
 mac like this, for example, from "Mabel Martin" : 
 
 "And through the shadow looking west, 
 You see the wavering river flow 
 Along a vale, that far below, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 13 
 
 "Holds to the sun, the sheltering hills 
 And glimmering water-line between, 
 Broad fields of corn and meadows green, 
 
 "And fruit-bent orchards grouped around 
 The low brown roofs and painted eaves, 
 And chimney-tops half hid in leaves. 
 
 "No warmer valley hides behind 
 Yon wind-scourged sand dunes cold and bleak ; 
 No fairer river comes to seek 
 
 "The wave-sung welcome of the sea. 
 Or mark the northmost border line 
 Of sun-loved growths of nut and vine." 
 
 The Merrimac, winding its way through Whittier's 
 narrative or legendary poems, much as it does through 
 its own hills and forests and towns, finally emerges in 
 the full light of its importance in a poem all to itself, 
 in which the poet does not hesitate to place it in the 
 top-notch of his estimation among rivers. 
 
 "I have stood 
 Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood; 
 Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade 
 Along his frowning Palisade; 
 Looked down the Appalachian peak 
 On Juniata's silver streak; 
 Have seen along his valley gleam 
 The Mohawk's softly winding stream; 
 The level light of sunset shine 
 Through broad Potomac's hem of pine; 
 And autumn's rainbow- tinted banner 
 Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; 
 
14 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, 
 Thy wandering child looked back to thee! 
 Heard in his dream thy river's sound 
 Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, 
 The unforgotten swell and roar 
 Of waves on thy familiar shore." 
 
 Occasionally Whittier goes off on a summer outing. 
 The beloved valley of the Merrimac is left behind. 
 He climbs the hills and hears through Sandwich notch 
 the west wind sing: 
 
 "Good morrow to the cotter ; 
 And once again Chocorua's horn 
 Of shadow pierced the water. 
 
 "Above his broad lake Ossipee, 
 Once more the sunshine wearing, 
 Stooped, tracing on that silver shield 
 His grim armorial bearing." 
 
 Or he pushes his way northwards into the very heart 
 of the White HUls: 
 
 "Silent with wonder, where the mountain wall 
 Is piled to heaven ; and, through the narrow rift 
 Of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet 
 Beats the head torrent with perpetual roar. 
 Where noonday is as twilight, and the wind 
 Comes burdened with the everlasting moan 
 Of forests and of far-off waterfalls. 
 We had looked upward where the summer sky, 
 Tasselled with clouds light-woven by the sun, 
 Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 15 
 
 O'er-roofing the vast portal of the land 
 Beyond the wall of mountains. We had passed 
 The high source of the Saco ; and bewildered 
 In the dwarf spruce-belts of the Crystal Hills 
 Had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud, 
 The horn of Fabyan sounding; and atop 
 Of old Agioochook had seen the mountains 
 Piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick 
 As meadow mole-hills, — the far sea of Casco, 
 A white gleam on the horizon of the east; 
 Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and hills ; 
 Moosehillock's mountain range, and Kearsarge 
 Lifting his granite forehead to the sun." 
 
 Or he journeys down to the sea, which he has beheld 
 from afar: 
 
 "The sunlight glitters keen and bright 
 
 Where, miles away. 
 Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
 A luminous belt, a misty light. 
 
 Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. 
 
 "The tremulous shadow of the Sea! 
 
 Against its ground 
 Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree. 
 Still as a picture, clear and free. 
 
 With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. 
 
 "On — on — we tread with loose-flung rein 
 
 Our seaward way. 
 Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain. 
 Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. 
 
 And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. 
 
16 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow 
 
 Comes this fresh breeze, 
 Cooling its dull and feverish glow, 
 While through my being seems to flow 
 
 The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas !" 
 
 The closer Whittier approaches to nature, the more 
 personal becomes his attitude toward it. To the pic- 
 ture is added spiritual content. It means something 
 more to him than simple beauty; but this meaning has 
 not the pantheistic touch such as Bryant would give. 
 Still less is there any hint of a dynamic evolutionary 
 force in nature such as Emerson puts there. Nature 
 is beautiful and a balm to the tired spirit of man; but, 
 though a creation of God, Whittier does not in any 
 sense identify it with the divine. Its beauty is to 
 Whittier no more than an assurance that — 
 
 "He whose presence fills 
 With light the spaces of these hills 
 No evil to His creatures wills, 
 
 "The simple faith remains, that He 
 WiU do, whatever that may be. 
 The best aUke for man and tree." 
 
 These lines are from a poem in which Whittier ex- 
 presses with his utmost felicity this personal touch 
 with nature, "Summer by the Lakeside." He has 
 roamed far afield for him, this time to the shores of 
 Lake Winnepesaukee and is well-nigh intoxicated 
 with the charm of this beautiful region. 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 17 
 
 "White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, 
 Light mists, whose soft embraces keep 
 The sunshine on the hills asleep ! 
 
 "O isles of calm ! O dark, stiU wood ! 
 And stiller skies that overbrood 
 Your rest with deeper quietude! 
 
 "O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through 
 Yon mountain gaps, my longing view 
 Beyond the purple and the blue. 
 
 "To stiller sea and greener land. 
 And softer lights and airs more bland, 
 And skies, — ^the hollow of God's hand! 
 
 "Transfused through you, O mountain friends ! 
 With mine your solemn spirit blends 
 And life no more hath separate ends. 
 
 *'! read each misty mountain sign, 
 I know the voice of wave and pine, 
 And I am yours and ye are mine. 
 
 ''Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, 
 I lapse into the glad release 
 Of Nature's own exceeding peace. 
 
 "O welcome calm of heart and mind! 
 As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind 
 To leave a tenderer growth behind, 
 
 "So fall the weary years away; 
 A child again, my head I lay 
 Upon the lap of this sweet day." 
 
18 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 It has been said that Whittier was color-blind, and 
 a tale is told of how he went to town to buy a nice, 
 quiet grey carpet, and when the carpet he had chosen 
 came home it was a bright scarlet. If he had any such 
 defect it does not prevent him from showing a con- 
 stant sense of light and shadow and of color in his 
 poems. Open almost any page in Whittier and on it 
 will be found many a keen observation upon the colors 
 to be seen in nature. Take a few at random! On one 
 page I find "golden-sandaled" for the sunlight, "sil- 
 vering bay," "purple mountains," "purple stains," 
 "golden lines," "old-time green," "bridal blush of 
 rose," "brown leaves," "azure bells," "amber violet's 
 leaves," "purple aster," "greening slopes." Upon an- 
 other page I find such happy phrases as "The hoar 
 plume of the golden rod," "azure-studded juniper," 
 referring to the blue berries which cluster on the juni- 
 per in late summer and autimin; "white pagodas of 
 the snow." His strong consciousness of color often 
 comes out in direct allusion to his enjoyment of it, as 
 in these lines: 
 
 "Rich gift of God ! A year of time ! 
 What pomp of rise and shut of day. 
 What hues wherewith our Northern clime 
 Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay! 
 
 "I know not how, in other lands. 
 
 The changing seasons come and go; 
 What splendors fall on Syrian sands. 
 
 What purple lights on Alpine snow ! 
 Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits 
 On Venice at her watery gates. 
 A dream alone to me is Amo's vale. 
 And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 19 
 
 After browsing in Whittier for a while one feels 
 that he may be counted upon to see and appreciate 
 every beautiful aspect of nature. We find reflected 
 in him all our own especial loves. If we grow senti- 
 mental over trailing arbutus, as most of us do, we find 
 him ready to speak our speech better for us. If sun- 
 sets arouse in us distracting ecstasy, let us learn of 
 him what ecstasy may be. Or, say we are entranced 
 with the beauty of an early frost which adds its last 
 touch of radiance to the fairyland of a New England 
 autumn — a fairyland within whose realm the sombre 
 firs and cedars are quite taken out of themselves by 
 the levity of the crimson maples, with whom they 
 seem to dance on flaming heaths of huckleberries in 
 an atmosphere made radiant by golden showers from 
 the sky, or so the yellow leaves of the birches seem to 
 be. One touch is to be added. King Frost comes 
 along some night and crowns everything in sight with 
 delicate sUver fretwork or clustering diamonds. 
 
 Whittier has seen this, too! And not only seen it, 
 but he knows it is as wonderful a sight as nature has 
 to offer in her picture gallery. 
 
 "This f oregleam of the Holy City 
 Like that to him of Patmos given, 
 The white bride coining down from heaven! 
 
 "How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders 
 
 Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds 
 The brook its muffled water leads ! 
 
 "Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, 
 Bums unconsumed: a white cold fire 
 Rays out from every grassy spire. 
 
20 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Each slender rush and spike of mullein 
 Low laurel shrub and drooping fern. 
 Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. 
 
 "How yonder Ethiopian hemlock 
 
 Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! 
 What jewels light his swarthy hands!" 
 
 A comparison of Whittier and Bryant naturally 
 suggests itself in connection with Whittier's nature- 
 poetry. Bryant was more exclusively a nature-poet 
 than Whittier, yet he is not nearly so keen an observer 
 of nature. His pantheistic conception of nature 
 made his perception of pictorial values oftentimes 
 vague, especially in his earlier poetry. Unless the 
 poem is tagged in some way it is difficult to deter- 
 mine whether it was inspired by New England scenes 
 or by those of New York State. 
 
 There seems no very good reason why this should 
 be the case, for he was born and spent much of his 
 time later in life in a region lovely enough and individ- 
 ual enough to have inspired pictures as specific in de- 
 tail as those given us by Whittier. 
 
 Cummington is a tiny town among the hills of west- 
 em Massachusetts, not much bigger now than it 
 was over a hundred years ago, when Bryant made it 
 illustrious by being born there, and still unadorned by 
 a railroad station. How little things have progressed 
 with the town of Cummington is rather pathetically 
 summed up in the address of welcome given by one of 
 its citizens at the time of the Bryant Centennial in 
 1894: 
 
 "The welcome that Cummington extends to you to- 
 day is substantially the same as greeted the embryo 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 21 
 
 poet one hundred years ago. That the people are the 
 same in kind is proven by the fact that of the two hun- 
 dred voters in town but three are of foreign birth ; the 
 quality may have deteriorated, as the flower of our 
 sons and daughters have gone forth to enrich other 
 communities, nearly every home having furnished its 
 full quota. There are but few of us left, but these few 
 are ready to stand up and be counted. Many homes 
 have been abandoned, and their location is marked by 
 a hollow in the ground where once was a cellar. 
 
 "The Westfield flows through its narrow valley; 
 the little villages nestle by its side as in the past; the 
 amphitheatre of hills and valleys that girt the eastern 
 horizon are the same that Bryant's first conscious 
 vision looked upon; the little brooks still murmur 
 through their narrow glens; the groves, the darker 
 woods, the sunny slopes where wildflowers bloom, all 
 are here still to inspire other poets. The home that 
 sheltered our poet from early infancy to manhood, 
 the home to which he turned when fortime had smiled 
 and the frost of age was upon hair and beard, making 
 of it a fit place to spend a short season each year to 
 renew his acquaintance with nature 'through her vis- 
 ible forms,' free from the cares of an exacting profes- 
 sion — to all of these we welcome you. Without these 
 nothing we could say or do would be worthy of a mo- 
 ment's consideration by you." 
 
 The charm of western Massachusetts — Berkshire 
 County and Hampshire County lying next toward the 
 east — in which is situated Cummington, has often 
 been sung in verse and described in prose. It is a 
 land of hill-ranges istretching in every direction in 
 sweeping, wavelike masses that go on and on into 
 
22 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 mysterious purple distances. Here and there an im- 
 posing peak stands out in isolated splendor, such as 
 Graylock, immortalized by Hawthorne in "Ethan 
 Brand," and by his fine descriptions of it in his diary. 
 Other peaks which tower aloft in imposing grandeur 
 are Tom, Holyoke, Metawampe, Everett. The val- 
 leys are not less fascinating than the heights. One 
 may rest his eyes upon a broad and level sweep of 
 meadow-land adorned by graceful groups of trees, or, 
 like the poet, he may pick out "a single tree, of many a 
 one" that lonely stands from year to year watching 
 its shadow turn round at its feet. He may look in 
 another direction and lose himself in the depths of an 
 impenetrable forest; and how shall he count the lakes 
 and ponds that sleep and dream within these hilly 
 cradles, or the rivulets which meander through the 
 glens, or, most bewitching of all, the obstreperous 
 brooks that tmnble down their pebbly paths with in- 
 toxicating wildness and freedom! 
 
 We are told by Bryant's biographer that he and his 
 brother as boys explored every comer of this region, 
 and the poet himself tells us how great was his fond- 
 ness for nature, and of his delight in "the splendors 
 of a winter daybreak over the wide wastes of snow 
 seen from our windows, the glories of the autumnal 
 woods, the gloomy approaches of the thunder-storm 
 and its departure amid sunshine and rainbows, the 
 return of spring with its flowers and the first snow- 
 fall of winter." 
 
 In spite of this fondness, even reverence for nature, 
 which comes out in almost every line of his poetry, he 
 has written only two poems which describe with any 
 attention to details the scenery peculiar to the region, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 23 
 
 "Green River" and "Monument Mountain," in the 
 Berkshire Hills. 
 
 The thickets of Green River were among his favor- 
 ite haunts, and of this river he has given one charming 
 picture, which was written during his residence at 
 Great Barrington. 
 
 "Pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
 With colored pebbles and sparkles of light, 
 And clear the depths where its eddies play. 
 And dimples deepen and whirl away. 
 And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 
 The swifter current that mines its root 
 Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill, 
 The quivering glimmer of sun and rill 
 With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 
 Like the ray that streams from the diamond-stone. 
 Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, 
 With blossoms, and birds, and wild-bee's hum; 
 And flowersrof summer are fairest there. 
 And freshest the breath of the summer air; 
 And sweetest the golden autumn day 
 In silence and sunshine glides away." 
 
 "Monument Mountain" opens with one of the poet's 
 usual generalizing descriptions, but his vision becomes 
 centered upon the mountain. 
 
 "That seems a fragment of some mighty wall, 
 Built by the hand that fashioned the old world. 
 To separate its nations, and throw down 
 When the flood drowned them. To the north a path 
 Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 
 Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 
 With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint. 
 
24 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 And many a hanging crag. But, to the east, 
 
 Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs — 
 
 Huge pillars that in the middle heaven upbear 
 
 Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark 
 
 With moss, the growth of centuries, and there 
 
 Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt 
 
 Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing 
 
 To stand upon the beetling verge and see 
 
 Where storm and lightning from that huge grey wall 
 
 Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 
 
 Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear 
 
 Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 
 
 Of winds, that struggle with the woods below. 
 
 Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene 
 
 Is lovely round; a beautiful river there 
 
 Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads. 
 
 The paradise he made unto himself. 
 
 Mining the soil for ages. On each side 
 
 The fields swell upward to the hills; beyond, 
 
 Above the hills, in the blue distance rise 
 
 The mountain-columns with which earth props heaven." 
 
 This is a graphic description of the scene, but is not 
 a picture in the same sense as a description by Whit- 
 tier is. Whittier saw with the eyes of a genuine 
 painter. Bryant's were the eyes of a literary man al- 
 ways subject to interferences from his ears and his 
 thinking powers. 
 
 The river-love of his childhood was the "Rivulet," 
 which in prose he describes as the "North fork of the 
 Westfield River — a shallow stream brawling over a 
 bed of loose stones in a very narrow valley." 
 
 In his poetry, the rivulet is described in such gen- 
 eral terms that it could easily be mistaken for any- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 25 
 
 body's brook in almost any part of the world. Upon 
 revisiting his childhood's haunts, the descriptions of 
 the scene are hardly more definite. Except that he 
 speaks of his "native hills," they might be the native 
 hills of one born in New York or Pennsylvania. It 
 may be objected that the landscapes of the Middle 
 States and New England actually do bear striking 
 resemblances to each other. But no one of attentive 
 eye can pass from Pennsylvania and New York to 
 Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine without 
 perceiving how distinctive is the charm of each of these 
 localities. Bryant did not have in a marked degree 
 the faculty of picking out just those features in a 
 landscape which give individuality. 
 
 "I stand upon my native hills again,* 
 
 Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky 
 iWith garniture of waving grass and grain. 
 
 Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie. 
 While deep the sunless glens are scooped between. 
 Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen. 
 
 **A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near 
 And ever-restless feet of one who, now, 
 Fathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year; 
 
 There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow 
 As breaks the varied scene upon her sight, 
 Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light. 
 
 *Tor I have taught her, with delighted eye, 
 To gaze upon the mountains, — ^to behold, 
 
 *By permission of D. Appleton £ Co. 
 
26 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 With deep aflFection, the pure, ample sky 
 
 And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, 
 To love the song of waters, and to hear 
 The melody of winds with charmed ear. 
 
 "There, have I 'scaped the city's stifling heat. 
 And, where the season's milder fervors beat, 
 
 And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear 
 The song of bird and sound of running stream, 
 Am come awhile to wander and to dream. 
 
 "Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun! thou canst not wake. 
 In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen. 
 The maize-leaf and the maple-bough but take. 
 
 From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green. 
 The mountain wind, that faints not in thy way. 
 Sweeps the blue streams of pestilence away. 
 
 "The mountain wind! Most spiritual thing of all 
 The wide earth knows ; when, in the sultry time, 
 He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall. 
 
 He seems the breath of a celestial clime ! 
 As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow 
 Health and refreshment on the world below." 
 
 Besides illustrating how much less individual a de- 
 scription of New England nature this is than anything 
 in Whittier, it also indicates the directions in which 
 Bryant was far more sensitive than Whittier. To 
 Bryant nature was more constantly sentient than it 
 was to Whittier. He frequently attributes feelings 
 and thoughts to the various objects in nature, as in the 
 following dainty little poem: 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 27 
 
 **Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 When our Mother Nature laughs around; 
 When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
 
 And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 
 
 "There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 
 And the gossip of the swallows through all the sky; 
 The groimd-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
 And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 
 
 "The clouds are at play in the azure space 
 
 And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale. 
 And here they stretch to the frolic chase. 
 And there they roll on the easy gale." 
 
 This feeling of the sentiency of nature gives to Bry- 
 ant an especial consciousness of the atmosphere and 
 its effects. Among these western hills the winds often 
 hold high carnival, and to their movements, from the 
 gentle breeze to the hurricane, he was ever attentive. 
 Perhaps allied to this is a keen sense of the aspects 
 of the different seasons shown in his many poems on 
 autumn, spring and the various months. Certainly, 
 it led to constant observation of the clouds, and thus 
 from the sky of day to the night sky with its infinite 
 stars. Naturally, the sense of an indwelling life in 
 nature is akin to the pantheistic conception of the 
 divine in nature expressed in such a passage as this 
 from "A Forest Hymn": 
 
 "That delicate flower, 
 With scented breath and look so like a smile. 
 Seems as it issues from the shapeless mould 
 An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
 A visible token of the upholding Love, 
 That are the soul of this great universe." 
 
28 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 In reading Bryant one gains a constantly increas- 
 ing perception of his attitude of reverence toward na- 
 ture, reaching often its loftiest expression in his songs 
 of the heavens rather than in his songs of earth. With 
 earth he frequently connects the idea of the ephem- 
 eralness of life, so much so, indeed, that one critic of 
 Bryant — Barrett Wendell — declares that the title for 
 his whole volume might be "Glimpses of the Grave." 
 A more careful examination of Bryant, however, will 
 show that his glimpses as he goes on in life are more 
 frequently of heaven than of the grave. Could there 
 be a more joyous song than "The Song of the Stars"! 
 
 "When the radiant morn of creation broke,* 
 And the world in the smile of God awoke. 
 And the empty realms of darkness and death 
 Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath, 
 And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame 
 From the void abyss by myriads came — 
 In the joy of youth as they darted away. 
 Through the widening wastes of space to play. 
 Their silver voices in chorus rang, 
 And this was the song the bright ones sang: 
 
 " 'Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, 
 The fair blue fields that before us lie — 
 Each sun with the worlds that round him roll. 
 Each planet, poised on her turning pole; 
 With her isles of green, and her clouds of white. 
 And her waters that lie like fluid light. 
 
 " 'For the source of glory uncovers his face, 
 And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space. 
 
 *By permission of D. Appleton & Co. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 29 
 
 And we drink as we go to the luminous tides 
 In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
 Lo, yonder the living splendors play ; 
 Away, on our joyous path, away! 
 
 " 'Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 
 In the infinite azure, star after star. 
 How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass ! 
 How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! 
 And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 
 Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. 
 
 " 'And see, where the brighter day-beams pour. 
 How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower; 
 And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues. 
 Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ; 
 And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
 With her shadowy cone the night goes round! 
 
 " 'Away, away ! in our blossoming bowers. 
 
 In the soft airs wrapping these spheres of ours, 
 In the seas and fountains that shine with morn 
 See, Love is brooding, and Life is bom. 
 And breathing myriads are breaking from night. 
 To rejoice, like us, in motion and Hght.' 
 
 "Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 
 To weave the dance that measures the years ; 
 Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent 
 To the furthest wall of the firmament — 
 The boundless visible smile of Him 
 To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim." 
 
 Bryant's vagueness is equally noticeable in regard 
 to flowers. His biographer tells us he was a passion- 
 
30 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ate botanist, and he says himself in one of his poems, 
 "The Mystery of the Flowers": 
 
 "Not idly do I stray 
 At prime where far the mountain ridges run. 
 
 And note along my way, 
 Each flower that opens in the early sun ; 
 Or gather blossoms by the valley's spring, 
 When the sun sets and dancing insects sing. 
 
 "Each has her moral rede. 
 Each of the gentle family of flowers. 
 
 And I with patient heed 
 Oft spell their lessons in my graver hours ; 
 The faintest streak that on a petal lies 
 May speak instruction to initiate eyes." 
 
 Among all the flowers he loves he has dedicated but 
 two poems to individual flowers, "The Yellow Violet" 
 and "The Fringed Gentian." 
 
 In "The Death of the Flowers" there is a short list 
 of flowers, only one of which has even an adjective to 
 its name, "the yellow sunflower." They are all 
 grouped together in his mind, and of them in mass 
 he writes most tenderly and beautifully: 
 
 "The flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and 
 stood 
 In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood." 
 
 It is nature in the_abstract rather than nature in 
 the particular which appeals to Bryant. Between his 
 and Whittier's perception of it there is a difference 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 31 
 
 much like that which exists between the philosopher's 
 love of humanity and the dramatist's love of it. 
 
 The attraction the sky had, with its clouds by day 
 and its stars by night, for Bryant would naturally lead 
 him to the observation of birds. His celebrated "Lines 
 to a Waterfowl" will occur to every reader as an il- 
 lustration of this. The story of how it came to be 
 written is familiar, but it will bear repeating because 
 it is so apt an illustration of the early sky-gazing 
 habits of the young poet. On December fifteenth, 
 1817, he had walked from Cummington to Plainfield, 
 a town seven miles off, on the opposite hillside. "As 
 he walked up the hills," says Godwin, in his Life, 
 "very forlorn and desolate indeed, not knowing what 
 was to become of him in the big world, which grew 
 bigger as he ascended, and yet darker with the com- 
 ing on of night. The sun had already set, leaving 
 behind it one of those brilliant seas of chrysolite and 
 opal which often flood the New England skies. While 
 he was looking upon the rosy splendor with rapt ad- 
 miration, a solitary bird made wing along the illumi- 
 nated horizon. He watched the lone wanderer until 
 it was lost in the distance, asking himself whither it 
 had come and to what far home it was flying. When 
 he went to the house where he was to stop for the 
 night, his mind was still full of what he had seen and 
 felt, and he wrote those lines, as imperishable as our 
 language, 'To a Waterfowl.' " 
 
 These same lines written to-day would cause little 
 comment, but they came at a time when the editor of 
 a monthly sincerely expressed the doubt as to whether 
 such a poem as "Thanatopsis" could be written on this 
 side of the Atlantic. From their early fame as the 
 
32 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 first original blossoms of American poetic genius these 
 first important poems of Bryant can no more escape 
 than could "In Memoriam" escape its fame as the 
 great dirge of the Victorian era. Give a poem a good 
 name and it will stick to it, is just as true as the re- 
 verse is true of a dog, — and there is eternal justice 
 in this, for surely in whatever arouses critical enthusi- 
 asm lurks an element of permanency. After this 
 early beginning, the peaceful fowler hunting birds in 
 Bryant will be disappointed not to find more of them. 
 "The Return of the Birds" and "The Song Sparrow" 
 were both written at the time of the civU war, and re- 
 flect the tenor of that struggle. The birds rettu-n 
 North early, because they have been driven by fear 
 from the field of war. The poem shows great tender- 
 ness toward these feathered wanderers, but mentions 
 only two of them by name : 
 
 "I hear, from many a little throat, 
 A warble interrupted long ; 
 I hear the robin's flute-like note. 
 The bluebird's slenderer song 
 
 "Brown meadows and the russet hill. 
 
 Not yet the haunt of grazing herds, 
 And thickets by the glimmering rill, 
 Are all alive with birds." 
 
 And "birds" they continue to be through all the 
 remaining stanzas, for whose benefit he hopes — 
 
 "Our generals and their strong-armed men 
 May lay their weapons by. 
 
 "Then may ye warble, unafraid." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 33 
 
 More birds are named in "The Song Sparrow." 
 This famihar little bird's cheery ways are described 
 with an amount of detail rarely bestowed by Bryant 
 upon any single object. The poem appeared in Wil- 
 liams' Magazine of 1861, and has not been reprinted 
 until lately (1908) in the "Roslyn" edition of his 
 poems. It is a graceful poem, well worthy of recol- 
 lection among Bryant's best pieces. 
 
 "Bird of the door-side, warbling clear,* 
 In the sprouting or fading year ! 
 Well art thou named from thy own sweet lay, 
 Piped from paling or naked spray, 
 As the smile of the sun breaks through 
 Chill gray clouds that curtain the blue. 
 
 *'Even when February bleak 
 Smites with his sleet the traveller's cheek. 
 While the air has no touch of spring. 
 Bird of promise ! we hear thee sing. 
 Long ere the first blossom wakes. 
 Long ere the earliest leaf-bud breaks. 
 
 "April passes and May steals by ; 
 June leads in the sultry July ; 
 Sweet are the wood-notes, loud and sweet, 
 Poured from the robin's and hang-bird's seat; 
 Thou, as the green months glide away, 
 Singest with them as gayly as they. 
 
 "August comes, and the melon and maize 
 Bask and swell in a fiery blaze ; 
 Swallows gather, and, southward-bound. 
 Wheel, like a whirl-blast, round and round ; 
 
 *By permission of D. Appleton & Co. 
 
34 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Thrush and robin their songs forget ; 
 Thou art cheerfully warbling yet. 
 
 "Later still, when the sumach spray 
 Reddens to crimson, day by day ; 
 When in the orchard, one by one, 
 Apples drop in the ripening sun. 
 They who pile them beneath the trees 
 Hear thy lay in the autunm breeze. 
 
 "Comes November, sullen and grim, 
 Spangling with frost the rivulet's brim, 
 Harsh, hoarse winds from the woodlands tear 
 Each brown leaf that is clinging there. 
 Still thou singest, amid the blast, 
 'Soon is the dreariest season past.' 
 
 "Only when Christmas snow-storms make 
 Smooth white levels of river and lake. 
 Sifting the light flakes all day long. 
 Only then do we miss thy song; 
 Sure to hear it again when soon 
 Climbs the sun to a higher noon. 
 
 "Now, when tidings that make men pale — 
 Tidings of slaughter — load the gale ; 
 While, from the distant camp, there come 
 Boom of cannon and roll of drum. 
 Still thou singest, beside my door, 
 'Soon is the stormiest season o'er.' 
 
 "Ever thus sing cheerfully on. 
 Bird of Hope ! as in ages gone ; 
 Sing of spring-time and summer-shades. 
 Autumn's pomp when the siunmer fades, 
 Storms that fly from the conquering sun. 
 Peace by enduring valor won." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 35 
 
 Unquestionably, Bryant's observation of nature 
 gained in definiteness in his later poems, but these do 
 not have to do with New England scenery. The finest 
 of these later poems of scenery is "The Prairies." The 
 contrast between them and his "native hills" was so 
 great that their every characteristic seems to have been 
 emblazoned upon his mind. The result is a gorgeous 
 picture at the opening of the poem, reproducing the 
 aspects of nature peculiar to the region as distinctly 
 and minutely as Whittier's pictures put before us the 
 landscapes peculiar to New England. 
 
 Though it gives a bit out of the West, I quote these 
 opening lines in order to emphasize the point which 
 has been made : 
 
 "These are the gardens of the Desert, these 
 The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, 
 For which the speech of England has no name — 
 The Prairies. I behold them for the first, 
 And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
 Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch, 
 In airy undulations, far away. 
 As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 
 Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed. 
 And motionless forever. — Motionless.? — 
 No — they are all unchained again. The clouds 
 Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, 
 The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; 
 Dark hollows seem to gUde along and chase 
 The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South! 
 Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers. 
 And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high, 
 Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ^ye have played 
 Among the palms of Mexico and vines 
 Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks 
 
36 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 That from the fountains of Sonora glide 
 
 Into the calm Pacific — have ye fanned 
 
 A nobler or a lovelier scene than this? 
 
 Man hath no power in all this glorious work: 
 
 The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 
 
 And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes 
 
 With herbage, planted them with island groves, 
 
 And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor 
 
 For this magnificent temple of the sky — 
 
 With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 
 
 Rival the constellations ! The great heavens 
 
 Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love, — 
 
 A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, 
 
 Than that which bends above our eastern hills." 
 
 Less picturesque than the scenes which inspired the 
 nature poetry of Whittier and Bryant, the Charles 
 River, on its broad and flowing way to the ocean, be- 
 tween Cambridge and Boston, was in their earlier 
 verse like a tenth muse to two of the poets, living upon 
 its shores, Longfellow and Lowell. And even Holmes, 
 only semi-occasionally a nature poet, has put into 
 verse a scene very characteristic of the Charles as 
 viewed from the back windows of his Beacon Street 
 house. It is a description of the flocks of birds, ducks 
 or gulls which one may often see in long white rows 
 sitting upon the ice in winter or paddling in the water 
 in summer. The writer is at this moment looking out 
 upon the same scene from a spot almost directly op- 
 posite the Holmes residence on Beacon Street. The 
 setting sun's light is tinting the ice of the almost 
 solidly frozen river with rose-colored and opalescent 
 hues, and far down the stream sit the same rows of 
 white gulls holding their immemorial conclaves. Dr. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 37 
 
 Holmes had watched them so often that he had come 
 to feel a sort of possession in them, and calls the poem 
 in which he describes them, "My Aviary." 
 
 "Through my north window, in the wintry weather,^ 
 
 My airy oriel on the river shore, — 
 I watch the sea-fowl as they flock together 
 
 Where late the boatman flashed his dripping oar. 
 
 "The gull, high floating, like a sloop unladen, 
 
 Lets the loose water waft him as it wiU ; 
 The duck, round-breasted as a rustic maiden. 
 
 Paddles and plunges, busy, busy still. 
 
 "I see the solemn gulls in council sitting. 
 
 On some broad ice-floe, pondering long and late, 
 
 While overhead the home-bound ducks are flitting, 
 And leave the tardy conclave in debate. 
 
 "Those weighty questions in their breasts revolving 
 Whose deeper meaning science never learns. 
 
 Till, at some reverend elder's look dissolving, 
 The speechless senate silently adjourns. 
 
 "But when along the waves the shrill northeaster 
 
 Shrieks through the laboring coaster's shrouds 'Beware!' 
 
 The pale bird, kindling like a Christmas feaster 
 When some wild chorus shakes the vinous air, 
 
 "Flaps from the leaden wave in fierce rejoicing, 
 
 Feels heaven's dumb lightning thrill his torpid nerves. 
 
 Now on the blast his whistling plumage poising, 
 Now wheeling, whirling in fantastic curves." 
 
 Holmes, whose poetic moods were ever in dan- 
 ger of turning somersaults into the humorous, and 
 
38 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 from the humorous into the didactic, follows this really 
 fine description with stanzas to prove the worthless- 
 ness of the birds from the sportsman's point of view, 
 and these by a sympathetic outbreak for a supposable 
 gull or duck brought down by a marksman's gun. 
 
 Another poem suggestive of this poet's environ- 
 ment on Beacon Street is the wholly pleasing one, 
 "Spring Has Come," which has the inscription, "In- 
 tra Muros." A walk down Beacon Street and through 
 the Public Garden on a bright spring morning ought 
 to have been, if it was not, its inspiration. Some 
 morning when springs between much coquetting of 
 warm smiles and chilly tears, has at last taken the 
 whole city into her confidence. Every dooryard on 
 Beacon Street is in bloom. Snowdrops, and crocuses 
 and hyacinths! We look up and even the houses are 
 putting forth flowers. Parlor windows, and many lit- 
 tle glass nooks above the doorways, have become flower 
 beds, from which cowslips and jonquUs and narcissus 
 and hosts of other blossoms fling their beauty into the 
 hearts of the passers-by. But the Garden! flaming 
 with reds and yellows and pinks ; tulip-bed after tulip- 
 bed ablaze in the sunshine. The very people seem to 
 have turned into tulips, and go walking about in pink 
 and yellow atmospheres. All sorts of people are there, 
 beaming like angels in an earthly paradise. Talk 
 about mere beauty having no moral influence! One 
 needs only to see the happy faces of the spring crowd 
 in the Garden to be convinced there is not a soul who 
 gazes upon the glory of the tulips in the sunshine but 
 is the better for it. Some of the faces may not be 
 very beautiful, but all have taken on an illuminating 
 tenderness of expression. Everybody tries to fur- 
 
Tumps in the Public Gakdeu, Boston 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 39 
 
 bish up his appearance when spring comes. Here is 
 a woman who struts about as if she were a tree clothed 
 in fresh green leaves, simply because she is able to go 
 without the shabby coat she has been obliged to wear 
 for the last six months. To be sure, it is a negative 
 sort of attempt to appear fresh and vie with the tulips ; 
 but there is a pathos about such attempts to deck her- 
 self in harmony with spring which gives birth to a 
 beauty deeper perhaps than one merely pleasing to 
 the eye. There, for example, is a little tot in a charm- 
 ing spring rig made out of all the pieces which her 
 fond mother had in her possession. The skirt is very 
 light brown of one kind of material, the sleeves are 
 very dark brown of another kind of material, and the 
 yoke is of an indeterminate brown of still another ma- 
 terial. Regarded from the point of view of fashion, 
 it is no doubt a horrible botch of a little coat; but as 
 the child gambols about happily in the sunshine, she 
 looks like a dear little soft brown butterfly, with flut- 
 tering dark wings, and she has, no doubt, more the 
 spirit of spring than yonder dainty little aristocrat 
 in stiff white pique and pink ribbons, and a hat so 
 weighed down with feathers that her delicate little 
 head wobbles on its slender stalk. 
 
 Out on the sidewalks there are no tulips nor cro- 
 cuses, but there is a constant procession of human 
 flower-beds. With a self-sacrifice greatly to be com- 
 mended women grow more content each spring com- 
 pletely to lose their identity in their hats. If one were 
 to view one hat in relation to one woman, pessimistic 
 thoughts as to the sanity of the average female mind 
 might arise. But when one walks along the street, 
 beholding long vistas of hats with nodding scarlet 
 
40 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 poppies, and pink roses and aspiring morning-glories, 
 that look as if they were trying to scale the heights of 
 heaven, one is obliged to admit that the total effect is 
 as gay and jolly as possible, and to thank miselfish 
 woman for so nobly converting herself into mere soil 
 for artificial flowers to grow upon. 
 
 The poem in question is from the "Autocrat of the 
 Breakfast Table." 
 
 "The sunbeams, lost for half a year, 
 
 Slant through my pane their morning rays ; 
 For dry northwesters cold and clear, 
 The east blows in its thin blue haze. 
 
 "And first the snowdrop's bells are seen. 
 Then close against the sheltering wall 
 The tulip's horn of dusky green, 
 The peony's dark unfolding ball. 
 
 "The golden-chaUced crocus bums ; 
 The long narcissus-blades appear ; 
 The cone-beaked hyacinth returns 
 To light her blue-flamed chandeHer. 
 
 "The willow's whistHng lashes, wrung 
 By the wild winds of gusty March, 
 With sallow leaflets lightly strung. 
 Are swaying by the tufted larch. 
 
 ■"The elms have robed their slender spray 
 With full-blown flower and embryo leaf; 
 Wide o'er the clasping arch of day 
 Soars like a cloud their hoary chief. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 41 
 
 "See the proud tulip's flaunting cup, 
 That flames in glory for an hour, — 
 Behold it withering, — then look up,— 
 How meek the forest monarch's flower! 
 
 "When wake the violets, — ^winter dies ; 
 
 When sprout the elm-buds. Spring is near; 
 When lilacs blossom, summer cries, 
 'Bud, httle roses ! Spring is here !' 
 
 "The windows blush with fresh bouquets, 
 Cut with their Maydew on the Ups ; 
 The radish all its bloom displays, 
 Pink as Aurora's finger-tips. 
 
 "Nor less the flood of light that showers 
 In beauty's changed corolla-shades — 
 The walks are gay as bridal bowers 
 With rows of many-petalled maids." 
 
 The homes of Longfellow and Lowell were both in 
 Cambridge, standing somewhat back from the Charles, 
 but not so far back that the river was not a constant 
 presence in their consciousness. Some of Longfel- 
 low's most dainty fancies are woven about this river, 
 which he delighted to view from the bridge as he 
 walked to Boston, or to watch in all its moods from 
 his study-window, as it glimmered between the lofty 
 elms, a conspicuous feature at that time about his 
 home, as about that of Lowell's, "Elmwood." His 
 earliest poems, written long before the Craigie House 
 came into his possession, when, as a young professor 
 at Harvard, he lodged there with the unique Mrs. 
 Craigie, are redolent of the pervasive charm exerted 
 by the Charles and its quiet scenery.* — 
 
 *See the author's "Longfellow's Country." 
 
42 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "So blue yon winding river flows, 
 It seems an outlet from the sky." 
 
 In his poem "To the River Charles," is a concen- 
 trated expression of his feelings in relation to the 
 river. They grew out not only of its direct influence 
 upon him, but out of its association in his mind with 
 three cherished friends, Charles Sumner, Charles Fol- 
 som and Charles Amory. The art of the poem is not 
 great, but it has its value as a revelation of the for- 
 mative influence of this river upon Longfellow's 
 genius. 
 
 "River! that in silence windest 
 
 Through the meadows bright and free 
 Till at length thy rest thou findest 
 In the bosom of the sea ! 
 
 "Four long years of mingled feeling. 
 Half in rest and half in strife, 
 I have seen thy waters stealing 
 Onward, like the stream of life. 
 
 "Thou has taught me. Silent River ! 
 Many a lesson deep and long; 
 Thou hast been a generous giver ; 
 I can give thee but a song. 
 
 "Oft in sadness and in illness, 
 
 I have watched thy current glide. 
 Till the beauty of its stillness 
 Overflowed me like a tide. 
 
 "And in better hours and brighter. 
 When I saw thy waters gleam, 
 I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
 And leap onward with thy stream. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 43 
 
 "Not for this alone I love thee, 
 Nor because thy waves of blue 
 From celestial seas above thee 
 Take their own celestial hue. 
 
 "Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 
 And thy waters disappear, 
 Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 
 And have made thy margin dear. 
 
 "More than this — ^thy name reminds me 
 Of three friends all true and tried ; 
 And that name, like magic, binds me 
 Closer, closer to thy side. 
 
 "Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 
 How like quivering flames they start. 
 When I fan the living embers 
 On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 
 
 " 'Tis for this, thou Silent River ! 
 That my spirit leans to thee; 
 Thou hast been a generous giver, 
 Take this idle song from me." 
 
 Lowell was born at Elmwood and through the 
 greater part of his life it was his home. Though the 
 poems are not many, in which the inspiration of the 
 locality is prominent, they present much more com- 
 pletely the varying moods of the place than Long- 
 fellow's. This is, no doubt, partly because Lowell had 
 grown up with the scene, and partly because his love 
 of nature was always tinctured with thought and 
 knowledge. Longfellow's emotions when a beautiful 
 scene was in question were simple, almost naive at 
 
44 THE POETS' new; ENGLAND 
 
 times, and his thought usually takes the form of an 
 appended analogy, reminding one of the morals to 
 "^sop's Fables," which, like naughty little girls and 
 boys, we feel an inclination to skip. 
 
 Lowell's appreciation of nature, on the other hand, 
 was intensified by the richness of his mind, his emo- 
 tions made more subtle, and from the mood thus 
 created his thought bubbled forth with "many a wind- 
 ing bout," not in analogues but in efflorescent musings, 
 often, it must be confessed, less convincing as art than 
 the mood with which he starts — somewhat as if from 
 a beautiful flower there should spring the rather more 
 prosaic leaves and stems. Take "Under the Willows" 
 as an illustration. It opens with a glorious outburst 
 upon June, Lowell's favorite month, for "What is 
 so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect 
 days."— 
 
 "Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood, 
 
 Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree, 
 
 June is the pearl of our New England year, 
 
 Still a surprisal, though expected long. 
 
 Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait. 
 
 Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back, 
 
 Then, from some southern ambush in the sky. 
 
 With one great rush of blossoms storms the world. 
 
 A week ago the sparrow was divine ; 
 
 The bluebird, shifting his light load of song 
 
 From post to post along the cheerless fence. 
 
 Was as a rhymer ere the poet came ; 
 
 But now, oh rapture! sunshine winged and voiced, 
 
 Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the west. 
 
 Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, 
 
 Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 45 
 
 The bobolink has come, and, like the soul 
 
 Of the sweet season vocal in a bird. 
 
 Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what 
 
 Save June! Dear June! Now God be praised for June." 
 
 The opening of the next stanza is upon a decidedly 
 lower plane of inspiration : 
 
 "May is a pious fraud of the almanac." 
 
 However, once let ourselves become accustomed to 
 the "less brilliant key, and we find he has many in- 
 teresting things to say as he, by turns, muses or ob- 
 serves, while every now and then there is a flash of 
 imagination, a high light throwing the more thought- 
 ful portions of the poem into proper relief. In the 
 end we suddenly awake to the fact that we have 
 gained possession of a very definite picture of "Elm- 
 wood," interwoven with which are many glimpses of 
 the poet's own personality. All is finally rounded out 
 through the emotional fire of the last stanza which 
 flames up to join that of the first. As we felt in that 
 the surpassing beauty of June, in this we see the idyl- 
 lic beauty of the Charles. 
 
 "So mused I once within my willow-tent 
 
 One brave June morning, when the bluff northwest, 
 
 Thrusting aside a dark and snuffling day 
 
 That made us bitter at our neighbors' sins. 
 
 Brimmed the great cup of heaven with sparkling cheer 
 
 And roared a lusty stave ; the shding Charles, 
 
 Blue toward the west, and bluer and more blue. 
 
 Living and lustrous as a woman's eyes 
 
 Look once and look no more, with southward curve 
 
 Ran crinkling sunniness, like Helen's hair 
 
46 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Glimpsed in Elysium, insubstantial gold; 
 From blossom-clouded orchards, far away 
 The bobolink tinkled ; the deep meadows flowed! 
 With multitudinous pulse of light and shade 
 Against the bases of the southern hills, 
 While here and there a drowsy island rick 
 Slept and its shadow slept ; the wooden bridge 
 Thundered, and then was silent ; on the roofs 
 The sun-warped shingles rippled with the heat; 
 Summer on field and hill, in heart and brain, 
 All life washed clean in this high tide of June." 
 
 "An Indian Summer Reverie" is, as its name im- 
 plies, another poem of musings, set in the same en- 
 vironment. It holds more closely, however, to nature- 
 descriptions. "Elmwood" and its surroundings are 
 minutely brought before us as they appear to the poet 
 in the autumn. The aspect of every tree is pictured 
 with sympathetic fidelity. The scene as it appears in 
 autumn calls up memories of its winter appearance. 
 Then the poet leaves his favorite purlieus and strays 
 through the village of Cambridge, noting, 
 
 "Beyond the hillock's house-bespotted swell. 
 
 Where Gothic chapels house the horse and chaise. 
 Where quiet cits in Grecian temples dwell." 
 
 Any one familiar with Cambridge will appreciate 
 the allusion to Grecian temples. Many of these wood- 
 en Parthenons with their massive Doric piUars are 
 still to be seen, though the towering apartment house 
 is making rapid inroads. Passing along, he comes 
 upon the blacksmith's shop with its chestnut tree made 
 famous by Longfellow, and calls to mind, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 47 
 
 "How many times, prouder than king on throne, 
 Loosed from the village school-dame's A's and B's, 
 
 Panting have I the creaky bellows blown, 
 And watched the pent volcano's red increase, 
 
 Then paused to see the ponderous sledge brought down 
 
 By that hard arm voluminous and brown, 
 
 From the white iron swarm its golden vanishing bees." 
 
 The most characteristic bits in the poem, however, 
 are the glimpses of the Charles and its meadows. In 
 the midst of all the varied and brilliant tints of au- 
 tumn he sees 
 
 "Below, the Charles, a stripe of nether sky. 
 
 Now hid by rounded apple trees between. 
 Whose gaps the misplaced sail sweeps bellying by. 
 
 Now flickering golden through a woodland screen. 
 Then spreading out at his next turn, beyond, 
 A silver circle like an inland pond — 
 
 Slips seaward silently through marshes purple and green. 
 
 "Dear marshes ! vain to him the gift of sight 
 Who cannot in their various incomes share. 
 
 From every season drawn, of shade and light. 
 Who sees in them but levels brown and bare; 
 
 Each change of storm or sunshine scatters free 
 
 On them its largess of variety, 
 
 For Nature with cheap means still works her wonders rare. 
 
 "In spring they lie one broad expanse of green. 
 
 O'er which the light winds run with glimmering feet, 
 
 Here, yellower stripes track out the creek unseen, 
 There, darker growths o'er hidden ditches meet ; 
 
 And purpler stains show where the blossoms crowd. 
 
 As if the silent shadow of a cloud 
 
 Hung there becalmed, with the next breath to fleet. 
 
48 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "All round, upon the river's slippery edge, 
 
 Witching to deeper calm the drowsy tide, 
 Whispers and leans the breeze-entangled sedge; 
 
 Through emerald glooms the lingering waters slide, 
 Or, sometimes wavering, throw back the sun, 
 And the stiff banks in eddies melt and run 
 
 Of dimpling light, and with the current seem to glide." 
 
 In other poems Lowell watches a storm break over 
 the Charles valley, or he feels the enchantment of 
 moonlight upon its waters. So much, indeed, has the 
 Charles impressed itself upon his consciousness that 
 one wonders whether his meditative habit of mind was 
 not largely induced by his familiarity with the quiet 
 flow of its waters and the low-lying, broadly sweep- 
 ing vistas of its shores. 
 
 A walk from the Longfellow house to the Lowell 
 house to-day is full of interest. 
 
 There is so much to remind one of Cambridge as it 
 was in the days of these two poets, and yet how all is 
 changed. Here and there an old Colonial house indi- 
 cates how little it was then built up and how beautiful 
 must have been the vistas up and across the Charles 
 River. Now, Brattle Street is lined with large and 
 comfortable homes, and Mount Auburn Street is 
 thickly built up. On the former there are modern 
 houses which suggest the more ornate Colonial archi- 
 tecture. Some of these have many gables and over- 
 hanging jetties. The side streets are strewn, for the 
 most part, with small and unpretentious houses, while 
 on Mount Auburn Street are several large institu- 
 tions, which, with the business buildings on the river 
 bank, almost completely block the view of the river. 
 If it were not for the reservation called Longfellow 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 49 
 
 Park, the river could not now be seen from Longfel- 
 low's house at all. Elmwood retains more of its an- 
 cient atmosphere, because it is opposite the entrance to 
 Mount Auburn Cemetery. Little of the Charles, how- 
 ever, can be seen, but there is a glimpse of the Har- 
 vard Stadium on the other side of the river, which, 
 with its colosseum-like appearance, is the only feature 
 of the landscape adding an attraction not possessed by 
 it as Lowell saw it. In spite of all the changes, there 
 still broods over the locality of Elmwood, with its tall 
 and ancient elms, a meditative peacefulness remindful 
 of the poems inspired by it. 
 
 In neither Longfellow nor Lowell does the moun- 
 tain scenery of New England receive much attention. 
 Longfellow has a poem, "Sunrise on the Hills," 
 which shows in him a capability for loving the moun- 
 tains, but the description in it is not marked by any 
 individuality. When he traveled inland in New 
 Hampshire or Maine, it seems not to have been the 
 mountains that attracted his attention, but the rivers. 
 Of two of these he gives graphic accounts, — Mad 
 River, an obstreperous stream in the White Moun- 
 tains, and Songo River, the winding stream which 
 connects Long Lake with Sebago Lake. Strange 
 enough this river is, through its whole course, and 
 stranger still the appearance of its outlet into Sebago 
 Lake. The beach looks like a blasted heath. It is 
 covered with the black stumps of dead trees, kiUed 
 by the constant drifting in of the sand. The sand bars 
 at this point make navigation, even for the small lake 
 steamers, treacherous. To expedite matters the chan- 
 nel is marked by two rows of young birch trees with 
 forlorn leaves clinging to their branches. They have 
 
50 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 evidently been cut off at the roots and stuck into the 
 sand, forming a spectral avenue through which the 
 noisy little steamer puffs to its landing place at the 
 mouth of the Songo. 
 
 "Nowhere such a devious stream. 
 Save in fancy or in dream, 
 Winding slow through bush and brake. 
 Links together lake and lake. 
 
 "Walled with woods or sandy shelf. 
 Ever doubling on itself. 
 Flows the stream so still and slow 
 That it hardly seems to flow." 
 
 After more apt description the poem ends with its 
 usual moral, 
 
 "Be not like a stream that brawls 
 Loud with shallow waterfalls, 
 But in quiet self-control 
 Link together soul and soul." 
 
 When Lowell went to the mountains, it was a tree 
 that attracted his muse, and the result is his splendid 
 poem, "To a Pine Tree" on Mount Katahdin. Lowell 
 never wrote anything more instinct with power than 
 the opening lines of this poem. 
 
 "Far up on Katahdin thou towerest. 
 
 Purple-blue with the distance and vast ; 
 Like a cloud o'er the lowlands thou lowerest. 
 That hangs poised on a lull in the blast. 
 To its fall leaning awful. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 51 
 
 "In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddened, 
 Thou singest and tossest thy branches ; 
 Thy heart with the terror is gladdened, 
 Thou forebodest the dread avalanches, 
 When whole mountains sweep valeward. 
 
 "In the calm thou o'erstretchest the valleys 
 With thine arms, as if blessings imploring, 
 Like an old king led forth from his palace. 
 When his people to battle are pouring 
 From the city beneath him. 
 
 "To the lumberer asleep 'neath thy glooming. 
 Thou dost sing of wild biUows in motion. 
 Till he longs to be swung mid their booming 
 In the tents of the Arabs of ocean. 
 Whose finned isles are their cattle. 
 
 "For the gale snatches thee for his lyre. 
 With mad hand crashing melody frantic, 
 While he pours forth his mighty desire 
 To leap down on the eager Atlantic, 
 Whose arms stretch to his playmate." 
 
 Lowell had a special fondness for trees, to which he 
 himself bears witness in a passage in "Under the 
 Willows": 
 
 "I care not how men trace their ancestry, 
 To ape or Adam: let them please their whim; 
 But I in June am midway to believe 
 A tree among my far progenitors. 
 Such sympathy is mine for all the race. 
 Such mutual recognition vaguely sweet 
 There is between us. Surely there are times 
 When they consent to own me of their kin. 
 
52 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 And condescend to me, and call me cousin. 
 Murmuring faint lullabies of eldest time. 
 Forgotten, and yet dumbly felt with thrills 
 Moving the lips, though fruitless of all words. 
 And I have many a lifelong leafy friend. 
 Never estranged nor careful of my soul. 
 That knows I hate the axe, and welcomes me 
 Within his tent as if I were a bird. 
 Or other free companion of the earth." 
 
 A belief in descent from trees was widely current 
 among savage races. The feeling of kinship with trees 
 thus cropping out in a man of the latest of days 
 strikes one as an interesting survival of the actual be- 
 lief in the existence of sentient life in trees, and other 
 unconscious matter, a belief of the savage which ex- 
 perimental science is to-day bringing within the range 
 of proof. This tree-love of Lowell's frequently finds 
 expression in his verse. Side by side with the power 
 of Katahdin's pine tree, we may place the delicate 
 charm of the birch, a juxtaposition often seen in 
 Maine woods. 
 
 "While all the forest, witched with slumberous moonshine. 
 
 Holds up its leaves in happy, happy stiUness, 
 
 Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse suspended, 
 
 I hear afar thy whispering, gleamy islands. 
 
 And track thee wakeful still amid the wide-hung silence. 
 
 "On the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet. 
 Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad, 
 Dripping round thy sHm white stem, whose shadow 
 Slopes quivering down the water's dusky quiet, 
 Thou shrink'st as on her bath's edge would some startled 
 Naiad." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 53 
 
 Holmes had a summer home for some years at 
 Pittsfield in the Berkshire Hills region. He speaks 
 of it with great affection in his letters and mentions 
 it in "Elsie Venner"; also in "The Autocrat of the 
 Breakfast Table," — "That home where seven blessed 
 summers were passed, which stand in memory like the 
 seven golden candlesticks in the beatific vision of the 
 holy dreamer." But he has written no poetry of the 
 place breathing the true spirit of nature. There is 
 nothing to show but two or three bucolic poems for 
 occasions, like "Lines for the Berkshire Jubilee," and 
 "The Ploughman," in which the farming industries 
 of the plain are dwelt upon with no seeming con- 
 sciousness that Graylock or Monument Mountain are 
 anywhere in the neighborhood. In "Lines for the 
 Dedication of Pittsfield Cemetery" he must, however, 
 be credited with an allusion to the twin giants of the 
 north looking forth upon the huge shapes that crouch- 
 ing at their knees, 
 
 "Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy trees." 
 
 It is an interesting fact that childhood environ- 
 ment laid its special mark upon each of the poets we 
 have been considering. Whittier's finest pictures 
 were inspired by the scenery in the midst of which 
 he was born, and are marked by variety because of 
 the fact that within seeing distance of the hills near 
 his home were visible great moimtain ranges, peace- 
 frd inland villages, and a coast hne including rocky 
 headlands, marshland and beach. In his case, as in 
 Lowell's, the impressions were reinforced by the fact 
 that his whole life, not of course counting occasional 
 
34 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 absences, was spent in the same locality. Perhaps 
 Whittier mused so little about nature because there 
 was so much constantly to attract his outer vision. He 
 had no time to think. Lowell, again, in his nature 
 poetry, is usually inspired by the scenes among which 
 he was born and lived. Scenes far from being as 
 varied as those which Whittier's baby eyes opened 
 upon, and calculated, therefore, to inspire meditation 
 by their very sameness and peacefulness, in one alive 
 to their intrinsic qualities. 
 
 Bryant and Longfellow did not remain in their 
 childhood environment, yet the influence of that en- 
 vironment left its mark. The generalizing, abstract, 
 philosophical attitude toward nature which Bryant 
 seemed to imbibe among his native wind-swept hills 
 was, in spite of exceptions already referred to, a 
 permanent characteristic of his verse and tended to 
 send his muse flying with the winds and up, like 
 Scipio in his dream, among "the stars and feathers of 
 the night." 
 
 Longfellow's native environment was the sea. He 
 was born in Portland, within sight of it, and his youth 
 was spent in its neighborhood, and it is in his poems 
 of the sea that he comes nearest to the beating heart 
 of nature. The Charles wound itself into his affec- 
 tion, and delightful was its effect upon his early verse, 
 but the sea had his heart from the first, and to it he 
 ever and again returns. 
 
 Longfellow's glimpses of the sea appear often in 
 poems not primarily nature poems, like the ballads, 
 "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "Sir Humphrey Gil- 
 bert," or "The Fire of Drift Wood." The poem, 
 "Palingenesis," and three sonnets on the sea, "The 
 
o 
 O 
 
 n 
 :? 
 
 <j 
 hi 
 
 Eh 
 O 
 
 Ph 
 
 o 
 
 M 
 
 fi( be 
 
 o 
 
 1-1 
 
 Ph 
 O 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 55 
 
 Sound of the Sea," "A Summer Day by the Sea," 
 and "The Tides," especially the sonnets, contain his 
 most mature thought upon the sea. In the sonnets, 
 again, the merit is not equal. The first one is some- 
 what overweighted with its moral. In the second, 
 it is hard to forgive the line about the streiet lamps, as 
 well as the trite conclusion. The third is, however, 
 quite satisfactory. There are no lines to forgive, and 
 the moral is emotionally expressed, not preached. 
 
 "The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, 
 And round the pebbly beaches far and wide 
 I heard the first wave of the rising tide 
 Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep, 
 A voice out of the silence of the deep, 
 A sound mysteriously multiplied 
 As of a cataract from the mountain's side 
 Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep. 
 So comes to us at times from the unknown 
 And inaccessible solitudes of being. 
 
 The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul ; 
 And inspirations, that we deem our own, 
 
 Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing 
 Of things beyond our reason and control." 
 
 "The sun is set ; and in his latest beams 
 
 Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold. 
 Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, 
 
 The falling mantle of the prophet seems. 
 
 From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams, 
 The street lamps of the ocean, and behold, 
 O'erhead the banners of the night unfold ; 
 
 The day hath past into the land of dreams. 
 
 O summer day beside the joyous sea! 
 O summer day so wonderful and white. 
 
56 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 So full of gladness and so full of pain .' 
 Forever and forever shalt thou be 
 
 To some the gravestone of a dead delight, 
 To some the landmark of a new domain." 
 
 "I saw the long line of the vacant shore, 
 The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, 
 And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, 
 As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. 
 Then heard I more distinctly than before, 
 
 The ocean breathe and its great breast expand, 
 And hurrying came on the defenseless land 
 The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar. 
 All thought and feeling and desire, I said, 
 Love, laughter and the exultant joy of song 
 Have ebbed from me forever ! Suddenly o'er me 
 They swept again from their deep ocean bed, 
 And in a tumult of delight, and strong 
 
 As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me." 
 
 Longfellow's feeling for nature often comes out 
 more genuinely in his letters and diary than it 
 does in his poetry. The exigencies of rhyme and 
 meter seemed in a way to handicap the spontaneity 
 of his emotions. He was not certainly a keen ob- 
 server of nature, nor did he have such enthusiasm for 
 accuracy as to feel the necessity of always seeing the 
 regions he was intending to describe; else he would 
 not so joyously have welcomed the diorama of the 
 Mississippi, down which he proceeded to make his 
 Acadians sail. In fact, he devoutly believed that an 
 imaginative picture of a scene in nature was likely to 
 be better, because more idealized than a picture drawn 
 from the life. 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 57 
 
 All of New England's poets have been aroused at 
 times to enthusiasm for the sea. I have already 
 spoken of Whittier's poem, "Hampton Beach." It 
 records a brief day by the sea. 
 
 With the same reverence that Emerson felt for na- 
 ture's relationing of her beautiful objects, he declares: 
 
 "I bear with me 
 
 No token stone nor glittering shell, 
 But long and oft shall memory tell 
 Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the sea." 
 
 Upon this same beach or its continuation, Salisbury 
 Beach, the tent was pitched in "The Tent on the 
 Beach." At the time this poem was written there were 
 no cottages on the beach, and those who wished to 
 enjoy an outing by the sea carried thither their tents 
 to luxuriate for a season in the delights of living heart 
 to heart with nature. In the course of this series of 
 poems and interludes Whittier gives with his accus- 
 tomed painter's eye numerous lovely pictures of the 
 scenery at this point. 
 
 Hampton Beach is the continuation of Salisbury 
 Beach, beyond the line dividing Massachusetts and 
 New Hampshire, The salt-meadows of Hampton 
 mark its southern boundary, while to the north is the 
 grassy bluff of Boar's Head. The Hampton River 
 winds through the marshes, and near the mouth of 
 this river, Whittier himself says we may imagine his 
 tent pitched. In the opening lines of the poem the 
 scene is thus described: 
 
 "When heats as of a tropic clime 
 
 Burned all our inland valleys through, 
 
58 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Three friends, the guests of summer time, 
 
 Pitched their white tent where sea-winds blew. 
 Behind them, marshes, seamed and crossed 
 With narrow creeks and flower-embossed, 
 Stretched to the dark oak wood, whose leafy arms 
 Screened from the stormy east the pleasant inland farms., 
 
 "At full of tide their bolder shore 
 
 Of sun-bleached sand the waters beat; 
 At ebb, a smooth and glistening floor 
 
 They touched with hght, receding feet. 
 Northward a green blufl' broke the chain 
 Of sand-hiUs ; southward stretched a plain 
 Of salt grass, with a river winding down. 
 Sail-whitened, and beyond the steeples of the town, — ■ 
 
 "Whence sometimes, when the wind was light 
 
 And dull the thunder of the beach. 
 They heard the bells of mom and night 
 
 Swing, miles away, their silver speech. 
 Above low scarp and turf-grown wall 
 They saw the fort-flag rise and fall; 
 And, the first star to signal twilight's hour, 
 The lamp-fire glimmer down from the tall lighthouse tower." 
 
 Not one of the lovely episodes so characteristic of 
 nature by the sea escapes his attention. He notes the 
 "clanging sea-fowl" as they come and go, the clouds 
 with "thunder black," the mists which crept upward 
 "chill and damp" ; the hunters, after the sea-fowl, and 
 the barefooted girls tripping down to the sea to bathe ; 
 or the fishing schooners, outward bound, 
 
 "Their low-bent sails in tack and flaw 
 Turned white or dark to shade and sun." 
 

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 He sees also that rarest of sights, a mirage. Whit- 
 tier had actually seen one in 1861 at Salisbury Beach, 
 when on a visit to Mr, Fletcher, who was spending 
 several weeks with his family in a tent on the beach. 
 In his account of it, Mr. Fletcher says: 
 
 "It had been a peculiarly beautiful day, and as the 
 sun began to decline, the calm sea was lit up with a 
 dreamy grandeur wherein there seemed a mingling of 
 rose-tint and color of pearls. All at once we noticed 
 that the far-off Isles of Shoals, of which in clear days 
 only the lighthouse could be seen, were lifted into the 
 air, and the vessels out at sea were seen floating in the 
 heavens. Whittier told me that he had never before 
 witnessed such a sight." 
 
 With poetic license, Whittier represents a mirage 
 as a frequent occurrence — a device, if it were intended 
 as such — which makes one feel as if the tent were 
 in some strange land, afar off, where things happen 
 differently from what they do at home. 
 
 "Sometimes, in calms of closing day, 
 They watched the spectral mirage play. 
 Saw low, far islands looming tall and nigh. 
 And ships, with upturned keels, sail like a sea the sky." 
 
 In the first of the stories in "The Tent on the 
 Beach," "The Wreck of Rivermouth," is another fine 
 picture of this part of the shore. 
 
 "Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see. 
 By dawn or sunset shone across, 
 When the ebb of the sea has left them free 
 To dry their fringes of gold-green moss : 
 
60 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 For there the river comes winding down, 
 From salt sea-meadows and uplands brown. 
 And waves on the outer rocks afoam 
 Shout to its waters, 'Welcome home!' 
 
 "And fair are the sunny isles in view 
 East of the grisly Head of the Boar, 
 And Agamenticus lifts its blue 
 
 Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er; 
 And southerly, when the tide is down 
 Swift white sea-waves and sand-hills brown, 
 The beach-birds dance and the gray gulls wheel 
 Over a floor of burnished steel." 
 
 Bryant's "Hymn to the Sea," his first poem of the 
 sea, was inspired by a visit to Rockport on Cape 
 Ann. This township is on the easternmost shore of 
 the cape, where the Atlantic sweeps in with all the 
 majesty of its two thousand miles of moving waters. 
 It is the power and movement of the sea which im- 
 presses Bryant, its large, general aspects, from which 
 his thought is led in two directions: to the Divine 
 power behind these manifestations, — "The sea is 
 mighty, but a mightier sways his restless billows"; 
 and to the things which the sea accomplishes with its 
 power. 
 
 The description of the tempest, or rather of its 
 effects upon an armed fleet, is, of course, purely 
 imaginary. Though many a tempest rages upon 
 this dangerous shore where stand the tall warning 
 twin lights of Thacher's Island, no such wholesale 
 destruction of a fleet could have been witnessed by 
 him. The unreality of Bryant's storm comes out all 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 61 
 
 the more clearly by comparing it with the storm 
 described in "The Wreck of Rivermouth." 
 
 'They saw not the Shadow that walked beside, 
 They heard not the feet with silence shod, 
 But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew, 
 Shot by the lightnings through and through. 
 And muffled growls like the growls of a beast, 
 Ran along the sky from west to east. 
 
 "The shoalmen looked, but saw alone 
 Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown. 
 Wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare. 
 The strife and torment of sea and air." 
 
 Bryant, instead of watching keenly the approach 
 of a storm, evidently looked upon the sea and remem- 
 bered his Shakespeare. 
 
 "But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face 
 The blast that wakes the fury of the sea? 
 O God! Thy justice makes the world turn pale. 
 When on the armed fleet, that royally 
 Bears down the surges, carrying war to smite 
 Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm. 
 Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks 
 Are whirled like chaflf upon the waves ; the sails 
 Fly, rent like webs of gossamer ; the masts 
 Are snapped asunder ; downward from the decks. 
 Downward are slung into the fathomless gulf. 
 Their cruel engines ; and their hosts arrayed 
 In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed 
 By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks." 
 
62 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 In another poem of the sea, "The Tides," Bryant 
 shows more truly a sea-feeling. 
 
 "But ever heaves and moans the restless deep ; 
 His rising tides I hear. 
 Afar I see the glimmering billows leap ; 
 I see them breaking near. 
 
 "Each wave springs upward, cUmbing toward the fair 
 Pure light that sits on high — 
 Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where 
 The mother waters lie." 
 
 In "Pictures from Appledore" Lowell has pro- 
 duced an unemotional, not to say painstaking, pan- 
 orama of the scenes which may be viewed landward 
 from this island, as well as those springing from the 
 timiultuous life of the ocean about this and its sister 
 islands of the Isles of Shoals. These islands lie about 
 thirty miles out from Portsmouth, and are not by any 
 means as beautiful as many islands to be found on the 
 New England coast. Yet, like all that pertains to this 
 coast, they have their charm, and even their moments 
 of terror and grandeur. The conscientiously descrip- 
 tive mood induced in Lowell by Appledore is, no 
 doubt, a result of the mild impression made upon him 
 when first landing there after the sail out from Ports- 
 mouth. But just look about a little and there is 
 plenty to describe, as he soon found. 
 
 "A common island, you wiU say, 
 But stay a moment: only climb 
 Up to the highest rock of the isle, 
 Stand there alone for a little while, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 68 
 
 And with gentle approaches it grows sublime. 
 
 Dilating slowly as you win 
 
 A sense from the silence to take it in." 
 
 From this coign of vantage he can see all the emi- 
 nences on the mainland with which Whittier makes 
 us familiar at nearer range: Ossipee, Kearsarge, 
 Agamenticus, Agioochook. 
 
 "But mountains make not all the shore 
 The mainland shows to Appledore ; 
 Eight miles the heaving water spreads 
 To a long low coast with beaches and heads 
 That run through unimagined mazes, 
 As the lights and shades and magical hazes 
 Put them away or bring them near 
 Shimmering, sketched out for thirty miles 
 Between two capes that waver like threads. 
 And sink in the ocean, and reappear. 
 Crumbled and melted to little isles. 
 With filmy trees, that seem the mere 
 Half -fancies of drowsy atmosphere." 
 
 In the course of his description, he finally asks him- 
 self the question: 
 
 "How looks Appledore in a storm? 
 
 I have seen it when its crags seemed frantic, 
 
 Butting against the mad Atlantic, 
 When surge on surge would heap enorme. 
 
 Cliffs of emerald topped with snow, 
 
 That lifted and lifted and then let go 
 A great white avalanche of thunder, 
 
 A grinding, bHnding, deafening ire 
 Monadnock might have trembled under ; 
 
64 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 And the island, whose rock-roots pierce below 
 To where they are warmed with the central fire, 
 
 You could feel its granite fibres racked 
 
 As it seemed to plunge with a shudder and thrill 
 Right at the breast of the swooping hill, 
 
 And to rise again snorting a cataract 
 
 Of rage-froth from every cranny and ledge. 
 
 While the sea drew its breath in hoarse and deep. 
 
 And the next vast breaker curled its edge, 
 Gathering itself for a mightier leap." 
 
 The poem, like the island, grows upon one with 
 closer acquaintance, but like the island, it never 
 arouses more than a species of contemplative enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 As a poet of the sea, Holmes is hardly to be reck- 
 oned with. His perverse muse does not lose itself in 
 the grandeur of its movements nor the tints of its 
 lights and shadows. It inspires in him a vision of 
 "The Old Man of the Sea," a dreadful creature, who 
 interferes with everything a rational being wants to 
 do. The poem has its fascination. It is like the 
 troubled dream of one not completely under the 
 influence of an anaesthetic, and certainly suggests 
 medicine more than it does the sea. Holmes, like the 
 others, was influenced by early environment. He 
 lived as a child within sight of Harvard College, and 
 one of his earUest recollections was the inspiring scene, 
 as he says, which he witnessed many times in his 
 early years, of the triumphal entry of the Governor 
 attended by a light-horse troop and a band of sturdy 
 truckmen, on Commencement Day. Consequently in 
 later years nature was not in the running with Har- 
 vard. Poems for re-vmion dinners of his class at 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 65 
 
 Harvard, together with poems for all sorts of "tri- 
 umphal" occasions, make up the majority of his work. 
 I have purposely left Emerson aside, because in 
 his attitude toward nature there is an entirely new 
 note, not before heard in American poetry. We do 
 not go to Emerson for pictures of scenery, though 
 he, too, paiats them with a sure hand. Nor do we go 
 in a pensive mood with the idea that nature wUl give 
 birth to varied musings, as it does in Lowell; nor yet 
 to lose ourselves in its largeness and grandeur, as we 
 may in Bryant. We go to Emerson if we wish to 
 derive power and inspiration from the contemplation 
 of nature. His poet's perception of beauty has been 
 reinforced by the philosopher's or the scientist's con- 
 ception of the eternal forces in nature which are ever 
 at work moulding her material into fresh forms. 
 
 "Onward and on, the eternal Pan, 
 Who layeth the world's incessant plan, 
 Halteth never in one shape. 
 But forever doth escape. 
 Like wave or flame, into new forms 
 Of gem, and air, of plants, and worms." 
 
 This passage is the keynote to Emerson's treat- 
 ment of nature, and if we follow closely its ramifi- 
 cations we are led into many mystical and transcen- 
 dental paths. In his poem on Concord's sluggish 
 river, which he endears to us by its Indian name, 
 Musketaquid, he describes the scene as he knew it — 
 
 "Beneath low hills, in the broad interval 
 Through which at will our Indian rivulet 
 Winds mindful still of sannup and of squaw, 
 
66 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Whose pipe and arrow oft the plow unburies ; 
 
 Here in pine houses built of new-fallen trees, 
 
 Supplanters of the tribe, the farmers dwell; to these mto 
 
 The landscape is an armory of powers 
 
 Which, one by one, they know to draw and use." 
 
 But this is not all. Emerson must seek the heart 
 of nature's mystery, for with him man and nature 
 are related as closely as nature is interrelated with 
 nature. 
 
 "What these strong masters wrote at large in miles, 
 I followed in small copy in my acre; 
 For there's notrood has not a star above it. 
 The cordial quality of pear or plum 
 Ascends as gladly in a single tree 
 As in broad orchards resonant with bees ; 
 And every atom poises for itself, 
 And for the whole. The gentle deities 
 Showed me the lore of colors and of sounds. 
 The innumerable tenements of beauty. 
 The miracle of generative force. 
 Far-reaching concords of astronomy 
 Felt in the plants and in the punctual birds ; 
 Better, the linked purpose of the whole. 
 And chiefest prize found I true liberty 
 In the glad home plain-dealing Nature gave." 
 
 In "Monadnoc" the moimtain itself is given per- 
 sonality and sings its own splendid song, in the course 
 of which not only the scenery of the region passes 
 before us, but the mountain is made a symbol of mat- 
 ter waiting for its conqueror, man, which again seems 
 to symbolize New England waiting for its conqueror, 
 the bard or sage. 
 

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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 67 
 
 "Every mom I lift my head, 
 See New England underspread, 
 South from Saint Lawrence to the Sound, 
 From Katskill east to the sea-bound. 
 Anchored fast for many an age, 
 I await the bard and sage. 
 Who, in large thoughts, like fair pearl-seed. 
 Shall string Monadnoc like a bead. 
 
 "Comes that cheerful troubadour. 
 This mound shall throb his face before. 
 As when with inward fires and pain. 
 It rose a bubble from the plain. 
 When he cometh I shall shed. 
 From this well-spring in my head. 
 Fountain-drop of spicier worth 
 Than all vintage of the earth." 
 
 If the other poets have painted and mused and 
 rhapsodized over New England scenery, Emerson has 
 brought it closely in touch with the thought and as- 
 piration of our lives. If we climb a mountain we 
 remember the voice of Monadnock, and aU mountains 
 seem like wise genii who show us what we are and 
 what we may become. When we wander in the depths 
 of New England woods there is Emerson's pine tree 
 to sing us its mystical song of divine being. 
 
 "As the bee through the garden ranges. 
 From world to world the godhead changes ; 
 As the sheep go feeding in the waste. 
 From form to form he maketh haste ; 
 This vault which glows immense with light 
 Is the inn where he lodges for a night. 
 
68 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "He is the essence that inquires ; 
 He is the axis of the star ; 
 He is the sparkle of the spar; 
 He is the heart of every creature; 
 He is the meaning of each feature ; 
 And his mind is the sky, 
 Than all it holds more deep, more high." 
 
 A startling experience to one who comes upon it 
 suddenly, is the finding of a bronze tablet fastened to 
 a bowlder at Pigeon Cove on Cape Ann. Upon this 
 tablet are engraved words by Emerson. It is the 
 thought in prose which he developed so finely in his 
 great sea poem, in contrast to which Longfellow's 
 sea poems are puerile, Lowell's pedagogical, Bryant's 
 bombastic, and even Whittier's tame. 
 
 It gives one a peculiar sense of delight to have thus 
 marked the exact spot near the spoutiug rock on this 
 noble stretch of shore, with its roughly terraced, rocky 
 slopes, where the poet received the inspiration for his 
 poem, and jotted it down in words which hardly 
 needed to be altered in their transference from prose 
 to poetry. The words are: 
 
 "Returned from Pigeon Cove, where we have made 
 acquaintance with the sea for seven days. 'Tis a no- 
 ble, friendly power and seems to say to me: 'Why so 
 late and slow to come to me? Am I not here always, 
 thy proper summer home? Is not my voice thy need- 
 ful music, my breath thy healthful climate in the 
 heats, my touch thy cure? Was ever building like my 
 terraces? Was ever couch so magnificent as mine? 
 Lie down on my warm ledges and learn that a very 
 little hut is all you need. I have made this architec- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 69 
 
 ture superfluous and it is paltry beside mine. Here 
 are twenty Romes and Ninevehs and Kamaks in ruins 
 together, here they all are prostrate or half-piled.' 
 
 " 'And behold the sea, the opahne, plentiful and 
 strong. Yet beautiful as the rose or the rainbow, 
 full of food, nourisher of men, purger of the world, 
 creating a sweet climate, and in its imchangeable ebb 
 and flow and in its beauty at a few furlongs giving a 
 hint of that which changes not, and is perfect.' " 
 
 Emerson's poetry has been somewhat obscured by 
 his prose, as well as underrated by some critics, who 
 with their eyes upon occasional flaws of rhyme and 
 meter, have failed to see that he touches heights 
 reached by no other American poet, and at times, as 
 in this blank-verse poem, is, in form as well as thought, 
 flawless. 
 
 "I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea 
 Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come? 
 Am I not always here, thy summer home? 
 Is not my voice thy music, mom and eve? 
 My breath thy healthful climate in the heats. 
 My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath? 
 Was ever building like my terraces? 
 Was ever couch magnificent as mine? 
 Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there leam 
 A little hut suffices like a town. 
 I make your sculptured architecture vain. 
 Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home. 
 And carve the coastwise mountain into caves. 
 Lo ! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes, 
 Kamak and Pyramid and Giant's Stairs 
 Half -piled or prostrate; and my newest slab 
 Older than all thy race. 
 
70 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Behold the Sea, 
 The opahne, the plentiful, the strong. 
 Yet beautiful as is the rose in June, 
 Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July ; 
 Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds, 
 Purger of earth, and medicine of men ; 
 Creating a sweet climate by my breath. 
 Washing out harms and griefs from memory. 
 And, in my mathematic ebb and flow. 
 Giving a hint of that which changes not. 
 Rich are the sea-gods: who gives gifts but they? 
 They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls : 
 They pluck Force thence and give it to the wise. 
 For every wave is wealth to Daedalus, 
 Wealth to the cunning artist who can work 
 This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves ! 
 A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift.'' 
 
 "I, with my hammer pounding evermore 
 The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust. 
 Strewing my bed, and, in another age, 
 Rebuild a continent of better men. 
 Then I unbar the doors : my paths lead out 
 The exodus of nations : I disperse 
 Men to all shores that front the hoary main. 
 
 "I too have arts and sorceries ; 
 Illusion dwells for ever with the wave. 
 I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal 
 With credulous and imaginative man ; 
 For, though he scoop my water in his palm, 
 A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds. 
 Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore, 
 I make some coast alluring, some lone isle, 
 To distant men, who must go there or die." 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 71 
 
 Thanks to Emerson, the voice of the sea "alway, al- 
 "way" sings to us a song of infinite power and beauty. 
 Who of us that has lain upon the warm rock-ledges 
 but must take this poem into our heart of hearts I In 
 it the great ocean-soul of New England finds its com- 
 pletest expression. 
 
ROMANCE: 
 LEGENDARY AND HISTORICAIi 
 
 73 
 
"Thee shall awaken 
 Flame from the furnace, 
 Bath of all brave ones. 
 Cleanser of Conscience, 
 Welder of will. 
 
 "Lowly shall love thee. 
 Thee, operirhanded! 
 Stalwart shall shield thee. 
 Thee, worth their best blood. 
 Waif of the West! 
 
 "Then shall come singers. 
 Singing no swan-song. 
 Birth-carols, rather. 
 Meet for the man-child 
 Mighty of bone." 
 
 — ^LowEi.£. 
 
 74. 
 
II 
 
 Romance: Legendaey and Histomcal 
 
 IT is often said that in America there are no hoary- 
 traditions, no mythology, no folk-lore — ^none of 
 those elements, in fact, out of which great liter- 
 atures must be built. Admitting for a moment that 
 great literature cannot exist unless the genius goes 
 "tnmdhng back into the past" for his inspiration, is it 
 altogether true that material for romance is so meager 
 in our land as some have tried to make out? In the 
 first place, our history, though it has not been a long 
 one, has been an exceedingly lively one. Its inaugu- 
 ration by bold and adventurous explorers, who crossed 
 unknown seas to find a vast mysterious land into 
 whose wildest depths they hesitated not to penetrate, 
 met with experiences which, if there were nothing else, 
 are such stuff as go to the making of romance. Then 
 began the most stupendous migration the world has 
 ever known, of aU nations to the promised land. They 
 found the new land inhabited by beings, evil or kind, 
 who lurked in the woods or among the valleys and 
 hilltops, not unlike the manitoes which these beings 
 themselves regarded as ever-present good or evil 
 spirits. In the clash of the so-called civilized with the 
 semi-barbaric were let loose just those forces by means 
 
 75 
 
76 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of which the romantic tendencies of the human mind 
 flom-ish. Races in whom mythology lingered only as 
 superstition met face to face with a race or races in 
 wbdch mythology was still their religion. Whenever, 
 according to the authority of many ethnologists, a 
 higher race conquers a lower race, the mythical ideals 
 of the lower race are absorbed more or less by the 
 conquering race. It is easy to see that if the con- 
 quering race had reached a high plane of conscious- 
 ness, the absorption in the realm of ideas would be 
 more likely to be artistic than religious, yet in the 
 witch superstition in New England, for example, 
 there was a very palpable absorption of Indian ideals 
 of magic through the person of Tituba, the Indian 
 witch woman; and I am not so sure that the great 
 Cotton Mather himself was not a shining example 
 of a superior conqueror who had absorbed some of the 
 religious ideas of the barbarians he had conquered. 
 
 Strictly speaking, the whole body of Indian legend 
 is just as much ours to use artistically, as nature in 
 the New World is ours to use artistically. The only 
 pity is that so much of it has been lost. 
 
 To these two sources of romance, the adventures 
 of the explorers, and the coming into possession of 
 the mythological lore of the conquered race, are to be 
 added the experiences of new colonies struggling to 
 make firm their foothold in the new land. They are, 
 for the most part, not merely colonists seeking for 
 wealth, they are men of ideals, whose settled determi- 
 nation to realize them brings about a wholly new 
 phase in the history of political and social develop- 
 ment. The play and interplay of the forces of con- 
 quest, the forces of revolt, the forces that reach 
 
Cotton Mather 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 77 
 
 forward toward high results or that drag backwards 
 through the survival in human nature of dying super- 
 stitions, makes an exquisite turmoU of New England 
 history in particular, in which the romantic elements 
 are almost beyond calculation. No doubt there are 
 imtold mines of romance stUl waiting to be imearthed 
 among the dusty archives of New England Histori- 
 cal Societies, or in the libraries of private famiUes. 
 
 Whittier and Longfellow alone of these early New 
 England poets have made effective use of the wealth 
 of Indian lore. Holmes and Emerson have not 
 touched it. Bryant and Lowell have drawn upon it 
 in a few minor poems. 
 
 Whittier's drafts upon aboriginal tradition and 
 mythology for subject matter were not extensive, and 
 seem to have been more a matter of accident than of 
 express intention. He did not have Longfellow's am- 
 bition to make of Indian myth and custom a source 
 of indigenous epic material. Consequently we have 
 only four short distinctively Indian poems, and these, 
 with the exception of one, "How the Robin Came," 
 have to do with Indian historical tradition and life. 
 
 The origin of the robin is one of the most charm- 
 ing of the Chippewa tales collected by Schoolcraft, 
 and is familiar through prose versions in various col- 
 lections of Indian fairy tales.* Whittier brings the 
 ancient myth into relation with the present by telling 
 it to a group of young friends upon a May day, while 
 they watch the robins flitting in and out among the 
 blossoms. To be changed into a bird seems to have 
 been regarded as a happy lot by the Algonquin In- 
 
 *Se6 author's "Child's Guide to Mythology." 
 
78 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 dians, if we may judge by the number of myths where- 
 in the denouement is a metamorphosis of this kind. 
 Sometimes the birds are changed back into himtian 
 beings again, but in this case of the young hunter who 
 had been unable to stand the rigors of the seven days' 
 fast demanded of all Indians on reaching manhood, 
 the metamorphosis is final and, as Whittier expresses 
 it in his verse, the fancy is one we cannot do better 
 than transplant into the imagination of the children. 
 
 "I, a bird, am still your son, 
 Happier than if hunter fleet. 
 Or a brave, before your feet 
 Laying scalps in battle won. 
 Friend of man, my song shall cheer 
 Lodge and corn-land ; hovering near. 
 To each wigwam I shall bring 
 Tidings of the coming spring; 
 Every child my voice shall know. 
 
 "And my song shall testify 
 That of human kin am I." 
 
 Lowell chose for his one Indian poem another Chip- 
 pewa tale, in which metamorphosis plays a part. He 
 embellishes the telling of the story with various eth- 
 ical fringes and in this process its pristine folk-loric 
 quality disappears. Whittier attaches his moral at 
 the end of his robin story, and, on the whole, if In- 
 dian lore must be used as a text for moralizing, this is 
 preferable. 
 
 The entire field of Indian lore, merely touched upon 
 by Whittier and Lowell, has been carefully plowed by 
 Longfellow with the result that in Hiawatha he has 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 79 
 
 produced an Indian epic that stands unique in the 
 literature not only of America but in that of the world. 
 If to his familiarity with Indian legend he had added 
 Whittier's acquaintance with localities, we might have 
 had the imalloyed delight of associating the varied 
 episodes in Hiawatha's life and those of the other he- 
 roes of the poem with the wilds of Central New York, 
 instead of with the far-off shores of Lake Superior, i 
 the home of the Chippewas or O jib ways, an Algon- 
 quin tribe. He took the Iroquois account of Hia- 
 watha as the basis for his hero's character, and added 
 xinto it a whole cycle of Algonquin legends attaching 
 to Manabozho, as well as those of other Algonquin 
 mythic personages. 
 
 Schoolcraft, who was Longfellow's authority for 
 the Manabozho and Hiawatha legends, has been 
 anathematized by more than one critic for confusing 
 an Iroquois hero with an Algonquin hero. Jeremiah 
 Curtin, especially, declares that since the Iroquois and 
 Algonquins were enemies, the former taking the Eng- 
 lish and the latter the French side, "it is as if Euro- 
 peans of some future age were to have placed before 
 them a great epic narrative of French heroic adven- 
 ture in which Prince Bismarck would appear as the 
 chief and central Gallic figure in the glory and tri- 
 umph of France." To which it might be retorted, 
 why is it not more like the fact which already exists 
 of an epic cycle in which a mythical King Arthur is 
 the hero both in Brittany and Wales, though the Nor- 
 mans and the British were enemies? A typical In- 
 dian hero was what Longfellow wanted — a being who 
 would reflect in his single personality all the qualities 
 of mind and nature characteristic of the Indian, a 
 
80 (THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 wise man, a cunning man and a magician.* One of 
 the best proofs that the essential truths of the Indian 
 mythology are preserved is the regard ia which the 
 present-day descendants of the Chippewas hold the 
 poem. The writer asked a young Indian woman of 
 the Chippewa tribe recently what she thought of Hia- 
 watha. Her face lighted up, and she replied with en- 
 thusiasm, "I love it!" She went on to say that it was 
 astonishing how little Longfellow's accounts of the 
 myths differed from the stories which had been handed 
 down to her in her own family. 
 
 Examining a little more carefully into the rela- 
 tions of the Iroquois and the Algonquins, we find that 
 although they were enemies, they were close neigh- 
 bors. All along the eastern shores from Canada to 
 Long Island stretched the Algonquins, while the Iro- 
 quois (originally Hurons) extended from the Great 
 Lakes to South Carolina, through New York. In 
 Canada, again, they were neighbors, occupying the 
 opposite sides of the St. Lawrence until, if tradition 
 can be trusted, the Algonquins drove the Hurons 
 southwards. Thus these two Indian peoples bordered 
 directly upon each other. Moreover, though the Al- 
 gonquins aided the French and the Iroquois the 
 English, in 1645 peace was declared between them, 
 and if they did not lie down together like the lion 
 and the lamb, they did what was no doubt an Indian 
 equivalent — they hunted together freely the next 
 winter. 
 
 This peace was ratified in a curious manner. His- 
 tory relates that the Iroquois ambassador set himself 
 
 •For the lore of Hiawatha, see "Longfellow's Country.' 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 81 
 
 to sing and dance. He took a Frenchman on one side, 
 an Algonquin and Huron on the other, and holding 
 them each embraced with his arms they danced in ca- 
 dence, and sang with a strong voice a song of peace. 
 
 In view of these facts there seems little reason to 
 doubt that the myths of these two great families of 
 Indians, especially those of a similar character, might 
 migrate from one tribe to the other, and as myths 
 are but figments of the imagination, what more 
 natural than to suppose the great hero Hiawatha, 
 who appeared to his people on Lake Onondaga in his 
 white canoe surroimded by magic, and after organ- 
 izing the five nations into the first United States of 
 America, disappeared in the same magic fashion; what 
 more natural than to add to his distinction by at- 
 taching to him all the exploits of the neighboring Al- 
 gonquin hero, or vice versa? 
 
 Although Whittier has used Indian lore so little, 
 he has in the remainder of his Indian poems taken 
 distinctively New England traditions connected with 
 the localities with which he was familiar. "The 
 Fimeral Tree of the Sokokis" recounts an incident of 
 the struggle between the Whites and the Indians 
 which took place upon Sebago Lake in Maine. The 
 Sokokis occupied a long stretch of territory between 
 Agamenticus and Casco Bay. In this struggle their 
 chief, Polan, was killed at Windham on the lake. It 
 is related that after the Whites had retired, the In- 
 dians beat down a yormg beech tree until its roots 
 were upturned, when, the tree springing back to its 
 position, the body was covered. 
 
 The lover of the scenery in the vicinity of Sebago 
 Lake, with its darkly wooded shores and its ranges 
 
82 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of hills sloping in higher and higher curves to the 
 distant White Mountains, will appreciate the accu- 
 racy of the pictorial setting Whittier has given to this 
 incident. 
 
 "Around Sebago's lonely lake 
 There lingers not a breeze to break 
 The mirror which its waters make. 
 
 "The solemn pines along its shore, 
 The firs which hang its grey rocks o'er, 
 Are painted on its glassy floor. 
 
 "The sun looks o'er, with hazy eye. 
 The snowy mountain-tops which lie 
 Piled coldly up against the sky. 
 
 "Dazzling and white! save where the bleak, 
 Wild winds have bared some splintering peak. 
 Or snow-slide left its dusky streak. 
 
 "Yet green are Saco's banks below, 
 And belts of spruce and cedar show, 
 Dark fringing round these cones of snow." 
 
 In spite of many summer camps dotted along its 
 shores, Sebago still gives the same impression of lone- 
 liness, for the camps nestle among the trees of the still- 
 unspoiled woodlands, but the identical "beechen-tree" 
 that furnished "The Indian's fitting monument," we 
 should probably look for in vain. 
 
 "The Truce of Piscataqua" tells another incident 
 of White and Indian warfare, in which the celebrated 
 Chief Squando figures. The Piscataqua River flows 
 between Maine and New Hampshire, and with its 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 83 
 
 dams and bridges and towns of to-day is so different 
 a region from what it was in the days of Squando that 
 only by aid of the poet's imagination can we be trans- 
 ported back into that past when every little settle- 
 ment was constantly in fear of a surprise from hostile 
 Indians. 
 
 The introductory lines of the poem give the scene : 
 
 "Wide over hill and valley spread 
 Once more the forest, dusk and dread. 
 With here and there a clearing cut 
 From the walled shadows round it shut ; 
 Each with its farm-house builded rude. 
 By English yeoman squared and hewed, 
 And the grim, flanked block-house bound 
 With bristling palisades around." 
 
 Whittier, in this instance, fell upon an incident that 
 showed Squando to much better advantage than it did 
 his civilized conquerors. Squando's rage had been 
 aroused because of the brutal treatment of his child 
 by some white sailors. He took up his hatchet, but was 
 obliged in the end to sue for peace. Whittier frames 
 the peace conference after his own imagination, en- 
 riching Squando's plea with Indian lore, and inten- 
 sifying the situation by bringing into it a captive child 
 who has grown fond of Squando and his Indians be- 
 cause of their kind treatment of it. It is matter of 
 record that the white children taken captive by the 
 Indians became so fond of Indian life that they often 
 desired to stay with their Indian friends rather than to 
 return to their own relations. The speech which Whit- 
 tier has put into the mouth of Squando breathes a rare 
 pathos, at the same time that it reflects Indian ways 
 
84 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of thinking, showing on Whittier's part a remarkable 
 faculty for putting himself in sympathy with the 
 religious attitude of the savage. 
 
 Squando draws a pitiful picture of his squaw seated 
 alone in her wigwam, mourning her child; then tells 
 of his own dream as he lay on the grave of their child : 
 
 " 'In the third night-watch I heard, 
 Far and low, a spirit-bird; 
 Very mournful, very wild, 
 Sang the totem of my child. 
 
 " ' "Menewee, poor Menewee, 
 Walks a path he cannot see ; 
 Let the white man's wigwam light 
 With its blaze his steps aright. 
 
 " ' "All-uncalled, he dares not show 
 Empty hands to Manito; 
 Better gifts he cannot bear 
 Than the scalps his slayers wear." 
 
 ' 'All the while the totem sang, 
 Lightning blazed and thunder rang; 
 And a black cloud, reaching high. 
 Pulled the white moon from the sky. 
 
 " 'I, the medicine-man, whose ear 
 All that spirits hear can hear— 
 I, whose eyes are wide to see 
 All the things that are to be, — 
 
 ' 'Well I know the dreadful signs. 
 In the whispers of the pines. 
 In the river roaring loud. 
 In the mutter of the cloud. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 85 
 
 " 'At the breaking of the day, 
 From the grave I passed away ; 
 Flowers bloomed round me, birds sang glad. 
 But my heart was hot and mad.' " 
 
 He goes on with his proposals for peace: 
 
 " 'There is rust on Squando's knife 
 From the warm, red springs of life; 
 On the funeral hemlock-trees 
 Many a scalp the totem sees. 
 
 " 'Blood for blood ! But evermore 
 Squando's heart is sad and sore ; 
 And his poor squaw waits at home 
 For the feet that never come! 
 
 " 'Waldron of Cocheco, hear ! 
 
 Squando speaks, who laughs at fear; 
 Take the captives he has ta'en ; 
 Let the land have peace again!' 
 
 *'As the words died on his tongue. 
 Wide apart his warriors swung; 
 Parted, at the sign he gave. 
 Bight and left, like Egypt's wave. 
 
 *'And, like Israel passing free 
 Through the prophet-charmfed sea^ 
 Captive mother, wife, and child 
 Through the dusky terror filed. 
 
 "One alone, a little maid, 
 Middle way her steps delayed, 
 Glancing, with quick, troubled sight* 
 Round about from red to white. 
 
86 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Then his hand the Indian laid 
 On the little maiden's head, 
 Lightly from her forehead fair 
 Smoothing back her yellow hair. 
 
 " 'Gift or favor I ask none ; 
 What I have is all my own ; 
 Never yet the birds have sung, 
 Squando hath a beggar's tongue. 
 
 " 'Yet for her who waits at home. 
 For the dead who cannot come, 
 Let the little gold-hair be 
 In the place of Menewee! 
 
 "*Mishanock, my Uttle star! 
 Come to Saco's pines afar; 
 Where the sad one waits at home, 
 Wequashim, my moonlight, come!' 
 
 *' 'What I' quoth Waldron, 'leave a child 
 Christian-born, to heathens wild? 
 As God lives, from Satan's hand 
 I will pluck her as a brand!' 
 
 '"Hear me, white man!' Squando cried, 
 'Let the little one decide. 
 Wequashim, my moonlight, say. 
 Wilt thou go with me or stay?' 
 
 "Slowly, sadly, half afraid. 
 Half regretfully, the maid 
 Owned the ties of blood and race — 
 Turned from Squando's pleading face. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 87 
 
 "Not a word the Indian spoke, 
 But his wampum chain he broke, 
 And the beaded wonder hung 
 On that neck so fair and young." 
 
 The poem goes on to relate how, years after, the 
 child of this child with her mother's wampmn chain 
 about her neck was frolicking by the brookside, and 
 happened to meet Squando, who recognizing his chain, 
 added to it his silver totem cross. The child when 
 she goes home relates her experience and — 
 
 "Straight the mother stooped to see 
 What the Indian's gift might be. 
 On the braid of wampum hung, 
 Lo ! a cross of silver swung. 
 
 "Well she knew its graven sign, 
 Squando's bird and totem pine." 
 
 Because of this touching sign that Squando had 
 never forgotten his little captive, the mother remem- 
 bered the old Indian henceforth in her prayers, — ^ac- 
 counted at that time almost heretical, nevertheless 
 prescient of present-day enlightenment. 
 
 But it is on the shores of his beloved Merrimac, 
 near its headwaters among the White HiUs, that the 
 scene of Whittier's most ambitious Indian poem is 
 laid, "The Bridal of Pennacook." The action is trans- 
 ferred for a time to the sea-coast, but the tragic end- 
 ing of the story is again linked with the river. The 
 wedding is that of another celebrated Indian Chief, 
 Winnepurkit, known as George Sachem of Saugus, 
 to the daughter of Passaconaway. By way of leading 
 
88 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 up to the story, Whittier begins with describing the 
 journey of a party of friends to the White Moun- 
 tains, until the region of Pennacook, now Concord, 
 New Hampshire, is reached. The mountain scenery 
 is pictured after his manner with vivid touches. Then, 
 caught by a storm, the party takes refuge in a moun- 
 tain inn, "which looks from Conway on the mountains 
 piled," and here the poet finds an extensive library of 
 four books, in the description of which is a dash of 
 humor not uncharacteristic of Whittier: 
 
 "A well-thumbed Bunyan, with its nice wood pictures 
 Of scaly fiends and angels not unlike them; 
 Watts' unmelodious psalms ; astrology's 
 Last home, a musty pile of almanacs, 
 And an old chronicle of border wars 
 And Indian history." 
 
 He finds in the Indian history the "Story of the 
 marriage of the Chief of Saugus to the dusky Weeta- 
 moo, daughter of Passaconaway, who dwelt in the old 
 time upon the Merrimac." 
 
 The girl of the party insists that the others shall 
 give a versified account of the legend, which they agree 
 to do. Each is then supposed to take one of the di- 
 visions, of which the first describes the Merrimac as 
 it was in those early days, already referred to in the 
 first chapter; the second describes the dwelling among 
 the White Hills of the mighty chief or Bashaba, Pas- 
 saconaway, drawing also his portrait, the chief of 
 magic skill, 
 
 "And a Panisee's dark will 
 Over powers of good and ill, 
 
Hi 
 1-1 
 
 H 
 
 1^ 
 
 W 
 o 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 89 
 
 Powers which bless and powers which ban, 
 Wizard lord of Pennacook." 
 
 "The Daughter," "The Wedding," follow; then the 
 new home on the sea-coast is described: 
 
 "A wild and broken landscape, spiked with firs. 
 Roughening the bleak horizon's northern edge. 
 
 *'And eastward cold, wide marshes stretched away. 
 Dull, dreary flats without a bush or tree, 
 Cer-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day 
 Gurgled the waters of the moon-struck sea; 
 And faint with distance came the stifled roar, 
 The melancholy lapse of waves on that low shore." 
 
 The New England coast in the neighborhood of the 
 present location of Salem is finely shown here in its 
 winter bleakness. The poem now works up quickly 
 to the tragedy. Weetamoo, the bride, goes home on 
 a visit to her father; simuner passes, and still Winne- 
 purkit does not send for her. 
 
 "At length a runner from her father sent. 
 To Winnepurkit's sea-cooled wigwam went; 
 'Eagle of Saugus, — in the woods the dove 
 Mourns for the shelter of thy wings of love.' 
 
 "But the dark chief of Saugus turned aside 
 In the grim anger of hard-hearted pride; 
 'I bore her as became a chieftain's daughter. 
 Up to her home beside the gliding water. 
 
90 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 " 'If now no more a mat for her is found 
 
 Of all which line her father's wigwam round. 
 
 Let Pennacook call out his warrior train, 
 
 And send her back with wampum gifts again.' 
 
 n 
 
 Weetamoo's father scornfully refuses this proposi- 
 tion, and the result is poor little Weetamoo embarks in 
 a canoe on the Merrimac, the river stiU being choked 
 with ice, with the intention of returning to her hus- 
 band's wigwam. The canoe is dashed to pieces, 
 Weetamoo is drowned, and the poem ends with a 
 sorrowful song of the Indian women who lament her 
 sad fate. 
 
 Not a large contribution to Indian legendary po- 
 etry, Whittier's is a most interesting one. The sto- 
 ries are genuinely romantic, and the poet has, in 
 linking them with absolute fidelity of detail to the 
 scenery amid which the episodes occurred, as well as in 
 developing them with sympathy for and knowledge of 
 Indian ways of thinking, transplanted into our early 
 literature a seed of aboriginal romanticism that might 
 easily grow into epic proportions through the addi- 
 tion of other similar traditions. 
 
 With the exception of the Indian tradition told in 
 "Monument Mountain," already referred to, Bryant 
 does not connect any of his Indian poems with definite 
 localities. "An Indian at the Burial Place of His 
 Fathers," may have referred to the neighborhood of 
 Cmnmington, but the description of the scene has 
 Bryant's usual vagueness. The myths upon which he 
 touches are interesting, especially the lightning myth 
 of the Delaware Indians, told in "A Legend of the 
 Delawares": 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 91 
 
 "The air is dark with cloud on cloud, 
 
 And through the leaden-colored mass, 
 With thunder-crashes quick and loud, 
 A thousand shafts of lightning pass. 
 
 *'And to and fro they glance and go. 
 
 Or, darting downward, smite the ground. 
 What phantom arms are those that throw 
 The shower of fiery arrows round? 
 
 "A louder crash! a mighty oak 
 
 Is smitten from that stormy sky. 
 Its stem is shattered by the stroke; 
 Around its roots the branches lie. 
 
 "Fresh breathes the wind, the storm is o'er; 
 The piles of mist are swept away; 
 And from the open sky, once more. 
 Streams gloriously the golden day. 
 
 "A dusky hunter of the wild 
 
 Is passing near and stops to see 
 The wreck of splintered branches piled 
 About the roots of that huge tree. 
 
 "Lo, quaintly shaped and fairly strung. 
 Wrought by what hand he cannot know, 
 On that drenched pile of boughs, among 
 The sphnters, lies a polished bow." 
 
 The magic bow brings Onetho, the hunter, luck 
 and fame, but too soon he is himself killed by the 
 lightning of the sky warriors. 
 
92 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Tall warriors, plumed, with streaming hair 
 And lifted arms that bear the bow. 
 And send athwart the murky air 
 The arrowy lightnings to and fro." 
 
 His friends find him lifeless on the ground in a 
 glen, and bear him home in silent awe. 
 
 " 'Too soon he died ; it is not well' — 
 
 The old men murmured, standing nigh — 
 'That we, who in the forest dwell. 
 
 Should wield the weapons of the sky.' " 
 
 This, as well as Bryant's other poems dealing with 
 Indian lore, is entirely lacking in atmosphere. There 
 are no vital touches to show us the Indian as he ac- 
 tually was. We neither see the real Indian in his 
 native wilds nor hear him speak, as Squando speaks, 
 for example, with the thoughts and the language that 
 belong to his race. Bryant merely tells the story for 
 the story's sake in his own smooth, flowing language. 
 
 Whittier and Longfellow are again in the van in 
 the treatment of the early historical traditions of ex- 
 plorers and colonists, to which should be added ro- 
 mantic pictures of New England life. Lowell has 
 something to oif er here, also — not much, it is true, but 
 of fine quality. The remaining poets under discussion 
 have done nothing. Bryant, when in a romantic frame 
 of mind, evolves fairy stories from his own brain, like 
 "Sella" and "The Little People of the Snow," and 
 they are quite as exquisite as anything he has written, 
 and, moreover, as far away from New England as 
 anything could well be, in the land of nowhere. 
 
 All three poets were attracted by the tradition of 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 93 
 
 the Norseman's early discovery of America. Long- 
 fellow's "Skeleton in Armor," one of the most strik- 
 ing things he ever wrote, makes famous the Norse 
 Tower or old mill at Newport.* Whittier, in his 
 poem "The Norsemen," adds another leaf to the 
 laurel crown of the Merrimac: 
 
 "But hark ! — from wood and rock flung back, 
 What sound comes up the Merrimac? 
 What sea-worn barks are those which throw 
 The light spray from each rushing prow? 
 Have they not in the North Sea's blast 
 Bowed to the waves the straining mast? 
 Their frozen sails the low, pale sun 
 Of Thule's night has shone upon ; 
 Flapped by the sea-wind's gusty sweep 
 Round icy drift and headland steep." 
 
 The vision of the Norsemen ascending the Merri- 
 mac has been conjured up by a sight of the fragment 
 of a statue, rudely chiselled from dark gray stone, 
 f ovmd a century before in the town of Bradford on the 
 Merrimac. The origin of it is entirely conjectural, 
 but the poet allows his imagination to picture it as a 
 relic from the days of the Norse adventurers. He, 
 however, kindly saves the student of poetic origins 
 any qualms of conscience as to the accuracy of his 
 statements by informing them that there is nothing 
 whatever to prove the statue a Norse relic, and then, 
 in a spirit of bravado, he exclaims, "But all the same, 
 I am thankful for the flight of imagination set going 
 by the old stone." 
 
 •See "Longfellow's Country." 
 
94 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Yet, for the vision of the Past, 
 This glance upon its darkness cast, 
 My spirit bows in gratitude 
 Before the Giver of all good." 
 
 Most readers will forgive the flight of imagination 
 sooner than the conscientious explanation Tvith which 
 the poem ends. It is cruel to steal the critics' thunder 
 in this prosaic way! What hair-splitting controversies 
 might not have arisen, as voluminous as those over 
 Longfellow's tricky imagination in relation to his 
 skeleton and his Newport windmill! 
 
 In "Norembega," enchantment is added to another 
 lovely region of New England — ^the islands in and 
 beyond Penobscot Bay in Maine, and along the bor- 
 ders of the river. A legend grew up that in the coun- 
 try south of Cape Breton there existed a magnificent 
 and barbaric city called Norembega. The country had 
 been discovered by Verrazani in 1524, and the city is 
 actually laid down on a map published in Antwerp in 
 1570. Champlain in 1604 sailed in search of the city, 
 going up the Penobscot from Isle au Haut, but from 
 the appearance of the country he concluded that those 
 who described it had never seen it. The only thing 
 he found was a cross, very old and mossy, in the woods. 
 Whittier makes the cross the starting point of his 
 legend. It had belonged to an early Norman Christian 
 Knight, who sought the wondrous city and died in the 
 attempt. All that exists to-day to remind one of the 
 old legend is a summer settlement called Norembega, 
 on the shores of Eggemoggin Reach. 
 
 Lowell treats the subject of the Norsemen with due 
 seriousness. He catches the atmosphere of the Ice- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 95 
 
 landic Sagas, and without a slavish adherence to facts, 
 tells of Biom's voyage to Vinland. Biom's mood of 
 desire for some "joy mitried" with a brain that 
 
 "Grew not weary with the limbs, 
 But, while they slept, still hammered like a Troll," 
 
 and the lay of the skald that finally aroused him to 
 action, are wholly imaginative. If we may believe the 
 "Saga of Eric the Red," Biorn's discovery of Vin- 
 land was quite by accident. He set sail, it seems, in or- 
 der to join his father in Greenland, but a north wind 
 took him out of his course. And first they saw a land 
 with forests and low hiUs, but passed it by; they saw 
 another level and fuU of woods, and passed it, and 
 stiU another with lofty moimtains and white peaks, 
 and finding it an island they passed it by also. And 
 then sailing four days more, they came to Greenland. 
 Biom was very properly blamed by his countrymen 
 for not exploring the new lands he had seen, and Lief, 
 the son of Eric, bought Biom's ship and set sail with 
 a number of companions, explored the shores Biom 
 had seen, landed farther south and spent the winter 
 in Vinland. 
 
 Lowell has evidently seized upon the fact of Biom's 
 lack of ambition in not exploring the country as an 
 index to a character that vacillated between a hxmger 
 for great achievement and a feeling that nothing was 
 worth accomplishing, expressed in the lines — 
 
 *'Swords grave no name on the long-memoried rock 
 But moss shall hide it ; they alone who wring 
 Some secret purpose from the unwilling gods 
 
96 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Survive in song for yet a little while 
 To vex, like us, the dreams of later men, 
 Ourselves a dream, and dreamlike all we did." 
 
 And shown again in his mood when Vinland is 
 reached. The lines descriptive of the voyage are the 
 finest in the poem: 
 
 "Four weeks they sailed a speck in sky-shut seas. 
 Life, where was never life that knew itself. 
 But tumbled lubber-like in blowing whales ; 
 Thought, where the like had never been before 
 Since Thought primeval brooded the abyss ; 
 Alone as men were never in the world. 
 They saw the icy foundlings of the sea. 
 White cliflFs of silence, beautiful by day. 
 Or looming, sudden-perilous, at night 
 In monstrous hush; or sometimes in the dark 
 The waves broke ominous with paly gleams 
 Crushed by the prow in sparkles of cold fire. 
 Then came green stripes of sea that promised land 
 But brought it not, and on the thirtieth day 
 Low in the west were wooded shores like cloud. 
 They shouted as men shout with sudden hope; 
 But Biom was silent, such strange loss there is 
 Between the dream's fulfilment and the dream. 
 Such sad abatement in the goal attained." 
 
 Lowell declared to one of his friends that his chief 
 wish in writing the poem was to hring in a prophecy 
 of what America was to become in the future. Con- 
 sequently he makes Gudrida, a prophetess, accompany 
 Biom. The sagas speak of a Gudrid who twice made 
 the voyage to Vinland, first as the wife of Torstein, 
 who died of the plague in Greenland, then as the wife 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 97 
 
 of Thorfinn Karlsefne, who intended to found a col- 
 ony in Vinland. He became frightened, however, at 
 the hostility of the natives, whose rage had been 
 aroused because one of them had been killed by a 
 servant of his, and he returned to Greenland. 
 
 The most striking thought brought out in Gudrida's 
 prophecy is of kin with that so splendidly expressed 
 by Emerson in his "Song of Nature": 
 
 "Let war and trade and creeds and song 
 Blend, ripen race on race, 
 The sunburnt world a man shall breed 
 Of all the zones and countless days," 
 
 and by Zangwill recently, in his play, "The Melting- 
 pot": 
 
 "Men from the Northland, 
 
 Men from the Southland, 
 
 Haste empty-handed; 
 
 No more than manhood 
 
 Bring they and hands. 
 
 "Dark hair and fair hair. 
 Red blood and blue blood. 
 There shall be mingled ; 
 Force of the ferment 
 Makes the New Man." 
 
 The two episodes of history especially productive 
 of material for romance in New England were the 
 witch persecution and the Quaker persecution. Long- 
 fellow treated both of these in plays included in his 
 longest and most serious work, "Christus: A Mys- 
 tery." Part III of this, imder the general heading 
 
98 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "The New England Tragedies," contains the two 
 plays "John Endicott" and "Giles Corey of the 
 Salem Farms." 
 
 These are not in any sense great plays, but they 
 are valuable as studies of the period. The actual facts 
 are more carefully regarded than is usual with Long- 
 fellow, and what imaginative touches there are, he has 
 worked up consistently with the facts. The charac- 
 terization of John Endicott especially is good. This 
 grim old Piu-itan, who piously stamped out every- 
 thing which he regarded inimical to the glory of God 
 as he understood it, yet had a heart. He was capable 
 of arousing love in the hearts of his fellow-colonists, 
 and no doubt Longfellow was justified in making him 
 at the end of his hfe regret his part in all that "bloody 
 work." 
 
 Longfellow used the most palpable historical as- 
 pects of these early episodes in Colonial history, be- 
 cause he wished to fit them into a large scheme, giving 
 the important epochs in the religious life of Christen- 
 dom. These crises in New England were the death- 
 throes of religious persecution in the western world, 
 at least in an acute form, and from that time the 
 growth of religious hberty has been a steady one, in 
 spite of occasional lapses into mild forms of persecu- 
 tion. This period was therefore a great one in the 
 history of Christendom, and because of its universal 
 significance was the fitting climax in Longfellow's 
 portrayal of important historical epochs in religion. 
 
 Whittier, poetizing about the same period, sees its 
 effects upon the daily life of the people, rather than its 
 historical significance. This was very natural, for he 
 lived in a region where as he, himself, tells us, a be- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 99 
 
 lief in supematuralism had not yet died out. This 
 showed itself originally not only in the witch super- 
 stition, but in a belief in all sorts of magic happenings. 
 
 When the Pilgrims landed in New England, they 
 had already an inheritance of belief in witchcraft 
 and a personal devil who was constantly plotting evil 
 against mankind. For three centuries, witches had 
 been burned and hanged by thousands in England, 
 France and Germany, It is scarcely to be wondered 
 at that in the new environment, face to face with an 
 unknown wilderness, peopled by a mysterious race 
 who practised magic arts, these benighted colonists 
 thought they had come upon the devil's own cohorts. 
 The most learned scholars as well as the clergymen be- 
 lieved in it. 
 
 "Our Puritan ancestors," says Whittier, in his de- 
 lightful little book on "Supernaturahsm in New Eng- 
 land," "were, in their own view of the matter, a sort 
 of advance guard and forlorn hope of Christendom in 
 its contact with the bad angel. The New World into 
 which they had so valiantly pushed the outposts of 
 the Church Militant was to them not God's world, but 
 the devil's. They stood there on their little patch of 
 sanctified territory like the game-keeper of 'Der Frei- 
 schiitz' in the charmed circle. Within were prayer and 
 fasting, unmelodious psalmody and solemn hewing of 
 heretics 'before the Lord in Gilgal.' Without were 
 'dogs and sorcerers,' red children of perdition, Powah 
 wizards and 'the foul fiend.' " He continues, "One 
 has only to read the two Mathers to perceive that that 
 enemy was to them no metaphysical abstraction, no 
 scholastic definition, no figment of a poetical fancy, 
 but a living, active reality, alternating between the 
 
100 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 sublimest possibilities of evil and the lowest details of 
 mean mischief; now a tricksy spirit disturbing the 
 goodwife's platters or soiling her new-washed luien, 
 and anon riding the storm cloud and pointing its 
 thunderbolts." 
 
 There were witches and Quakers and heretics; an 
 Anne Hutchinson, a Mistress Hibbins, a Cassandra 
 Southwick to be feared as persons in league with his 
 satanic majesty, but what were these to the Indian 
 Powahs and Panisees, with their conjuring tricks, 
 their magical rites, and their grotesque incantations 
 to drive away disease or avert misfortune? Winthrop 
 declares in aU seriousness, "Their Panisees are men of 
 great power and wisdom, and to these the devil ap- 
 peareth more familiarly than to others." 
 
 In illustration of the power wielded by a Panisee, 
 an interesting incident is told by Whittier of an In- 
 dian preacher's tritimph over a celebrated Panisee. 
 This preacher, Hiacoomes, was the first convert to 
 Christianity on Martha's Vineyard. "While address- 
 ing on one occasion a large assembly of his red breth- 
 ren, and while asserting the superiority of his new 
 faith over that in which he had been educated, a cele- 
 brated Panisee, whose magical power was everywhere 
 dreaded, made his appearance in horrid costume, and 
 with the paraphernalia of his art hanging about him. 
 After vainly endeavoring by strange gestures, con- 
 tortions and mutterings, to disturb and terrify the 
 preacher, he placed before him a charm, bidding him 
 keep silence on pain of instant destruction. The su- 
 perstitious and half-converted auditors drew back in 
 the utmost terror, shrieking and begging their preach- 
 er to desist. Hiacoomes never hesitated. With a loud 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 101 
 
 voice he defied the magician, told him his arts had 
 no power over a servant of the true God, and in proof 
 of it trampled the formidable charm under his feet. 
 This bold act was more convincing to the astonished 
 spectators than all the previous sermons of their elo- 
 quent teacher. From that day the once-formidable 
 Powah became a laughing-stock on the island." Whit- 
 tier gives a good idea of what the pervading atmos- 
 phere of superstition had been in his "Extract from a 
 New England Legend." 
 
 In "The Double Headed Snake of Newbury" is 
 described one of those marvels in which Cotton Mather 
 took so much delight, and of which — 
 
 "Whether he lurked in the Oldtown fen 
 Or the gray earth-flax of the Devil's Den, 
 Or swam in the wooded Artichoke, 
 Or coiled by the Northman's Written Rock, 
 Nothing on record is left to show ; 
 Only the fact that he lived we know, 
 And left the cast of a double head 
 In the scaly mask which he yearly shed. 
 For he carried a head where his tail should be. 
 And the two, of course, could never agree, 
 But wriggled about with main and might. 
 Now to the left and now to the right; 
 Pulling and twisting this way and that, 
 Neither knew what the other was at." 
 
 The Rev. Christopher Toppan made diligent in- 
 quiries concerning the Amphisbsena, as it was called, 
 and was enabled to give Cotton Mather the assur- 
 ance that "it had really two heads, one at each end; 
 two mouths, two stings or tongues." Whittier draws 
 
102 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 a picture of Cotton and his excitement when he heard 
 of the marvel, — ^not only himiorous, but containing a 
 caustic bit of criticism at the expense of this learned 
 hunter of the marvellous : 
 
 "Cotton Mather came galloping down 
 All the way to Newbury town, 
 With his eyes agog and his ears set wide. 
 And his marvellous inkhom at his side; 
 Stirring the while in the shallow pool 
 Of his brains for the lore he learned at school, 
 To garnish the story, with here a streak 
 Of Latin and there another of Greek; 
 And the tales he heard and the notes he took, 
 Behold, are they not in his Wonder-Book?" 
 
 . The poet declares that the superstition still clings 
 to the locahty, in a proverbial form at least : 
 
 "Stories, like dragons, are hard to kill. 
 If the snake does not, the tale runs still 
 In Byfield Meadows, on Pipestave Hill. 
 And still, whenever husband and wife 
 Publish the shame of their daily strife, 
 And, with mad cross-purpose, tug and strain 
 At either end of the marriage-chain, 
 The gossips say with a knowing shake 
 Of their gray heads, 'Look at the Double Snake! 
 One in body and two in will, 
 The Amphisbffina is living still.' " 
 
 The most extended of Whittier's witch romances is 
 "Mabel Martin," wherein are seen the baleful effects 
 upon the child of a mother's reputation for being a 
 witch. The story starts from an actual incident. Su- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 103 
 
 sanna Martin, an aged woman of Amesbury, was tried 
 for witchcraft and executed. Her home was in what 
 is now known as Pleasant Valley, on the Merrimac, 
 a little above the old ferry, a spot famous in tradition 
 for the attempted assassination of the tyrant, Andros. 
 Another aged woman of the neighborhood on the 
 other side of the Powwow River, the wife of Judge 
 Bradbury, was also accused and would have been exe- 
 cuted but for the sudden collapse of the persecution. 
 Goody Martin was the only witch hanged on the north 
 side of the Merrimac. Again in this poem we have 
 the Merrimac setting, then a harvest scene, where amid 
 the merry husking party, Mabel Martin sits alone and 
 unnoticed, imtil some of the party observe her, only 
 to repeat her name with cruel looks "And taunt her 
 with her mother's name." In her dire need, a cham- 
 pion comes to her defense, and with the heartlessness 
 characteristic of the times, one sly maiden accuses her 
 of having bewitched him: 
 
 "None dared withstand him to his face. 
 But one sly maiden spake aside, 
 'The little witch is evil-eyed! 
 
 " 'Her mother only killed a cow, 
 Or witched a churn or dairy-pan; 
 But she, forsooth, must charm a man.' " 
 
 Esek Harden is the sort of man, however, who set- 
 tles things for himself. He is typical of the forces 
 which were finally to turn aside the fury of the witch 
 accusers. Fortunately there were people of common 
 sense who could see the intrinsic goodness of some of 
 
104 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 the individuals who were accused, and, at the same 
 time, the selfish interests that often actuated the ac- 
 cusers. He breaks out : 
 
 " 'She is indeed her mother's child, 
 But God's sweet pity ministers 
 Unto no whiter soul than hers. 
 
 " 'Let Goody Martin rest in peace ; 
 I never knew her harm a fly. 
 And witch or not, God knows — not I. 
 
 " 'I know who swore her life away ; 
 And as God lives, I'd not condemn 
 An Indian dog on word of them.' " 
 
 Esek follows up his championship with love, and 
 Mabel, as his wife, forgets the insults which had been 
 heaped upon her. 
 
 In "The Changeling," one of the tales in "The 
 Tent on the Beach," is shown the reformation through 
 prayer of one of the witch accusers, who imagines the 
 witch Goody Cole has exchanged her own child for a; 
 witch-child. The poem is a really powerful presenta- 
 tion of the fact that the bewitched ones were more 
 often the accusers than the accused. In this case the 
 poor mother is sincere. The prevailing belief in 
 witchcraft and magic has told so upon her mental 
 condition that she is suffering from what we should 
 io-day call hysteria. Her wise husband, in his 
 prayer, acts the part of a modern physician in giving 
 her hypnotic suggestions. These bring her back to 
 herself. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 105 
 
 "Then the goodman, Ezra Dalton, 
 Laid his hand upon her head: 
 'Thy sorrow is great, O woman ! 
 I sorrow with thee,' he said. 
 
 " 'The paths to trouble are many, 
 
 And never but one sure way 
 
 Leads out to the light beyond it; 
 
 My poor wife, let us pray.' 
 
 "Then he said to the great All-Father, 
 'Thy daughter is weak and blind ; 
 Let her sight come back and clothe her 
 Once more in her right mind. 
 
 ***Lead her out of this evil shadow. 
 Out of these fancies wild ; 
 Let the holy love of the mother 
 Turn again to her child. 
 
 " 'Make her lips like the lips of Mary 
 Kissing her blessed Son ; 
 Let her hands, like the hands of Jesus, 
 Rest on her little one. 
 
 " 'Comfort the soul of thy handmaid. 
 Open her prison-door, 
 And Thine shall be all the glory 
 And praise forevermore.' 
 
 "Then, into the face of the mother 
 The baby looked up and smiled ; 
 And the cloud of her soul was lifted. 
 And she knew her little child." 
 
106 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The result of her awakening is that she sends her 
 husband galloping post-haste to have the witch Goody 
 Cole released from prison. This is another example 
 of the fact that the witch superstition collapsed 
 through the good sense of a few sturdy minds. 
 
 Goody Cole belonged to the life of reality as well 
 as to that of romance. This poor harmless old woman 
 was brought before the quarter sessions in 1680 to 
 answer to the charge of witchcraft. The court could 
 not find satisfactory evidence of witchcraft, but so 
 strong was the feeling against her that Waldron, the 
 presiding magistrate, ordered her to be imprisoned, 
 with a lock kept on her leg, at the pleasure of the 
 court. 
 
 The feeling against her was no doubt frequently 
 based upon such slight causes as those in this poem, 
 or in another poem of Whittier's in which she figures, 
 "The Wreck of Rivermouth." She lived alone in a 
 little hovel in Hampton, and for years was feared, 
 hated and persecuted as the witch of Hampton. In 
 the poem she is responsible for the wreck in a way in 
 which some coincidence might make any one responsi- 
 ble. She was guilty alone of speaking words of bad 
 omen which, imf ortunately, came true. 
 
 " 'Fie on the witch !' cried a merry girl, 
 
 As they rounded the point where Goody Cole 
 Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl, 
 
 A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul. 
 *Oho ! she muttered, 'ye're brave to-day ! 
 But I hear the little waves laugh and say, 
 "The broth will be cold that waits at home. 
 For it's one to go, but another to come !" ' 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 107 
 
 •* 'She's cursed,' said the skipper ; 'speak her fair ; 
 I'm scary always to see her shake 
 Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair. 
 
 And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake.' " 
 
 The storm comes, the boat is wrecked, the merry 
 party drowned, and poor Goody Cole looks out from 
 her door: — 
 
 "The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone. 
 Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar 
 Toss the foam from tusks of stone.' 
 She clasped her hands with a grip of pain. 
 The tear on her cheek was not of rain : 
 'They are lost,' she muttered, 'boat and crew! 
 liord, forgive me ! my words were true.' " 
 
 The witches of those good old times were not neces- 
 sarily hideous old crones. They might be fair young 
 girls with the bluest of eyes and the sunniest of smiles. 
 Such was the witch of Wenham, as Whittier pictures 
 her, whose loveliness, even in the words of the horror- 
 stricken mother, trying to save her son, shines out. 
 
 *' 'Son Andrew, for the love of God 
 And of thy mother, stay !' 
 She clasped her hands, she wept aloud, 
 But Andrew rode away. 
 
 ** 'O reverend sir, my Andrew's soul 
 The Wenham witch has caught; 
 She holds him with the curled gold 
 Whereof her snare is wrought. 
 
108 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 " 'She charms him with her great blue eyes, 
 She binds him with her hair; 
 Oh, break the spell with holy words, 
 Unbind him with a prayer!' 
 
 " 'Our poor Ann Putnam testifies 
 She Saw iier weave a spell, 
 Bare-armed, loose-haired, at full of moon, 
 Around a dried-up well. 
 
 " ' "Spring up, well !" she softly sang, 
 The Hebrew's old refrain 
 (For Satan uses Bible words), 
 Till water flowed amain. 
 
 " 'And many a goodwife heard her speak. 
 By Wenham water, words 
 That made the buttercups take wings 
 And turn to yellow birds. 
 
 " 'They say that swaxming wild bees seek 
 The hive at her command ; 
 And fishes swim to take their food 
 From out her dainty hand. 
 
 " 'Meek as she sits in meeting time. 
 The godly minister 
 Notes well the spell that doth compel 
 The young men's eyes to her. 
 
 " 'The mole upon her dimpled chin 
 Is Satan's seal and sign ; 
 Her lips are red with evil bread 
 And stain of unblessed wine. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 10» 
 
 " 'For Tituba, my Indian, saith 
 At Quasycung she took 
 The Black Man's godless sacrament 
 And signed his dreadful book. 
 
 " 'Last night my sore afflicted child 
 Against the young witch cried. 
 To take her Marshal Herrick rides 
 Even now to Wenham side.' " 
 
 This charming little person, who can turn butter- 
 caps into yellow birds, is pounced upon by the ruthless 
 marshal. In vain her pleadings! No account of her 
 good doings can save her. The poor child even fears 
 she may unwittingly have made a compact with the 
 devil, a fear not unusual with people who were sud- 
 denly accused. 
 
 " 'Oh, leave me for my mother's sake, 
 She needs my eyes to see.' 
 'Those eyes, young witch, the crows shall peck 
 From off the gallows-tree.' 
 
 "He bore her to a farmhouse old 
 And up its stairway long, 
 And closed on her the garret door 
 With iron bolted strong." 
 
 She is left there but a short time, however, for her 
 faithful lover is not to be convinced by mother, clergy- 
 man or marshal that his little blue-eyed maid is a 
 witch. ' 
 
 "Low hanging in the midnight sky 
 Looked in a half-faced moon. 
 Was it a dream, or did she hear 
 Her lover's whistled tune.'' 
 
110 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "She forced the oaken scuttle back ; 
 A whisper reached her ear: 
 'Slide down the roof to me,' it said, 
 'So softly none may hear.' 
 
 "She slid along the sloping roof 
 Till from its eaves she hung, 
 And felt the loosened shingles yield 
 To which her fingers clung. 
 
 "'Below, her lover stretched his hands 
 And touched her feet so small ; 
 'Drop down to me, dear heart,' he said, 
 'My arms shall break the fall.' 
 
 •"He set her on his pillion soft. 
 Her arms about him twined; 
 And, noiseless as if velvet-shod. 
 They left the house behind." 
 
 The house is still standing in Danvers, Massachu- 
 setts, where a suspected witch was confined overnight 
 in the attic, the door of which was fast bolted. She 
 escaped, however, during the night, supposedly 
 through the connivance of her Satanic colleague. 
 Whittier lets his daintiest fancies play about this grim 
 little episode, and has turned out a New England love 
 ballad, reminding one of the days of chivalry, yet re- 
 taining genuine New England feeling. 
 
 In the "Garrison of Cape Ann" is told another of 
 the marvellous tales so convincing to Cotton Mather 
 as a proof of the existence of the devil. It was cer- 
 tainly hard commons that the poor Puritans should be 
 obliged to fight spectre Indians as well as real ones. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 111 
 
 "Thrice, with plumes and flowing scalplocks, from the mid- 
 night wood they came, — 
 
 Thrice around the block-house marching, met, unharmed, 
 its volleyed flame; 
 
 Then, with mocking laugh and gesture, sunk in earth or 
 lost in air, 
 
 AU the ghostly wonder vanished, and the moonlit sands lay 
 bare. 
 
 "Midnight came; from out the forest moved a dusky mass 
 
 that soon 
 Grew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly marching in 
 
 the moon. 
 'Ghosts or witches,' said the captain, 'thus I foil the Evil 
 
 One!' 
 And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his 
 
 gun." 
 
 The silver button did not prove efficacious, how- 
 ever; the spectral warriors appeared again. This time 
 the captain had recourse to prayer, whereupon the 
 mystic marching of the spectres ceased, but not with- 
 out protest, for 
 
 "A sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of 
 
 all,— 
 Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish !" 
 
 But never again were the "ghostly leaguers" seen 
 "marching round the block-house of Cape Ann." 
 
 As Whittier himself remarks of the Puritan fathers, 
 "Let no man lightly estimate their spiritual knight- 
 errantry. The heroes of old romance who went about 
 smiting dragons, lopping giant heads, and otherwise 
 
112 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 pleasantly diverting themselves, scarcely deserve 
 mention in comparison with our New England 
 champions." 
 
 The site of this hlock-house has evidently been lost, 
 for Gloucester's authentic historian does not give any 
 date earlier than 1745 in connection with Gloucester 
 fortifications. At that time a breastworks and stage 
 was thrown up upon what is now known as Rocky 
 Neck, the point which makes the inner harbor, and 
 so built up with prosaic houses that it would take a 
 very elastic imagination to see it beleaguered with 
 spectral warriors. Though Gloucester subsequently 
 had a fort on this point, and also on Eastern Point, 
 traces of which are still visible, as well as breastworks 
 at other exposed localities, she was never obliged to 
 fire a shot in self-defense except against these early 
 spectral warriors of whom Cotton Mather tells. 
 
 Phantom ships seem to have been a quite common 
 occurrence. One is mentioned in this poem, a spectre 
 ship of Salem with dead men in her shrouds that sailed 
 sheer above the water, in the loom of morning clouds. 
 Longfellow tells of one in his "Phantom Ship," which 
 appeared to the people of New Haven, the spectre of 
 the ship they had sent back to England, laden with 
 whatever valuables and products of the coimtry they 
 could collect, and described so circumstantially at the 
 time of its appearance that we feel almost as boimd 
 to believe in it as the marvel-intoxicated Mather. 
 
 Whittier tells of two others, one seen at Block 
 Island, and one at Orr's Island, on the Maine coast. 
 The former is out of our present jurisdiction, but is 
 of peculiar interest because the vision had been seen 
 by a man living at the time when Whittier wrote the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 113 
 
 poem. This old gentleman was Mr. Benjamin Cory- 
 don, of Napoli, New York, who, in his ninety-second 
 year, wrote the following letter to Whittier, after 
 having read the poem: 
 
 "The Palatine was a ship that was driven upon 
 Block Island, in a storm, more than a hundred years 
 ago. Her people had just got ashore, and were on 
 their knees thanking God for saving them from 
 drowning, when the islanders rushed upon them and 
 murdered them all. That was a little more than the 
 Almighty could stand, so He sent the Fire or Phantom 
 Ship, to let them know He had not forgotten their 
 wickedness. She was seen once a year on the same 
 night of the year on which the murders occurred, as 
 long as any of the wreckers were living; but never 
 after all were dead. I must have seen her eight or 
 ten times — ^perhaps more — in my early days. It is 
 seventy years or more since she was last seen. My 
 father lived right opposite Block Island, on the main- 
 land, so we had a fair view of her as she passed doAvn 
 by the island, then she would disappear. She re- 
 sembled a full-rigged ship, with her sails all set and all 
 ablaze. It was the grandest sight I ever saw in all 
 my life. I know of only two living who ever saw her, 
 — Benjamin L. Knowles, of Rhode Island, now 
 ninety-four years old, and myself, now in my niaety- 
 second year." 
 
 No doubt these old gentlemen sincerely thought 
 they had seen it; but the sceptical might question the 
 wisdom of the Almighty in showing so grand a sight 
 as a warning of future pimishment. 
 
 The Dead Ship of Harpswell is evidently the phan- 
 tom of one that went to sea never to return, and adds 
 
114 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 a welcome touch of mystery to one of Maine's most 
 charming island-daughters, — 
 
 "For never comes the ship to port, 
 
 Howe'er the breeze may be ; 
 Just when she nears the waiting shore 
 
 She drifts again to sea. 
 No tack of sail, nor turn of helm, 
 
 Nor sheer of veering side; 
 Stern-fore she drives to sea and night, 
 
 Against the wind and tide." 
 
 Whittier assures us that in his day there stiU lin- 
 gered in many a green valley of New England a be- 
 lief in charms, in visions of ghosts, in warnings of 
 coming calamities. He actually knew a man who be- 
 lieved he had seen the devU in the form of a dog, and 
 among his acquaintances were several who had had 
 strange supernatural experiences. 
 
 One in particular he tells of a lady of his acquain- 
 tance, whom he describes as a staid, unimaginative 
 church-member. This lady had a weird and cAddently 
 devil-inspired vision on the shores of Great Pond in 
 the East Parish of Haverhill, a spot so lovely that, in 
 the poet's estimation, it would seem the place of all 
 others where spirits of evil must shrink, rebuked and 
 abashed, from the presence of the beautiful. He de- 
 clares that whoever has seen Great Pond, with its 
 soft slopes of greenest verdure, its white and spark- 
 ling sand rim, its southern hem of pine and maple, 
 mirrored, with spray and leaf, in the glassy water; its 
 graceful hill sentinels round about, white with the 
 orchard bloom of spring, or tasselled with the corn 
 of autumn; its long sweep of blue waters, broken here 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 115 
 
 and there by picturesque headlands, — ^has seen one of 
 the very loveliest of the thousand little lakes or ponds 
 of New England. Here, then, this staid lady had the 
 bad taste to see the following marvel, reminiscent and 
 at the same time typical of the hard-hearted brutality 
 of the forefathers of New England: "She was stand- 
 ing in the angle formed by two roads, one of which 
 traverses the pond shore, the other leading over the 
 hill which rises abruptly from the water. It was a 
 warm summer evening, just at sunset. She was 
 startled by the appearance of a horse and cart of the 
 kind used a century ago in New England, driving 
 rapidly down the steep hillside and crossing the wall 
 a few yards before her, without noise or displacing of 
 a stone. The driver sat sternly erect, with a fierce 
 countenance, grasping the reins tightly and looking 
 neither to the right nor the left. Behind the cart and 
 apparently lashed to it was a woman of gigantic size, 
 her countenance convulsed with a blended expression 
 of rage and agony, writhing and struggling. Her 
 head, neck, feet and arms were naked. Wild locks 
 of gray hair streamed back from temples cor- 
 rugated and darkened. The horrible cavalcade swept 
 by across the street and disappeared at the margin 
 of the pond." Like many of the marvels seen by 
 Cotton Mather, the vision does not appear to have 
 had any pertinence whatever at the time, and we can 
 but meditate to-day upon the existence in the Puri- 
 tan Fathers of a species of fanaticism which made 
 possible such an hallucination to a good woman of 
 two centuries later. 
 
 Removed a httle farther back was the famous Gen- 
 eral Moulton of Hampton. Too far back for Whittier 
 
116 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 himself to have knoAvn, yet he knew people who 
 remembered General Moulton and the marvellous 
 stories that had been told about him, especially in re- 
 lation to his league with the devil, who used to visit 
 him occasionally in the shape of a small man in a 
 leathern dress. The General's house was once burned 
 in revenge, it is said, by the fiend, whom the former 
 had outwitted. He had agreed, it seems, to furnish 
 the General with a bootful of gold and silver pieces, 
 poured annually down the chimney. Upon one oc- 
 casion, the grasping General hit upon the clever de- 
 vice of cutting off the foot of the boot. The devil 
 kept pouring down the coin from the chimney's top 
 in a vain attempt to fill it, until the room was liter- 
 ally packed with the precious metal. 
 
 In his poem, "The New Wife and the Old," Whit- 
 tier gives a poetic version of the ghost stories pertain- 
 ing to the General, related to him by an elderly 
 visitor. Twenty-five years after the poem was pub- 
 lished Whittier received other interesting proof of the 
 ghostly goings-on in the Moulton mansion after the 
 General's and the new wife's death. A lady who had 
 been spending the summer in the Moulton House 
 wrote a letter to him in which she said: 
 
 "I remember my mother's repeating to me her 
 recollections of the exorcising of the ghosts of Gen- 
 eral Moulton and his wife, by a parson Milton or 
 Boddily. My grandfather Whipple being absent, the 
 servants (several of them had been slaves in New- 
 port) insisted that General Moulton and his wife 
 disturbed the house so much at night, he thumping 
 with his cane, and her dress a-rustling up and down 
 the stairs, that nothing could allay their terror; and 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 117 
 
 one, Mrs. Williams, the housekeeper, persisted so 
 strongly that she frequently saw them both, he in a 
 snuff -colored suit and enormous wig, holding a gold- 
 headed cane, that nothing could induce them to re- 
 main in the house. Many persons in the vicinity came 
 to the exorcising, or 'laying the ghosts,' as they 
 termed it. My mother said the scene was very im- 
 pressive to her as a child, and she could never forget 
 the white and black servants and neighbors, standing 
 in solemn awe, and the abjuring of the minister. The 
 servants, I believe, never afterwards complained of 
 being disturbed or of seeing the ghosts, after this 
 ceremony." 
 
 The minister who did the exorcising was the Rev. 
 John Boddily. He died in 1802, and was buried in a 
 Newburyport burying ground. 
 
 This does not exhaust all the poems in which the 
 magic element comes in. There is "Cobbler Keezar's 
 Vision"; the old German cobbler, who possessed a 
 fragment of magic moonstone, sees in it a vision of the 
 days when in New England there will no longer be 
 hunting of witches and warlocks, no more clowns and 
 puppets and imps, with horns and tail, but — 
 
 "Pleasure without regretting. 
 And good wtihout abuse, 
 The holiday and the bridal 
 Of beauty and of use. 
 
 "Here's a priest and there's a Quaker; 
 Do the cat and dog agree? 
 Have they burned the stocks for ovenwood? 
 Have they cut down the gallow's-tree? 
 
118 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Would the old folk know their children? 
 Would they own the graceless town, 
 With never a ranter to worry 
 And never a witch to drown?" 
 
 Still others are "The Wishing Bridge," a magic 
 bridge of Marblehead, and "Birchbrook Mill," a 
 haunted spot where once stood the old mill. 
 
 Tales of Quaker persecution have been almost as 
 frequently an inspiration to Whittier as tales of super- 
 stition and witchcraft. "The ExUes" and "Cassandra 
 Southwick" are the principal poems, with the excep- 
 tion of "The Pennsylvania Pilgrim." The first car- 
 ries us on a delightful voyage in a wherry from up 
 the Merrimac to Nantucket. The story is of Macy's 
 giving harbor to an old Quaker in a storm, where- 
 upon, as usually happened in such cases, the authori- 
 ties laid hands upon not only the Quaker, but upon 
 Goodman Macy. They carried the Quaker off to 
 imprisonment in Boston's famous jail, which stood 
 where the old courthouse now stands on Court 
 Street, and which well deserves to be remembered as 
 New England's bastUe, — so unjust and outrageous 
 were the imprisonments within it. Macy, however, 
 called his wife, and fled to the river, jumped into a 
 wherry and, wielding his oar to good purpose, es- 
 caped pursuit. Then began a row as marvellous, 
 certainly, as any recorded in history, down the Mer- 
 rimac to the ocean, and along the beautiful north 
 shore to Massachusetts Bay. 
 
 "They passed the gray rocks of Cape Arm, 
 And Gloucester's harbor-bar; 
 
Eh 
 
 o 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 119 
 
 The watch-fire of the garrison 
 Shone like a setting star. 
 
 "How brightly broke the morning 
 On Massachusetts Bay ! 
 Blue wave, and bright green island, 
 Rejoicing in the day. 
 
 *'Far round the bleak and stormy Cape 
 The venturous Macy passed, 
 And on Nantucket's naked isle 
 Drew up his boat at last." 
 
 It is said Macy was the first white settler (1660) 
 on this "naked isle." 
 
 Whittier waxes quite sentimental over the thought 
 of Nantucket as the refuge of the free, hoping it may 
 ever remain so. What would he think of the spec- 
 tacle of Nantucket given over to the summer visitor, 
 from whom the native islander is anxious to extract 
 as much revenue as possible, even charging him for 
 the fish which he himself catches? Whittier wastes 
 no words upon the scenery of Nantucket, yet it has 
 its own sort of beauty. It is well-nigh treeless, as he 
 says, but it is covered with low vegetation, — grasses 
 and flowers and shrubs, — which makes of it a delight 
 to the botanist, in the spring, and to the artist, in the 
 autumn, when its great sweeps of low, rolling land 
 are brilliant with colors as infinite as those of the 
 most gorgeous Persian carpet, and always through 
 the vistas, stretches of white sand, and beyond, the 
 interminable blue of the sea. 
 
120 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 A Salem episode is versified in "Cassandra South- 
 wick." It tells of the iniquitous practice of selling 
 persons who had harbored Quakers, as slaves to the 
 English of Virginia or Barbados, if they were unable 
 to pay the fine. The particular case upon which Whit- 
 tier bases his poem is that of a boy and girl whose 
 father had been imprisoned and had lost nearly all 
 his property for harboring Quakers, and who were 
 themselves fined for not going to church. The inten- 
 tion could not be carried out, however, because no 
 ship-master could be found willing to carry them to 
 the West Indies. Whittier leaves the boy out and 
 puts the telling of the thrilling story into Cassandra's 
 mouth. When the sheriff asked for bids, not a voice 
 replies; he asks again, and one of the captains spoke 
 up, carried the crowd with him, and the girl was 
 saved, — another instance of the power of justice when 
 bravely upheld. 
 
 "Pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coins of Span- 
 ish gold. 
 From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage of her hold. 
 By the living God who made me ! — I would sooner in your bay 
 Sink ship and crew and casks, than bear this child away." 
 
 In four other poems Whittier presents four phases 
 of Quaker history. Margaret Brewster's visit with 
 four Friends to the Old South Church, where she de- 
 livered a "warning from the great God of Heaven 
 and Earth to the Rulers and Magistrates of Boston," 
 is described in one : 
 
 "Repent! repent! ere the Lord shall speak 
 In thunder and breaking seals ! 
 
Old South Chukch 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 121 
 
 Let all souls worship Him in the way 
 His light within reveals." 
 
 She received the usual punishment for such of- 
 fenses, being whipped at the cart's tail up and down 
 the town with twenty lashes. 
 
 "The King's Missive" tells of the arrival of Shat- 
 tuck from Salem with the King's order that the per- 
 secution of the Quakers should cease. The poem 
 is chiefly interesting for the glimpse it gives of old 
 Boston, and the words it puts into the mouth of Nich- 
 olas Upsall, who was the friend of the Quakers and 
 is also one of the characters in Longfellow's "John 
 Endicott." In prophecy, — 
 
 "One brave voice rose above the din. 
 
 Upsall, gray with his length of days. 
 Cried from the door of his Red Lyon Inn : 
 
 'Men of Boston, give God the praise! 
 No more shall innocent blood call down 
 The bolts of wrath on your guilty town. 
 The freedom of worship, dear to you, 
 Is dear to all, and to all is due. 
 
 *' *I see the vision of days to come, 
 
 When yotir beautiful city of the Bay 
 Shall be Christian liberty's chosen home. 
 
 And none shall his neighbor's rights gainsay." 
 
 It seems that Whittier made a mistake in placing 
 the interview between Endicott and Shattuck in the 
 council chamber. It really occurred in Endicott's 
 house. 
 
 The Boston of Endicott's day was conspicuous by 
 
122 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 reason of its windmill on Snow Hill, of which Whit- 
 tier gives a picture: 
 
 "The autumn haze lay soft and still 
 
 On wood and meadow and upland farms ; 
 On the brow of Snow Hill the great windmill 
 
 Slowly and lazily swung its arms; 
 Broad in the sunshine stretched away, 
 With its capes and islands, the turquoise bay; 
 And over water and dusk of pines 
 Blue hills lifted their faint outlines." 
 
 "How the Women Went from Dover" gives an 
 interesting episode of the Quaker persecution, show- 
 ing how the humanity of a few' individuals was con- 
 stantly setting itself up against the brutality of the 
 authorities. In this case, the constable, himself of the 
 town of SaUsbury, refused to carry out a warrant 
 issued by Major Waldron for the whipping of the 
 Quakers Anne Colman, Mary Tomkins and Alice 
 Ambrose in eleven towns until they should be beyond 
 his jurisdiction. The warrant was executed in Dover 
 and Hampton, but at Salisbury the constable stood 
 firm. The town's people supported him, as well 
 as Major Robert Pike, the leading man of the lower 
 Merrimac valley, who was an advocate of religious 
 tolerance, and his command was obeyed: — 
 
 "Cut loose these poor ones and let them go; 
 Come what will of it, all men shall know 
 No warrant is good, though backed by the Crown, 
 For whipping women in Salisbury town." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 123 
 
 "Banished from Massachusetts," inspired by a 
 painting of E. A. Abbey, is a meditation upon the 
 theme of Quaker banishment, leading to a conclusion 
 which emphasizes the influence for good that the 
 Quakers actually had upon the religious development 
 of the world. Fanatical they were, and doubtless most 
 unpleasant to deal with, but they "advertised," as we 
 should say to-day, the cause of freedom of conscience 
 in religious matters. So the English Suffragettes are 
 advertising to-day the cause of the suffrage for wo- 
 men. It is a curious fact that methods of which one 
 cannot, in the abstract, approve, seem often to be 
 needed to bring about a wholly good end. 
 
 "The Muse of history yet shall make amends 
 
 To those who freedom, peace, and justice taught, 
 Beyond their dark age led the van of thought, 
 And left unforfeited the name of Friends." 
 
 Romances of Colonial times, either historical or 
 imaginative, in which neither witch nor Quaker ap- 
 pear, are also to be found only in Longfellow and 
 Whittier. Lowell touches upon the time in his "In- 
 terview with Miles Standish," which might be de- 
 scribed as a sociological conversation with the ghost 
 of the good Miles in his study. It has not a suspicion 
 of the romantic about it. 
 
 In the "Tales of the Wayside Inn" Longfellow has 
 included a few romantic episodes of Colonial times, 
 chief among which are the poet's tale of "Lady Went- 
 worth," and the landlord's tale, "The Rhyme of St. 
 Christopher." 
 
124 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The story of "Lady Wentworth" takes us to the 
 charming seaport town of Portsmouth, New Hamp- 
 shire. A speaking likeness of Governor Wentworth 
 is given through the eyes of Earl Halifax's portrait, 
 which swings upon the tavern sign, as well as a 
 wholly imaginative portrait of the future Lady 
 Wentworth: 
 
 "Just then the meditations of the Earl 
 Were interrupted by a little girl, 
 Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair. 
 Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare ; 
 A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon. 
 Sure to be rounded into beauty soon ; 
 A creature men would worship and adore. 
 Though now in mean habiliments she bore 
 A pail of water, dripping through the street. 
 And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 
 
 "It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
 The slender form, the delicate, thin face; 
 The swaying motion, as she hurried by; 
 The shining feet, the laughter in her eye. 
 That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced. 
 As in her pail the shifting sunbeams danced. 
 
 "What next, upon that memorable day. 
 Arrested his attention, was a gay 
 And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun. 
 The silver harness glittering in the sun, 
 Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, 
 Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank ; 
 While all alone within the chariot sat 
 A portly person, with three-cornered hat, 
 
E-i 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 PL, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 125 
 
 A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
 Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
 And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees; 
 Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
 Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed, 
 Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast; 
 For this was Governor Wentworth driving down 
 To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, 
 Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, 
 A goodly place where it was good to be." 
 
 The barefooted charmer becomes the Governor's 
 housemaid, and in due time his wife. Upon her wed- 
 ding day she appears, — 
 
 "A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed. 
 Youthful and beautiful and simply dressed. 
 Can this be Martha Hilton.? It must be! 
 Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she! 
 Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years. 
 How ladylike, how queenlike she appears ; 
 The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 
 Is Dian now, in all her majesty." 
 
 Regardless of truth, Longfellow has made a very 
 pretty story of this marriage, which, according to a 
 descendant of a niece of Governor Wentworth, a child 
 at the time of the marriage, was a very prosaic affair 
 and greatly displeasing to his relatives. The true 
 version of the story comes through Colonel Thomas 
 Wentworth Higginson, who heard it from the de- 
 scendant, Mrs. Mary Ann Williams, and communi- 
 cated it to Longfellow. Mrs. Williams wrote: "I 
 have seen Mr. Longfellow's poem, but I should think 
 
126 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 he would be afraid some of the old fellows would 
 appear to him for making it appear that any others 
 than the family were present to witness what they 
 considered a great degradation. Only the brothers 
 and brothers-in-law were present, and Mr. Brown; 
 and the bride, who had been his housekeeper for seven 
 years, was then thirty-five, and attired in a calico 
 dress and white apron. The family stood in whole- 
 some awe of the sturdy old governor, so treated Patty 
 with civility, but it was hard work for the stately old 
 dames, and she was dropped after his death." 
 
 The story of St. Christopher gives a glimpse into 
 the administration of the law in connection with of- 
 fenders against morals, and, absurd as it is from a 
 corrective point of view, it contains a lesson which 
 may well be pondered over to-day. The story makes 
 a good ballad subject, and is handled by Longfellow 
 with the skill which usually shows itself when he 
 adopts this form, so congenial to him. The allusions 
 to Morton of Merrymount, to Salem, and to the Puri- 
 tan governor,. aU take us back to the times of 
 Endicott and his untiring attempts to crush the trans- 
 gressors against not only the moral law, but the law 
 of joy and happiness. 
 
 "Evangeline" cannot be claimed for New England 
 as far as locality is concerned, though the history of 
 Acadia is closely linked with that of New England, 
 for not only did the original Acadia include part 
 of what is now Maine, but Massachusetts had a con- 
 spicuous share in the work of banishing the French 
 from Nova Scotia.* 
 
 *See author's "Longfellow's Country." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 127 
 
 Turning to Whittier again, we find one or two 
 stories of the Acadians in New England. "Mar- 
 guerite" is a romance of an Acadian maid, based 
 upon the fact that at the time of their banishment 
 from Acadia, many Acadians were assigned to towns 
 in Massachusetts, and the children bound out to ser- 
 vice or labor. This little maid, hardly treated by her 
 mistress, is loved by the son of the mistress, but his 
 love comes too late; he cannot recall from death the 
 maiden, who is dying from the effects of the abuse 
 she has received. In her dying vision, the girl sees 
 her native land. The glimpse of the land of the 
 Basin of Minas and the Gaspereau, though slight, is 
 suggestive, except that Whittier makes the mistake 
 of describing the rise of the tide on the Basin of 
 Minas as a "rush of the sea at flood." I have had 
 occasion to point out elsewhere that the rise of the 
 tide in the Basin of Minas, though rapid, as far as 
 the volume of water is concerned, is quiet and in- 
 sinuating. How could it be otherwise, with five miles 
 of beach to cover and twelve hours in which to do it? 
 If the Basin of Minas had steep shores, the "rush" 
 pictured by the poets would be indeed a reality. 
 
 Far more interesting than this pathetic little baUad, 
 from both a romantic and a historical point of view, 
 is "St. John." Here we are introduced, not to the 
 banished Acadian peasants of Massachusetts, but to 
 bold and adventurous Frenchmen, who with others 
 tried to sustain a claim in Maine as part of Acadia. 
 The now sleepy little town of Pemaquid, on John's 
 Bay, which, viewed from the opposite side of the 
 bayj looks like some spectral city of the clouds, as 
 across it drift the sunshine and the shadow with deli- 
 
128 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 cate interchange of tints from dim gray to gleaming 
 white, was, for more than a hundred years, a hotly 
 contested bit of territory. Still is to be seen there 
 the ruins of the fort which was destroyed no less than 
 three times in the struggles fought upon this historic 
 spot, and finally was pulled down by the inhabitants, 
 stone by stone, at the time of the War of Independ- 
 ence, to prevent its being seized and manned by the 
 English. Its destruction at this time not being com- 
 plete, a farmer who objected to its obstruction of his 
 view, finally removed and carted off its last stones 
 within the memory of the oldest inhabitant of the 
 place. 
 
 The first fort was called Pemaquid Fort, and is 
 said to have been erected in 1624. It seems to have 
 been destroyed, or at least plundered, by the noted 
 pirate, Dixie Bull, in 1632. In 1677 Fort Charles 
 was built in the same spot, by Sir Edmond Andros. 
 This was destroyed in 1689 by Indians, under the 
 instigation of the Frenchman, Baron De Castine, 
 who, though not in open war with the English, was 
 smarting because of the pillage of his home by An- 
 dros the year before. 
 
 The attack resulted in the capitulation of the fort. 
 The captain of the fort, Weems, and his men, were 
 permitted to depart for Boston, and all the people 
 of the place, men, women and children, were com- 
 pelled to leave with the Indians for Penobscot River. 
 The Indians thoroughly destroyed everything about 
 the fort and settlement, and warned the English set- 
 tlers never to return,' for they had had too much ex- 
 perience of English perfidy ever to allow them to re- 
 main in peace. This victory of the Indians put the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 129 
 
 French in full possession of the Acadia of Maine, 
 which had, by the treaty of Breda in 1667, been 
 yielded to France. The capture of Port Royal by 
 Phips and his forces, in 1690, brought back the east- 
 ern country into the hands of the English, and now 
 another fort was built at Pemaquid to maintain the 
 rights of the English to this territory. 
 
 On the arrival of Governor Phips at Boston, May 
 14, 1692, with the new charter and his commission 
 as governor, he began the erection of a strong fort 
 at Pemaquid, "such as had never before been seen in 
 all that region." It was built of stone, and nearly 
 twenty thousand pounds was spent in its construction. 
 Mather himself describes this fine fort, called the Wil- 
 liam Henry. But alas for plans of men and mice! — 
 four years later there came sailing into John's Bay 
 the French, under D'Iberville, with three ships, ac- 
 companied by many Indians in canoes. It was the 
 fourteenth of August when the fort received a sum- 
 mons to surrender, and four days later the fort and 
 everything about it had been destroyed and the walls 
 thrown down as far as possible. 
 
 The next fort, named Fort Frederic, was not built 
 until 1729, when the English government took it in 
 charge. The white settlers who gradually returned 
 to Pemaquid after the treaty of Utrecht in 1713, en- 
 croached so continually upon the land of the natives 
 that their own safety was constantly jeopardized, and 
 the need of a strong fort at Pemaquid was greatly 
 felt. The English government not having been able 
 to persuade the Massachusetts Bay colony to rebuild 
 the fort, at last, after thirty-three years, resolved to 
 do it. This fort became, for many years, a haven of 
 
130 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 refuge and safety from the vengeance of the ag- 
 grieved savage. 
 
 The history of this fort alone furnishes a stirring 
 chapter in the romance of New England. 
 
 With the fall of Quebec in 1759, fortification here 
 was no longer necessary. Its great cannon were car- 
 ried to Boston, and it was left to undergo the gradual 
 process of decay. But suddenly came the shot, "heard 
 round the world" ; a town meeting was held in Bristol, 
 and the first votes recorded were, "First, Voted that 
 we go down to Pemaquid and tear down the old fort. 
 Second, Voted that next Tuesday be the day to do 
 it," a wise move, for the British were already help- 
 ing themselves to cattle and sheep along shore. The 
 story is told that one man remonstrated upon the loss 
 of his cattle, when the British officer said to his men: 
 "Take this Yankee rebel's oxen into his parlor and 
 kill and dress them there," — and so it was done. 
 
 To add to the complexity of the situation in Acadia, 
 there were two Frenchmen, Charles Etienne La Tour, 
 a Protestant, and M. D'Aulney de Chamisse, a 
 Catholic, who carried on a feud worthy of mediaeval 
 Europe, and made things as unpleasant for Pema- 
 quid as the piratical Dixie Bull had done. They had 
 both been granted titles to much land in Acadia, and 
 upon the death of their superior officer. General 
 RazUly, a bitter rivalry sprang up between them. La 
 Tour was intrenched at St. John, and received aid 
 from the English colonists; and D'Aulney at Cas- 
 tine, Maine, not far from Pemaquid, with the French 
 and Indians to help him. History records that the 
 ferocious contest between these two unscrupulous ri- 
 vals raged with more or less violence for twelve years, 
 
Hi 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 131 
 
 and produced effects not a little detrimental to the 
 settlement at Pemaquid and all others on the coast. 
 Sometimes enormous wrongs were committed upon 
 innocent people living in the neighborhood, by their 
 exploits; angry menaces occasionally thrown out, 
 could not but excite the apprehension of the persons 
 living so near as Pemaquid. This was before the sec- 
 ond fort was built. Consequently there was no pro- 
 tection from these feudal chiefs, as Parkman has 
 called them. The incident in the lives of these two 
 men chosen by Whittier, is the one most capable of 
 heroic poetic treatment, namely, the defense of 
 La Tour's castle by his wife from an attack of 
 D'Aulney. 
 
 In the spring of 1645 D'Aulney learned that 
 La Tour was absent from his garrison; he proceeded 
 then to attack it. On the way he met a New England 
 vessel, and made a prize of her, in utter disregard of 
 a treaty he had just made with the English colonists, 
 and turned the crew ashore on a distant island without 
 food or suitable clothing. On arriving at St. John 
 he bombarded the fort, but Madame La Tour, who 
 had command during her husband's absence, made 
 such spirited resistance that he was obliged to retire, 
 his ship being badly damaged, with twenty of his 
 men killed and thirteen wounded. On his return, he 
 took aboard the men he had put ashore on the island, 
 who had remained there ten days in great suffering, 
 and gave them an old shallop to return in, but without 
 restoring any of their property. 
 
 Finally this miserable quarrel was brought to a 
 close. In April, 1647, D'Aulney again suddenly 
 made his appearance at St. John and attacked the 
 
132 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 fort with so much energy that he soon gained posses- 
 sion of it, making Madame La Tour and the whole 
 garrison prisoners, and appropriating to himself all 
 of La Tour's effects of every kind, which was not less 
 than ten thousand pounds. 
 
 Madame La Tour, in the absence of her husband, 
 had command of the fort, and, as on a former, similar 
 occasion, defended it with great vigor, killing and 
 wounding many of D'Aulney's men, but the latter, 
 having gained some advantage, offered favorable 
 terms. She was induced to capitulate, surrendering 
 everything into the hands of her adversary. As soon 
 as possession of the fort had been gained, D'Aulney, 
 utterly disregarduig the promises he had made, in ac- 
 cordance with his base nature, put the whole garrison 
 to death, except one man, and compelled Madame 
 La Tour herself, with a rope around her neck, to be 
 present at the execution. Exhausted by the heroic 
 exertions she had made, and stung to madness by her 
 wrongs and indignities, she died three weeks after 
 the surrender of the fort.* Whittier's poem relates 
 the return of La Tour to find his fortress desolated 
 and his wife dead. He touches upon the friendliness 
 of the English colonists to the Huguenot La Tour, as 
 he styles him: 
 
 " . . the men of Monhegan, 
 Of Papists abhorred, 
 Had welcomed and feasted 
 The heretic Lord. 
 
 *See Cartland's "Ten Years at Pemaquid." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 133 
 
 "They had loaded his shallop 
 
 With dun-fish and ball, 
 With stores for his larder, 
 
 And steel for his wall. 
 Pemaquid, from her bastions 
 
 And turrets of stone. 
 Had welcomed his coming 
 
 With banner and gun." 
 
 As we have already seen, Pemaquid at this time 
 was not fortified, except possibly by the remains left 
 by Dixie Bull of the first wooden fort. It was not 
 until the third fort was built that stone was used. It 
 is probable , however, that this was not known to 
 Whittier, since at the time he was writing the "Pema- 
 quid Improvement Association" had not begun its 
 excavations. Whittier intensifies the situation by 
 making the knowledge of what had happened come 
 to La Tour through the mouth of a Jesuit priest,- — 
 
 " 'Speak, son of the Woman 
 
 Of scarlet and sin ! 
 What wolf has been prowling 
 
 My castle within.?' 
 From the grasp of the soldier 
 
 The Jesuit broke. 
 Half in scorn, half in sorrow. 
 
 He smiled as he spoke: 
 
 " 'No wolf. Lord of Estienne, 
 Has ravaged thy hall. 
 But thy red-handed rival 
 With fire, steel and ball! 
 
13* iTHE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 On an errand of mercy 
 
 I hitherward came, 
 While the walls of thy castle 
 
 Yet spouted with flame. 
 
 " 'Pentagoet's dark vessels 
 
 Were moored in the bay, 
 Grim sea-lions, roaring 
 
 Aloud for their prey. 
 'But what of my lady.-" 
 
 Cried Charles of Estienne. 
 'On the shot-crumbled turret 
 
 Thy lady was seen: 
 
 " 'Half -veiled in the smoke-cloud, 
 
 Her hand grasped thy pennon, 
 While her dark tresses swayed 
 
 In the hot breath of cannon! 
 But woe to the heretic. 
 
 Evermore woe! 
 When the son of the church 
 
 And the cross is his foe! 
 
 " 'In the track of the shell. 
 
 In the path of the ball, 
 Pentagoet swept over 
 
 The breach of the wall! 
 Steel to steel, gun to gun, 
 
 One moment, — and then 
 Alone stood the victor. 
 
 Alone with his men ! 
 
 " 'Of its sturdy defenders. 
 Thy lady alone 
 Saw the cross-blazoned banner 
 Float over St. John.' 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 135 
 
 'Let the dastard look to it!' 
 
 Cried fiery Estienne, 
 ^Were D'Aulney King Louis, 
 
 I'd free her again!' 
 
 *' 'Alas for the Lady! 
 
 No service from thee 
 Is needed by her 
 
 Whom the Lord hath set free; 
 Nine days, in stern silence, 
 
 Her thraldom she bore, 
 But the tenth morning came. 
 
 And Death opened her door!' 
 
 *'As if suddenly smitten 
 
 La Tour staggered back; 
 His hand grasped his sword-hilt, 
 
 His forehead grew black. 
 He sprang on the deck 
 
 Of his shallop again. 
 'We cruise now for vengeance! 
 
 Give way !' cried Estienne. 
 
 *'0h, the lov'liest of heavens 
 
 Hung tenderly o'er him. 
 There were waves in the sunshine, 
 
 And green isles before him; 
 But a pale hand was beckoning 
 
 The Huguenot on; 
 And in blackness and ashes 
 
 Behind was St. John." 
 
 The sympathy which Whittier makes us feel for 
 La Tour is altogether misplaced. He turned out to 
 
136 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 be an even greater villain than D'Aulney. After va- 
 rious adventures, he took a step which was the begin- 
 ning of his career as a pirate. He entered into a 
 conspiracy with part of his crew, who were French- 
 men, to put on shore the rest, who were English, and 
 take possession of the vessel and cargo as their own. 
 The Englishmen were put on shore in the depth of 
 winter in a destitute condition, and if it had not been 
 for the friendly aid of some Mickmack Indians, 
 would probably never have reached their homes. But 
 this is not all. D'Aulney, having died. La Tour re- 
 turned to Acadia and married D'Aulney's widow. 
 They lived many years together and had several chil- 
 dren. It is said that a singular prosperity marked 
 the latter years of his life, but that in all his pros- 
 perity he never remembered the Puritan friends who 
 had helped him. This extraordinary romance is a sub- 
 ject fitted to the hand of a Victor Hugo, rather than 
 to that of our gentle Quaker poet. A drama to rival 
 "Hernani" in melodramatic situations might be made 
 from such material. 
 
 Whittier has touched upon many of the romantic 
 aspects of early New England life, and has written 
 about them simply and most sympathetically in a 
 form which makes of them genuine classics of New 
 ^England lore, but in "The Courtship of Miles 
 Standish," Longfellow has produced the chief poetic 
 xomance of Colonial New England. 
 
 He has twisted history and the facts in relation to 
 Priscilla and John Alden to suit himself, yet from 
 this poem is gained a vivid picture of the Plymouth 
 Colony and its ways. Especially does the doughty 
 Miles stand before us — a mixture of piety and mili- 
 
o 
 
 Of 
 
 < 
 Ph 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 137 
 
 xary enthusiasm, hardly to be matched in the annals 
 of Christendom. 
 
 It is the same hardy and uncompromisingly genu- 
 ine soul which speaks in Lowell's poem, and who 
 thinks " 'Tis shame to see such painted sticks in 
 Vane's and Winthrop's places." 
 
 Longfellow and Whittier both lend the distinction 
 of their muse to the quaint seaside town of Marble- 
 head. The former gives but a glimpse of the place 
 in his "Fire of Drift Wood," and not an altogether 
 accurate one, as it was in his own day, while Whit- 
 tier puts a bit of life into verse characteristic of the 
 early days of the town in "Skipper Ireson's Ride." 
 "Impulse as contrasted with Yankee calculation is 
 typical," says Samuel Roads, Jr., in his History, "of 
 Marblehead. The women impulsively stoned certain 
 Indian women to death on a fine Simday morning, 
 on their way to church." He attributes this to the 
 fact that the colonists of Marblehead from the Chan- 
 nel Islands had French blood in their veins. "For 
 two hundred and fifty years after the first fishermen 
 crept into the cleft in the rocks, Marblehead was racy, 
 unique, thoroughly romantic." Whittier portrays this 
 impulsiveness, perhaps unconscious of its truthfulness, 
 for the poem is, on the whole, more imaginative than 
 accurate; it was the men, not the women of Marble-' 
 head, who gave Ireson his ride, and far from repent- 
 ing of his action in regard to the sinking ship, the 
 skipper declared that they would one day regret their 
 treatment of him. According to the historian, it was 
 the crew of Captain Ireson, not himself, who were 
 responsible for the abandonment of the sinking vessel, 
 they having absolutely refused to go to its help on 
 
138 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 account of the gale which was blowing. In order to 
 screen themselves they charged the captain with the 
 crime, when the impulsive people of Marblehead, with- 
 out further question, decided to make him suffer for it. 
 "On a bright moonlight night the imifortunate skipper 
 was suddenly seized by several powerful men, and se- 
 curely bound. He was then placed in a dory and be- 
 smeared from head to foot with tar and feathers and 
 dragged through the town, escorted by men and boys. 
 When opposite the locality now known as Workhouse 
 Rocks, the bottom of the dory came out, and the pris- 
 oner finished the remainder of his ride to Salem in a 
 cart. The authorities of that city forbade the entrance 
 of the strange procession, and the crowd returned to 
 Marblehead. Throughout the entire proceeding Mr. 
 Ireson maintained a dignified silence^ and when, on 
 arriving at his own house, he was released from cus- 
 tody, his only remark was : 'I thank you for my ride, 
 gentlemen, but you will live to regret it.' " Whittier 
 was certainly not a conscious sinner against fact in 
 this instance, for, as he declares, "I knew nothing of 
 the particulars, and the narrative of the ballad was 
 pure fancy." He expressed satisfaction that Mr. 
 Roads had brought out the truth in his book, for his 
 verse had been founded solely on a fragment of 
 rhyme which he had heard from one of his early school- 
 mates, who was a native of Marblehead. 
 
 Other romances of the early days are "Mary Gar- 
 vin," an imaginary tale, the scene of which is laid 
 near the headwaters of the Saco River at Conway, 
 New Hampshire; and "The Ranger," a song of the 
 old French War, in which there is a lovely description 
 of Casco Bay: 
 
> 
 
 Pi 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 <! 
 
 cn 
 w 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 139 
 
 "Where hillside oaks and beeches 
 Overlook the long, blue reaches, 
 Silver coves and pebbled beaches, 
 And green isles of Casco Bay. 
 
 "On the grain-lands of the mainlands 
 
 Stands the serried corn like train-bands. 
 
 Plume and pennon rustling gay; 
 
 Gut at sea the islands wooded, 
 
 * 
 Silver birches, golden-hooded. 
 
 Set with maples, crimson-blooded, 
 White sea-foam and sand-hills gray. 
 Stretch far, far away, 
 
 Dim and dreamy, over-brooded 
 By the hazy autumn day." 
 
 Between them, these two poets have brought into 
 the reahn of poetic art much of the legend and history- 
 pertaining to the early days of New England. They 
 have often handled the material with the artist's pre- 
 rogative of changing or interpreting facts to suit the 
 needs of art, but in so doing they have thrown a ro- 
 mantic glamor over the whole of New England. 
 What a country needs to make it immortal is not 
 merely the dry facts transcribed from letters and jour- 
 nals, military orders and town records, nor the phono- 
 graphic reports of its myths. It needs these things, 
 shaped and moulded by a selective process, and il- 
 luminated by the imagination, or even whoUy fanciful 
 romance, before its mountains and rivers, its lakes and 
 its seaboard can delight us with the sense of its be- 
 longing to a magic land, peopled by beings of finer 
 
140 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 powers or subtler evil propensities than mere histor- 
 ical personages ever possess. 
 
 With Longfellow and Whittier as guides, we may 
 make an extended tour in New England to spots thus 
 transformed by their poetic alchemy, enjoying at once 
 nature's beauty through our own sympathetic, if un- 
 poetic eyes, and her beauty as pictxired by the poets in 
 their scene settings. When taking our simamer j aunts 
 to the sea, we are reminded by Longfellow of the 
 Norse vikings at Newport; phantom ships sail in the 
 air before us, now on the wings of Longfellow's im- 
 agination from New Haven, now on Whittier's, from 
 Orr's Island. We stay at home or take a little journey 
 to the neighboring city of Salem, and both poets show 
 us the grim figures of Endicott and Mather at every 
 turn, fulfilling their strange destiny as the destroyers 
 of witches and Quakers. We sail to Gloucester, and 
 spectral Indian warriors start up at Whittier's bid- 
 ding, as we enter its lovely harbor. Sailing up the 
 coast from here, we meet^ also at Whittier's bidding, 
 the gallant Macy on his way with his wife to Nan- 
 tucket in a small wherry, rowing manfuUy in the 
 heavy sea. And now it is Whittier's wand alone that 
 peoples the scene with marvels : double-headed snakes 
 are hiding both their heads in Newbury; at Homp- 
 ton. Goody Cole sits in her hut and utters her words 
 of bad omen as a merry crowd goes off on a sail from 
 Rivermouth. But do we dare to enter the Merrimac 
 and wend our way up its rapid waters? For here 
 spring up the figures of Squando, and the wizard 
 Panisee, Passaconaway. No civilization of to-day, 
 with its mills and bridges, can blot out the delicious 
 terror of his magic. We forgot to think of the hard- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 141 
 
 hearted Winnepurkit at Salem, when we were near his 
 haunts, but how can we help it now, for his poor little 
 bride, Weetamoo, may come drifting down the stream 
 at any moment? Our sympathies are so wrought up 
 over the thought of Weetamoo, that we failed to ob- 
 serve the Indians attacking ancient Haverhill by 
 moonlight, and now we are near the headwaters of the 
 Merrimac in the White Hills, at the home of Passa- 
 conaway. Other stories of a later time come to our 
 mind here, but at present we are so immersed in the 
 past that the poet's wand beacons us onward to view 
 more of its tragic scenes in the kaleidoscope of his 
 imagination. Pemaquid now appears, half-way up 
 the Maine coast, as in a dream, for in no other way 
 could the journey from Pennacook, the home of Pass- 
 aconaway, be made so rapidly. Pirates and French- 
 men, Jesuits, Indians and Puritans are all commingled 
 here in inextricable confusion, fighting, plundering, 
 deceiving each other, and far off, at St. John, stands 
 a brave and noble woman upon the battlements, de- 
 fending her husband's fortress, a good deed shining 
 in a naughty world. 
 
 The poets have hurried us along so rapidly upon 
 their soaring wings that many a romantic spot has 
 been missed, but a bird's-eye view is valuable for its 
 suggestiveness of the wealth of detail to be discovered 
 upon a nearer view. It proves, at least, that the soil 
 of New England is redolent of romance, and that the 
 poet's wand alone is needed to make it spring forth 
 in varied, picturesque and lifelike forms. 
 
HISTORY: 
 
 FROM THE BIRTH OF THE NATION 
 TO ITS MAJORITY 
 
 143 
 
'O tenderly the haughty day 
 Fills Ms blue urn with fire; 
 One morn is in the mighty heaven. 
 And one in our desire. 
 
 'United States! the ages plead, — 
 
 Present and Past in undersong, — 
 
 Go put your creed into your deed. 
 Nor speak with double tongue. 
 
 "The conscious stars accord above. 
 The waters wild below. 
 And under, through the cable wove. 
 Her fiery errands go. 
 
 "For He that worketh high and wise. 
 Nor pauses in His plan. 
 Will take the sun out of the skies 
 Ere freedom out of Man." 
 
 — Emeeson. 
 
 144 
 
Ill 
 
 History: Feom the Birth of the Nation to Its 
 Majority 
 
 IN the history of America there have so far been 
 but three events of epoch-making importance, — 
 the colonization of the country, its birth as an 
 independent nation, and the attainment of its ma- 
 jority, when slavery, the weakness of its youth, was 
 abolished. The first epoch, — the gestation of the na- 
 tion, — as pointed out in the last chapter, has been 
 handled by our poets in a romantic rather than in 
 a historical spirit. 
 
 When we come to examine the history of the sec- 
 ond epoch, as a source of inspiration to this elder 
 group of poets, we are surprised to find how few of 
 its stirring episodes have been used by them. Per- 
 haps the lines most often quoted in connection with 
 the Concord fight are Emerson's, from the first stanza 
 of the "Concord Hymn" : 
 
 "Here once the embattled farmers stood 
 And fired the shot heard round the world." 
 
 The remainder of the hymn is not remarkable, and 
 these lines have the disadvantage of not being alto- 
 gether fair to the patriots of Lexington, who, even 
 if it be true that they made no return fire, stood their 
 
 145 
 
146 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ground — a mere handful of men — ^in the face of 
 trained soldiers, and allowed themselves to be shot 
 down. Whittier has righted this unintentional wrong 
 on Emerson's part in his poem of "Lexington." His 
 Quaker sympathies went out to the men who did not 
 shoot. As he explained when refusing to contribute 
 a poem for the Bunker Hill Centennial: "I stretched 
 my Quakerism to the fuU strength of its drab in 
 writing about the Lexington folks who were shot and 
 did not shoot back. I cannot say anything about 
 those who did shoot to some purpose on Bunker 
 Hill." The Quaker drab is somewhat too evident in 
 the poem, a conscientious and accurate enough ac- 
 count, but hardly calculated to arouse the enthusiasm 
 which one feels should be the due of those "simple 
 men." 
 
 Their dogged resistance meant the muzzling of tyr- 
 anny, and the clearing of the way for a mighty step 
 in world progress. Whittier indicates aU this, it is 
 true, but it is done with too peaceful and prosaic a 
 touch. 
 
 "All that was theirs to give, they gave. 
 The flowers that blossomed from their grave 
 Have sown themselves beneath all skies. 
 
 "Their death-shot shook the feudal tower, 
 And shattered slavery's chain as well; 
 On the sky's dome, as on a bell. 
 Its echo struck the world's great hour." 
 
 Besides the "Concord Hymn," two other poems of 
 Emerson's shed their lustre upon this period of Amer- 
 ican history. In the "Ode," sung in the Town Hall 
 
The Minute Man 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 147 
 
 at Concord, July 4, 1857, the connection is scarcely 
 more than the suggestiveness of the date for which 
 it was written. It gives but a hint of the historic 
 event which made July Fourth a date of paramount 
 significance in our history, but it does give in Emer- 
 son's own "winged" way an ideal of what freedom 
 should mean translated into daily action, and, at the 
 same time, shows it to be a divine force in the uni- 
 verse,* working with the steadiness of fate toward 
 fulfilment. 
 
 "Boston," though more definitely historical in set- 
 ting, is similarly philosophical in intent. What is 
 the meaning of Boston and the Boston Tea Party, 
 for freedom? — 
 
 "Kings shook with fear, old empires crave 
 The secret force to find 
 Which fired the little state to save 
 The rights of aU mankind." 
 
 We might all do well to direct our energies toward 
 making the ideal Boston, founded upon a divine be- 
 lief in Freedom, as beautiful as Emerson pictures it: 
 
 "Let the blood of her hundred thousands 
 
 Throb in each manly vein ; 
 And the wits of all her wisest, 
 
 Make sunshine in her brain. 
 For you can teach the lightning speech, 
 And round the globe your voices reach. 
 
 "And each shall care for other. 
 And each to each shall bend, 
 
 ♦Quoted at the head of this chapter. 
 
148 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 To the poor a noble brother, 
 
 To the good an equal friend. 
 !A blessing through the ages thus 
 
 Shield all thy roofs and towers ! 
 God with the Fathers, so with us. 
 
 Thou darling town of ours !" 
 
 The few snatches of genuine description in the 
 poem have the charm Emerson always manages to 
 throw into his descriptive verse; a charm which re- 
 minds one of the pecuhar luminousness of atmosphere 
 characteristic of Boston's chmate at its best, belong- 
 ing indeed to the whole Massachusetts seaboard, but 
 not found in Maine. One thinks, at times, of Emer- 
 son as having quaffed this luminous air, when, like 
 an elixir of life, it irradiates his being and his poetry. 
 Isolated from the rest of the poem, these snatches 
 of description give us a very lovely glimpse of the 
 youthful Boston, in its unsophisticated, tax-defying 
 days: 
 
 "The rocky nook with hilltops three 
 
 Looked eastward from the farms, 
 And twice each day the flowing sea 
 
 Took Boston in its arms. 
 
 ''The wild rose and the barberry thorn 
 Hung out their summer pride, 
 Where now on heated pavements worn 
 The feet of millions stride. 
 
 "Fair rose the planted hills behind 
 The good town on the bay. 
 And where the western hills declined 
 The prairie stretched away. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 149 
 
 "They laughed to know the world so wide ; 
 The mountains said, 'Good-day! 
 We greet you well, you Saxon men, 
 Up with your towns and stay !' 
 
 " 'For you,' they said, 'no barrier be, 
 For you no sluggard rest ; 
 Fach street leads downward to the sea. 
 Or landward to the west.' 
 
 "O happy town beside the sea, 
 
 Whose roads lead everywhere to aU ; 
 Than thine no deeper moat can be, 
 No stouter fence, no steeper wall !" 
 
 Bryant's poem, "Seventy-Six," is scarcely more 
 definite than Emerson's "Ode." It gives no vital 
 picture of the incidents of Seventy-six. It talks of 
 heroes in general, and refers to the "blood" that flowed 
 at Concord and Lexington, but not a word is said 
 of the men who fought there. Indefinite as this poem 
 is in the treatment of the period and, moreover, wholly 
 commonplace in thought, it yet has a rhythmical 
 swing and a choiceness in diction that give it a gen- 
 uine hold upon the attention. Less human and de- 
 tailed than Whittier's "Lexington," it is actually more 
 stirring: 
 
 "What heroes from the woodland sprung. 
 When, through the fresh-awakened land. 
 The thrilling cry of freedom rung. 
 And to the work of warfare strung 
 The yeoman's iron hand. 
 
150 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Hills flung the cry to hills around, 
 
 And ocean-mart replied to mart, 
 And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, 
 Pealed far away the startling sound 
 
 Into the forest's heart. 
 
 "Then marched the brave from rocky steep, 
 From the mountain river, swift and cold; 
 The borders of the stormy deep. 
 The vales where gathered waters sleep. 
 Sent up the strong and bold, — 
 
 "As if the very earth again 
 
 Grew quick with God's creating breath. 
 And, from the sods of grove and glen. 
 Rose ranks of lion-hearted men 
 To battle to the death." 
 
 Longfellow, in "Paul Revere's Ride," and Holmes, 
 in "A Ballad of the Boston Tea Party," and "Grand- 
 mother's Story of Bunker Hill," have alone taken us 
 back into the realities of the time, and they have done 
 this because they have neither generalized, like Bry- 
 ant, philosophized, Uke Emerson, nor meditated with 
 accuracy, like Whittier; they have simply romanti- 
 cized. They have not been over-careful about small 
 details of history, but they have portrayed life with 
 action and incident, and reproduced an atmosphere 
 which brings one into direct touch with the scenes 
 that never fail to awaken in the true American moods 
 of genuine patriotic fervor. 
 
 Holmes assures his readers that the story of Bunker 
 Hill is told as literally in accordance with the au- 
 thorities as if it had been written in prose. That is 
 
12; 
 o 
 
 O 
 
 m 
 
 p 
 >-? 
 o 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 151 
 
 true as far as the account of the battle is concerned, 
 but he has invented a grandmother, who was a girl 
 at the time, to watch the battle and portray what the 
 feelings of a girl would be under such trying and 
 exciting circumstances. When asked what church it 
 was from which the little party with the corporal 
 watched the battle, he answers in a quizzical way, — 
 evidently hitting at the controversies in regard to the 
 church where Paul Revere's lanterns were hung out, 
 started by Longfellow's poem, — that it is a point 
 upon which he is not prepared to speak authoritative- 
 ly, but the reader may take his choice, among all the 
 steeples standing at that time in the northern part 
 of the city. He expresses his own preference for 
 Christ Church in Salem Street, though he does not 
 insist upon its claim. As Christ Church has been 
 finally decided upon by Boston archaeologists to be 
 the one from which Paul Revere's lanterns were dis- 
 played, most people will sympathize with the poet's 
 own preference. It is pleasant thus to have enhanced 
 the atmosphere of historic romance already attaching 
 to the church. The poet further confesses to being 
 unable to give any information about the little group 
 of people who followed the corporal up into the 
 church steeple, but suggests that if they will look 
 up the whereabouts of the Copley portrait, mentioned 
 in the poem, it might throw some light on their 
 personality. 
 
 From all this we gather that the story is wholly 
 fanciful except in the details of the battle, but so true 
 is it to the feeling of the time that it has a genuinely 
 moving power, rather unusual in the verse of Holmes. 
 History nowhere brings before us so vividly the pan- 
 
152 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 orama of the battle of Bunker Hill as this poem does, 
 through the mouth of a simple, frightened girl : 
 
 "We can see the bright steel glancing all along the lines 
 advancing, — 
 Now the front rank fires a volley, — they have thrown 
 away their shot ; 
 For behind their earthwork lying, all the balls above them 
 flying. 
 Our people need not hurry; so they wait and answer 
 not. 
 
 "Then the corpora^, our old cripple (he would swear some- 
 times and tipple), — 
 He had heard the bullets whistle (in the old French war) 
 before, — 
 Calls out in words of jeering, just as if they all were 
 hearing, — 
 And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on the dusty belfry 
 floor : — 
 
 " 'Oh ! fire away, ye villains, and earn King George's shil- 
 lin's, 
 But ye'll waste a ton of powder afore a "rebel" falls ; 
 You may bang the dirt and welcome, they're as safe as 
 Dan'l Malcolm 
 Ten foot beneath the gravestones that you've splintered 
 with your balls !' " 
 
 Breathless, the little group continues to watch. 
 They see the English forces repulsed, and think the 
 fight is over, but the wise old corporal knows better. 
 He tells them to wait awhile. Then they see the roofs 
 of Charlestown blazing, and the English forces march- 
 ing up again, but, — 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 153 
 
 "Again, with murderous slaughter, pelted backwards to 
 the water, 
 Fly Pigot's running heroes and the frightened braves of 
 Howe; 
 And we shout, 'At last they're done for, 
 It's their barges they have run for : 
 
 They are beaten, beaten, beaten; and the battle's over 
 now!'" 
 
 Now again they see the English rally, "With 
 brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them glar- 
 ing, the deadly wall before, in close array they come," 
 and, fainting, the girl sees the end of the fight, — 
 
 "How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea breaks over 
 a deck; 
 How driven, yet scarce defeated,our worn-out men retreated. 
 With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swimmers from 
 a wreck." 
 
 The girl and the corporal are both characterized 
 with a swiftness and precision which enhance the 
 dramatic intensity of the situation. Why, one won- 
 ders, did Holmes not turn his attention more fre- 
 quently to the romantic possibilities of American his- 
 tory? A series of such dramatic pictures would have 
 been far more to his credit than the interminable after- 
 dinner poems for which he became famous. His 
 gift of happy humor was something of a blight upon 
 his finer qualities as a poet, though he himself writes 
 in one of the most amusing of his poems, that since 
 obsex^ing once the effect of his humor upon his serv- 
 ant, who, from excess of laughter, tumbled in a fit 
 
154 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 and had to be watched for ten days and nights, — "I 
 never dare to write as funny as I can." 
 
 Hohnes was, however, more attracted to this period 
 of history than the other poets. He has, in all, six 
 poems bearing upon it: the lively "Ballad of the Bos- 
 ton Tea Party," the "Ode for Washington's Birth- 
 day," "Under Washington's Elm," "Cambridge," 
 "Lexington" and a picture of Boston Common at the 
 time. "The Last Leaf" might be included, for it is a 
 portrait from memory of Major Thomas Melville, one 
 of the men who, disguised as Indians, had helped to 
 throw the tea overboard upon the memorable occasion 
 of the "Boston Tea Party." Dr. Holmes wrote of this 
 poem in 1894, "I have lasted long enough to serve as 
 an illustration of my own poem. I am one of the very 
 last of the leaves which still chng to the bough of life 
 that budded in the spring of the nineteenth century. 
 The days of my years are three score and twenty, and 
 I am almost half-way up the steep incline which leads 
 me toward the base of the new century, so near to 
 which I have already climbed." Those of us who had 
 the honor to see and speak with Dr. Holmes in these 
 latter days, would never have thought to describe him 
 in the terms he uses for the old Major. Never a 
 handsome man, he looked much the same as he does 
 in his earlier portraits, when the features alone were 
 considered, and, far from being "sad and wan," he 
 seemed fairly to bask in the sunshine of the smiles 
 showered upon him by adoring ladies surrounding him 
 at those afternoon functions, whose object is, as he 
 himself jocularly said, "To giggle, gabble, gobble, 
 git." 
 
 In seeing Dr. Holmes, who remembered Melville, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 155 
 
 one seemed to join hands with a remote past. This 
 poem is so much of a favorite that it hardly needs re- 
 calling to the reader, yet he may find it pleasant to 
 come upon it in this connection, that is, as a link with 
 the picturesque and historical Tea Party of Boston 
 harbor: 
 
 "I saw him once before, 
 As he passed by the door. 
 
 And again 
 The pavement stones resound. 
 As he totters o'er the ground 
 
 With his cane. 
 
 "They say that in his prime, 
 Ere the pruning-knife of Time 
 
 Cut him down, 
 Not a better man was found 
 By the crier on his round 
 
 Through the town. 
 
 "But now he walks the streets. 
 And he looks at all he meets 
 
 Sad and wan. 
 And he shakes his feeble head. 
 That it seems as if he said, 
 
 'They are gone.' 
 
 "The mossy marbles rest 
 On the lips that he has prest 
 
 In their bloom, 
 And the names he loved to hear 
 Have been carved for many a year 
 On the tomb. 
 
156 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "My grandmamma has said — 
 Poor old lady, she is dead 
 
 Long ago — 
 That he had a Roman nose, 
 And his cheek was like a rose 
 
 In the snow ; 
 
 "But now his nose is thin 
 And it rests upon his chin 
 
 Like a staff; 
 And a crook is in his back. 
 And a melancholy crack 
 
 In his laugh. 
 
 "I know it is a sin 
 For me to sit and grin 
 
 At him here ; 
 But the old three-cornered hat. 
 And the breeches, and all that, 
 Are so queer! 
 
 "And if I should live to be 
 The last leaf on the tree 
 
 In the spring; 
 Let them smile as I do now. 
 At the old forsaken bough 
 Where I cling." 
 
 The ballad of the Tea Party is a less convincing 
 piece of art than the Bunker Hill poem, and still less 
 can be said for his poem on "Lexington," a curious 
 contrast to Whittier's, on the same theme. The lilt 
 of the rhythm gives it a blithe and debonair atmos- 
 phere wholly out of keeping with the dignity of the 
 
'A 
 O 
 
 H 
 
 a 
 
 m 
 
 n 
 
 hi 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 Eh 
 
 PS 
 
 en 
 
 W 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 157 
 
 subject, and suggesting a Watteau-like scene painted 
 upon a Sevres china vase rather than real life : 
 
 "Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, 
 Never to shadow his cold brow again ; 
 Proudly at morning the war-steed was prancing, 
 Reeking and panting, he droops on the rein." 
 
 It would be difficult to imagine any lines less ex- 
 pressive of the terror, the pathos and the bravery 
 which that day brought forth. 
 
 A picture of Boston Common in 1774 gives an in- 
 teresting glimpse of this famous green, when the siege 
 of Boston was in progress: 
 
 "The streets are thronged with trampling feet. 
 
 The northern hill is ridged with graves, 
 But night and morn the drum is beat 
 
 To frighten down the 'rebel knaves.' 
 The stones of King Street still are red. 
 
 And yet the bloody red-coats come; 
 I hear their pacing sentry's tread. 
 
 The click of steel, the tap of drum. 
 And over all the open green. 
 
 Where grazed of late the harmless kine. 
 The cannon's deepening ruts are seen. 
 
 The war-horse stamps, the bayonets shine. 
 The clouds are dark with crimson rain 
 
 Above the murderous hirelings' den. 
 And soon their whistling showers shall stain 
 
 The pipe-clayed belts of Gage's men." 
 
 Lowell has a thoughtful and poetic word to say 
 upon the graves of the English soldiers, which, en- 
 
158 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 closed by posts and chains, still attract the attention 
 of the visitor to the Concord Bridge. Probably every 
 one who looks upon the spot has a feeling of sym- 
 pathy similar to that which must have inspired Lowell 
 when he wrote : 
 
 "These men were brave enough, and true 
 
 To the hired soldier's bull-dog creed ; 
 What brought them here they never knew, 
 
 They fought as suits the English breed: 
 They came three thousand miles, and died, 
 
 To keep the Past upon its throne; 
 Unheard beyond the ocean tide. 
 
 Their English mother made her moan." 
 
 The poem might well have ended here. But Low- 
 ell's mind could not satisfy itself without making 
 excursions into related regions of thought. A tribute 
 to the English soldiers leads him to the contemplation 
 of the American heroes and their graves, and of what 
 their bravery, in contrast with the English bravery, 
 had meant: 
 
 "Their graves had voices ; if they threw 
 
 Dice charged with fates beyond their ken, 
 Yet to their instincts they were true, 
 And had the genius to be men." 
 
 Lowell's great contributions to the poetry inspired 
 by this second epoch of America's history are the three 
 Memorial Odes. They stand in a niche quite apart 
 from any of the poems so far mentioned. They are 
 meditative, philosophical, prophetic, in fine, criticisms 
 of life expressed in poetic symbols. Emerson's "Ode," 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 159 
 
 of course, approaches the same plane; the difference 
 being that Emerson's philosophy is of the spirit rather 
 than of the mind ; it breaks out in spontaneous flames 
 as if he were in touch with some divine source of in- 
 spiration; Lowell's is, on the other hand, the efflores- 
 cence of a well-trained and thoughtful mind, and 
 seems to well up from endless founts of meditation. 
 
 The first of these odes was written for the one 
 hundredth anniversary of the Concord Fight, April 
 nineteenth, 1875, almost twenty years later than Em- 
 erson's ode for July Fourth, and fifty years later 
 than the "Concord Hymn." This ode seems to us 
 one of the loveliest things ever written by Lowell. It 
 was, we are told, almost an improvisation, written in 
 two days, before the celebration. This may account 
 for the fact that it has a directness, a unity, an emo- 
 tional rush, in which Lowell's usual meditativeness of 
 mood becomes vision. The subject of the poem is not 
 Freedom, the philosophical abstraction, but Freedom, 
 a living, joyous goddess, most exquisitely described in 
 the first stanzas of the ode: 
 
 "Who Cometh over the hills, 
 
 Her garments with morning sweet. 
 The dance of a thousand rills 
 
 Making music before her feet? 
 Her presence freshens the air; 
 
 Sunshine steals light from her face; 
 The leaden footstep of Care 
 
 Leaps to the tune of her pace; — 
 Fairness of all that is fair, 
 
 Grace at the heart of all grace. 
 Sweetener of hut and of hall, 
 
 Bringer of life out of naught, 
 
160 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Freedom, oh, fairest of all 
 
 The daughters of Time and Thought! 
 
 "Tell me, young men, have ye seen 
 Creature or diviner mien 
 For true hearts to long and cry for, 
 Manly hearts to live and die for? 
 What hath she that others want? 
 Brows that all endearments haunt, 
 Eyes that make it sweet to dare. 
 Smiles that cheer untimely death. 
 Looks that fortify despair. 
 Tones more brave than trumpet's breath; 
 Tell me, maidens, have ye known 
 Household charm more sweetly rare, 
 Grace of woman ampler blown, 
 Modesty more debonair. 
 Younger heart with wit full grown? 
 
 "Our sweetness, our strength, and our star. 
 Our hope, our joy, and our trust. 
 Who lifted us out of the dust. 
 And made us whatever we are !" 
 
 Not less striking are the lines which show Free- 
 dom's relation to Concord, in particular: 
 
 "Why Cometh She hither to-day 
 To this low village of the plain. 
 Far from the Present's loud highway. 
 
 From Trade's cool heart and seething brain? 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 161 
 
 Why Cometh She? She was not far away. 
 
 Since the Soul touched it, not in vain, 
 'Tis here her fondest memories stay. 
 She loves yon pine-bemurmured ridge. 
 
 Where now our broad-browed poet sleeps. 
 Dear to both Englands ; near him he 
 Who wore the ring of Canace; 
 
 But most her heart to rapture leaps 
 Where stood that era-parting bridge. 
 O'er which with footfall still as dew 
 The Old Time passed into the New; 
 
 Where, as yon stealthy river creeps, 
 He whispers to his listening weeds 
 Tales of sublimest homespun deeds." 
 
 To those who know the locahty the allusions are 
 fraught with meaning. They see the hallowed spots 
 upon the hillside in the beautiful cemetery of Sleepy 
 Hollow, which mark the graves of Hawthorne, called 
 here by Lowell, "the broad-browed poet," and Tho- 
 reau, "who wore the ring of Canace"; the bridge not 
 far from the "Old Manse," which crosses the stream 
 where the great fight for freedom began, and where 
 now stands the statue of the Minute Man; and the 
 "sluggish stream," the Concord River, become so fa- 
 mous in verse and prose, as well as in history. An 
 echo of Emerson occurs in the lines, — 
 
 "They dreamed not what a die was cast 
 With that first answering shot." 
 
 The goddess now falls into the backgroimd while 
 the poet's thoughts are turned to the contemplation 
 of the sacrifices made in the consummation of these 
 
162 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "sublimest homespun deeds." Then doubts enter his 
 mind. Freedom has been won, but shall we be able 
 to keep among us this divine goddess, for he hears her 
 voice as a mighty wind declaring the law of her 
 being: 
 
 "I, Freedom, dwell with Knowledge: I abide 
 With men whom dust of faction cannot blind 
 To the slow tracings of the Eternal Mind; 
 With men by culture trained and fortified, 
 Who bitter duty to sweet lusts prefer. 
 Fearless to counsel and obey." 
 
 The passing doubts are brushed aside and the poem 
 ends with a rapturous outburst of faith. Freedom 
 shall abide with us forever: 
 
 "Radiant, calm-fronted, as when 
 She hallowed that April day." 
 
 The poet himself preferred the second of these odes, 
 "Under the Old Elm," principally, perhaps, because 
 he had written it under better conditions, "after his 
 college duties were over," as he explains. It is a 
 penetrating analysis and appreciation of Washing- 
 ton's character, but does not possess the sheer poetic 
 beauty of the first ode. Emerson's experience with 
 this poem is of interest. When he first began to read 
 it, he said: "Why, he hasn't got his genius on"; but 
 as he read onward he presently found tears in his eyes. 
 In other eyes than Emerson's the poem brought forth 
 tears. It ends with an invocation to Virginia, and 
 when read at Johns Hopkins University by the poet, 
 drew tears, Lowell writes, from the eyes of bitter 
 
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 secessionists, "comparable with those iron ones that 
 rattled down Pluto's cheek." The "tears" in both these 
 cases must have grown out of the sentiment expressed 
 in the poem, for from the purely poetic point of view, 
 Emerson's first impression that Lowell had not his 
 genius on, seems to-day a just estimate of the poem 
 as a whole, albeit there are inspired moments in it : 
 
 "Never to see a nation born 
 
 Hath been given to mortal man, 
 Unless to those who, on that summer morn. 
 
 Gazed, silent, when the great Virginian 
 Unsheathed the sword whose fatal flash 
 Shot union through the incoherent clash 
 
 Of our loose atoms, crystallizing them 
 
 Around a single will's unpliant stem. 
 And making purpose of emotion rash. 
 Out of the scabbard sprang, as from its womb, 
 
 Nebulous at first, but hardening to a star. 
 Through mutual share of sunburst and of gloom. 
 
 The common faith that made us what we are." 
 
 The invocation to Virginia is splendid in sentiment, 
 but hardly rises above rhymed prose. It links the Rev- 
 olution with the War of the Rebellion, showing how 
 inevitable was the second struggle in the line of prog- 
 ress toward the ideal of political freedom for which 
 this nation stands, and toward the highest possible 
 reahzations of which it is driven, as Emerson declares, 
 by the divine principle of freedom inherent in the uni- 
 verse. In 1875 the hmnan injustices of the war were 
 still too evident for any clear recognition of the abid- 
 ing divine justice underlying it, and no wonder South- 
 erners were moved by this invocation, which may well 
 
164 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 have done much to heal the breach between the North 
 and the South: 
 
 "Virginia gave us this imperial man 
 
 Cast in the massive mould 
 
 Of those high-statured ages old, 
 Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran; 
 She gave us this unblemished gentleman: 
 
 What shall we give her back but love and praise. 
 
 As in the dear old unestranged days 
 Before the inevitable wrong began? 
 Mother of states and undiminished men, 
 
 Thou gavest us a country, giving him. 
 
 And we owe alway what we owed thee then : 
 The boon thou wouldst have snatched from us agen 
 Shines as before with no abatement dim. 
 
 A great man's memory is the only thing 
 With influence to outlast the present whim 
 
 And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring. 
 All of him that was subject to the hours 
 Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours: 
 Across more recent graves, 
 Where unresentful Nature waves 
 Her pennons o'er the shot-ploughed sod, 
 Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, 
 We from this consecrated plain stretch out 
 Our hands as free from after-thought or doujbt. 
 As here the united North 
 Poured her embrowned manhood forth 
 In welcome of our saviour and thy son. 
 Through battle we have better learned thy worth, 
 
 The long-breathed valor and undaunted will. 
 Which, like his own, the day's disaster done, 
 
 Could, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. 
 Both thine and ours the victory hardly won; 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 165 
 
 If ever with distempered voice or pen 
 
 We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 
 
 And for the dead of both, don common black." 
 
 The third ode is for the Fourth of July, 1876, and 
 has the spontaneous emotional quality of the first. 
 Contemplative and wise as Lowell ever is, these qual- 
 ities are here transmuted for the most part into im- 
 passioned art. He sees the vision of the country not 
 as Freedom, but as Toil. She is threatened by a 
 ravenous wolf: 
 
 "And, looking now, a wolf I seemed to see 
 
 Limned in that vapor, gaunt and hungry bold. 
 Threatening her charge : resolve in every limb, 
 
 Erect she flamed in mail of sun-wove gold, 
 Penthesilea's self for battle dight; 
 
 One arm uplifted, braced a flickering spear. 
 And one her adamantine shield made light; 
 
 Her face, helm-shadowed, grew a thing to fear, 
 And her fierce eyes, by danger challenged, took 
 Her trident-sceptred mother's dauntless look. 
 'I know thee now, O goddess-born!' I cried. 
 And turned with loftier brow and firmer stride ; 
 
 For in that spectral cloud-work I had seen 
 Her image, bodied forth, by love and pride, 
 The fearless, the benign, the mother-eyed, 
 
 The fairer world's toil-consecrated queen." 
 
 She, this Goddess of Toil, is the symbol of democ- 
 racy, born in a great seven-years' struggle : 
 
 "Stormy the day of her birth: 
 
 Was she not born of the strong, 
 She, the last ripeness of earth, 
 
166 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Beautiful, prophesied long? 
 Stormy the days of her prime: 
 
 Hers are the pulses that beat 
 Higher for perils sublime, 
 
 Making them fawn at her feet. 
 iWas she not born of the strong? 
 
 Was she not born of the wise? 
 Daring and counsel belong 
 
 Of right to her confident eyes : 
 Human and motherly they, 
 
 Careless of station or race: 
 Hearken ! her children to-day 
 
 Shout for the joy of her face." 
 
 For this new goddess there shall be, as Whitman 
 expresses the same thought, in his "Song of the Uni- 
 versal," grandeurs all her own, not of the past, but 
 specific faiths and amplitudes, absorbing, compre- 
 hending all: 
 
 "No praises of the past are hers, 
 
 No fames by hallowing time caressed. 
 No broken arch that ministers 
 
 To Time's sad instinct in the breast. 
 
 "She builds not on the ground, but in the mind. 
 Her open-hearted palaces." 
 
 Lowell is too profound an observer of humanity 
 and of human institutions not to perceive the dangers 
 lurking in the worship of the Queen of Toil. Her 
 rule may lead to a wholly materialized civilization, in 
 which art shall cease to exist. It may be found that 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 167 
 
 we have arrived too late in the world's life, and shall 
 be "foreclosed of beauty" : 
 
 "Oh, better far the briefest hour 
 Of Athens self -consumed, whose plastic power 
 Hid Beauty safe from Death in words or stone ; 
 Of Rome, fair quarry where those eagles crowd 
 Whose fulgurous vans about the world blowa 
 Triumphant storm and seeds of polity; 
 Of Venice, fading o'er her shipless sea, 
 Last iridescence of a sunset cloud ; 
 Than this inert prosperity, 
 This bovine comfort in the sense alone!" 
 
 The poet touches upon even worse evils in the po- 
 litical conditions of the country: 
 
 "Is this debating club where boys dispute, 
 And wrangle o'er their stolen fruit. 
 
 The Senate, erewhile cloister of the few. 
 Where Clay once flashed and Webster's cloudy brow 
 
 Brooded those bolts of thought that all the horizon knew?" 
 
 Over all doubts in the success of democracy, his 
 optimism finally triumphs. Nothing can alter his love 
 of covmtry nor his faith that it is watched over still 
 by the "God of our Fathers" : 
 
 "For, O my country, touched by thee. 
 
 The gray hairs gather back their gold, — 
 
 Thy thought sets all my pulses free, 
 The heart refuses to be old; 
 
 The love is all that I can see. 
 
168 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Not to thy natal-day belong 
 Time's prudent doubt or age's wrong, 
 But gifts of gratitude and song: 
 Unsummoned crowd the thankful words, 
 
 As sap in spring-time floods the tree. 
 Foreboding the return of birds, 
 
 For all that thou hast been to me." 
 
 In these three odes the poetry inspired by the Rev- 
 olution has unquestionably reached its most profound 
 imaginative expression. Whittier has told us a story ; 
 Longfellow, and Holmes at his best, have given us 
 vivid pictures of events; Bryant has refreshed our 
 memory with an impressionistic sketch; Emerson has 
 carried us far up into the realms of unknown cosmic 
 forces; but Lowell has unfolded for us in a series of 
 poetic visions, interspersed with wisdom's soberer 
 probing, the intricacies of the philosophy of history. 
 
 These poems ring true to Matthew Arnold's defi- 
 nition of poetry, in its most literal sense; they are 
 "A Criticism of Life." What the ideal of freedom 
 includes, what dangers its objective aspect in practical 
 democracy has to fear, what the worth of a great per- 
 sonality means in the moulding of events — these are 
 the all-embracing historical questions brought before 
 us by Lowell. His fears and doubts he dismisses in 
 the same spirit as Robert Browning. He, too, was 
 one who — 
 
 *'Never doubted clouds would break, 
 
 Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would 
 triumph. 
 Held, we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to 
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 The anti-slavery agitation culminating in the war 
 for the Union was the dominating political issue in the 
 history of our country for thirty years and more. 
 From the time when Wilham Lloyd Garrison, in 
 1831, declared, in the face of all opposition, "I am in 
 earnest — I will not equivocate — I will not excuse — I 
 will not retreat a single inch — and I will he heard" to 
 the time of Lincoln's emancipation proclamation, in 
 1863, the freeing of the slave was the all-absorbing 
 topic of controversy. None of our group of New 
 England poets could escape participation in the fer- 
 ment of these years, which fell within the maturity of 
 them all. It is not surprising that their tempera- 
 mental differences should give rise to many variations 
 of opinion among them in their attitude toward the 
 political problems then confronting the Nation, but 
 upon the fundamental principle at stake in the contest 
 — the iniquity of slavery — they were all at one, a fact 
 of which New England may be duly proud. 
 
 The poet most thoroughly identified with the move- 
 ment for the abolition of slavery was Whittier, and 
 in consequence of this, we may gather from his anti- 
 slavery poems more pictures of the actual events of 
 the time than from any of the other poets. He was 
 among the choice few of recognized intellectual stand- 
 ing to gather about the intrepid Garrison when he 
 founded his anti-slavery sheet. The Liberator, and he, 
 as weU as Garrison, had the honor to be mobbed for 
 his opinions. 
 
 Whittier's active entrance into the anti-slavery 
 ranks was announced by the publication of his pam- 
 phlet, "Justice and Expediency." This pamphlet 
 caused so great a stir in the South that one man, Dr* 
 
170 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Reuben Crandall, was thrown into prison for lending 
 it to a friend to read. His health was impaired by 
 the imprisonment and he died. Whittier refers to 
 him in his poem, "Astrasa at the Capitol" : 
 
 "Beside me gloomed the prison-cell 
 Where wasted one in slow decline 
 For uttering simple words of mine, 
 And loving freedom all too well." 
 
 Whittier brought up strong arguments again^st the 
 Colonization Society, whose scheme of philanthropy 
 involved the sending of all free blacks to Africa. This 
 society was particularly approved of by the churches, 
 which regarded it as an excellent means of carrying 
 the Gospel into the benighted country of Africa 
 through colored missionaries. Seeminglj'^ a humane 
 method of providing for the free negroes, it was found 
 actually to militate against the cause of anti-slavery. 
 When Garrison first denounced the Colonization So- 
 ciety as the "handmaid of slavery," it awakened a tu- 
 mult of indignation in the churches. Whittier's pam- 
 phlet, which supported, with much knowledge and 
 sound argmnent. Garrison's point of view, added fuel 
 to the flame. Feeling was still further irritated by the 
 arrival in Boston, upon the invitation of Garrison, of 
 an Englishman, George Thompson, who had helped 
 to secure the abolition of slavery in all the English 
 colonies. He was young and enthusiastic, and, ac- 
 cording to Garrison, was a speaker of unusual elo- 
 quence. At first he was well received, for the general 
 attitude of New England had been in favor of the 
 abolishment of slavery some day when it should be 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 171 
 
 quite convenient. But the feeling had been growing 
 that the anti-slavery cause was at issue with the 
 churches, on the one hand, and that it jeopardized 
 business relations with the South, on the other hand. 
 If established religion and established business are 
 both in danger, what is there left to the respectable 
 members of a community but mob- violence! Those 
 who hold for the true principles of religion in the 
 exercise of simple human justice have little chance 
 of carrying immediate conviction; thus it was that 
 the conservative spirit of New England, which, three 
 hundred years before, had persecuted in the name 
 of religion, again broke forth, and persecuted now 
 in the name of religion and business. Distressing as 
 the earlier persecutions were, we are in the habit of 
 regarding them as belonging to a remote past, and 
 partly excusable on the ground of lack of develop- 
 ment, but it is difficult to comprehend that within the 
 memory of people living to-day such a hand-bill as 
 the following could be posted throughout the city 
 of Boston: 
 
 "Thompson, 
 "The Abolitionist. 
 
 "That infamous foreign scoundrel, Thompson, will hold 
 forth this afternoon, at the Liberator oiSce, No. 48 Wash- 
 ington Street. The present is a fair opportunity for the 
 friends of the Union to snake Thompson out! It will be a 
 contest between the Abolitionists and the friends of the Un- 
 ion. A purse of $100 has been raised by a number of patri- 
 otic citizens to reward the individual who shall first lay 
 violent hands on Thompson, so that he may be brought to 
 the tar kettle before dark. Friends of the Union, be vigilant ! 
 
 "Boston, Wednesday, 12 o'clock." 
 
172 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Still more amazing is it to be told that the daily 
 papers boasted of the social distinction of the mob 
 which collected to carry this plan out. It was de- 
 scribed as a "broadcloth mob," led by "gentlemen of 
 property and standing," and among it were rich mer- 
 chants and lawyers, and people who moved in the best 
 society. His friends having thought it wise to keep 
 Thompson from the meeting, the "broadcloth mob" 
 seized upon Garrison instead. With a rope around 
 his body, bareheaded, with torn clothes, he was hustled 
 through Wilson's Lane to State Street. It was 
 planned to take him to the Common and the Frog 
 Pond, for a coat of tar and feathers, when he was 
 rescued by the police, under Mayor Lyman, and shel- 
 tered in the second story of the Old State House, then 
 the City Hall. From there he was driven to Leverett 
 Street Jail for safety.* Whittier, among others, 
 called upon him at once. The next day he was brought 
 before a justice, and, no charge being brought against 
 him, he was dismissed. 
 
 Whittier himself witnessed this mob. He was at 
 the time sitting in his seat in the State House, when, 
 hearing of the disturbance, and knowing that his sister 
 was at the meeting, he hurried thither to protect her. 
 His account of the affair as an eyewitness brings it 
 vividly before us: "I found the street thronged and 
 noisy with turbulent respectability and unwashed ras- 
 cality. I was anxious for my young sister, who, I 
 knew, was in the women's anti-slavery meeting; but 
 I heard that the ladies had all left and were safe. The 
 
 *See "Boston Anti-Slavery Days," by Wm. Lloyd Garrison, Jr. 
 (Printed by the Bostonlan Soc'y.) 
 
Statue of William Lloyd Gakeison 
 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 173 
 
 fury of the mob seemed to be directed against George 
 Thompson, but failing to find him, they seized upon 
 Garrison. I heard their shout of exultation, and 
 caught a glimpse of their victim just as he was res- 
 cued and driven off to Leverett Street Jail. Thither 
 Samuel J. May and myself followed, and visited him 
 in prison." 
 
 This was the climax of a series of mob experiences 
 through which Thompson had passed, and in one of 
 them Whittier came in for his share of mob violence. 
 Whittier had been harboring Thompson for some 
 time in his home at Haverhill, and from there ac- 
 companied him upon a visit to Nathaniel P. Rogers, 
 a prominent abolitionist of Concord, New Hampshire. 
 Various accounts of the events which followed have 
 been given, among which that of their friend, Mrs. 
 Cartland, is the most direct and explicit: 
 
 "On their way they stopped for the night in Con- 
 cord at the house of George Kent, who was a brother- 
 in-law of Rogers. After they had gone on their way, 
 Kent attempted to make preparations for an anti- 
 slavery meeting, to be held when they should return. 
 There was furious excitement, and neither church, 
 chapel, nor hall could be hired for the purpose. On 
 their arrival, Whittier walked out with a friend, in the 
 twilight, leaving Thompson in the house, and soon 
 found himself and friend surrounded by a mob of 
 several hundred persons, who assailed them with 
 stones and bruised them somewhat severely. They 
 took refuge in the house of Colonel Kent, who, though 
 not an abolitionist, protected them and baffled the 
 mob. From thence, Whittier made his way with some 
 difficulty to George Kent's, where Thompson was. 
 
174 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The mob soon surrounded the house and demanded 
 that Thompson and 'the Quaker' should be given 
 up. Through a clever stratagem the mob was de- 
 coyed away for a while, but, soon discovering the 
 trick, it returned, reinforced with muskets and a can- 
 non, and threatened to blow up the house if the aboli- 
 tionists were not surrendered. 
 
 "A small company of anti-slavery men and women 
 had met that evening at George Kent's. All agreed 
 that the lives of Thompson and Whittier were in 
 danger, and advised that an effort should be made 
 to escape. The mob filled the street a short distance 
 below the gate leading to Kent's house. A horse was 
 quietly harnessed in the stable, and was led out with 
 the vehicle under the shadow of the house, where 
 Whittier and Thompson stood ready. It was bright 
 moonlight, and they could see the gun-barrels gleam- 
 ing in the street below them. The gate was suddenly 
 opened, the horse was started at a furious gallop, and 
 the two friends drove off amidst the yells and shots 
 of the infuriated crowd." 
 
 Whittier's biographer, Mr. Pickard, adds rotten 
 eggs to the missiles which were hurled at Whittier. 
 His coat, he avers, could never be cleansed from the 
 stains, and was kept as a relic until after the war, 
 when it was sent along with other clothing to the 
 needy freedmen. 
 
 Such were the scenes in which Whittier, the peace- 
 loving man, was called to take a part upon his es- 
 pousal of the anti-slavery cause. In the words of T. 
 W. Higginson, his "Quaker training was tested, but 
 it rang true. He would not arm himself, but he did 
 not flinch where others were arming." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 175 
 
 It was Garrison who first awakened in Whittier the 
 desire to serve the cause of anti-slavery, and to Gar- 
 rison was dedicated his first poem in a cause which 
 was to be his inspiration later for most of his poems 
 during four years. This poem had been printed in 
 November, 1832, The following year Garrison asked 
 Whittier to go as one of the delegates from Massa- 
 chusetts to the Anti- Slavery Convention in Philadel- 
 phia, and at this convention, which formed the Amer- 
 ican Anti- Slavery Society, this poem of Whittier's, 
 "To William Lloyd Garrison," was read by Lewis 
 Tappan. It is now of peculiar interest because of 
 its expression of a perfect trust, which subsequent 
 developments weakened in Whittier's relations with 
 Garrison. The following stanzas show what Whit- 
 tier's attitude toward him was at the beginning of his 
 career : 
 
 "I love thee with a brother's love, 
 I feel my pulses thrill, 
 To mark thy spirit soar above 
 
 The cloud of human ill. 
 My heart hath leaped to answer thine, 
 
 And echo back thy words. 
 As leaps the warrior's at the shine 
 And flash of kindred swords ! 
 
 "They tell me thou art rash and vain, 
 
 A searcher after fame; 
 That thou art striving but to gain 
 
 A long-enduring name; 
 That thou hast nerved the Afric's hand 
 
 And steeled the Afric's heart, 
 To shake aloft his vengeful brand. 
 
 And rend his chain apart. 
 
176 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Have I not known thee well, and read 
 
 Thy mighty purpose long? 
 And watched the trials which have made 
 
 Thy human spirit strong? 
 And shall the slanderer's demon breath 
 
 Avail with one like me, 
 To dim the sunshine of my faith 
 
 And earnest trust in thee? 
 
 "Go on, the dagger's point may glare 
 
 Amid the pathway's gloom ; 
 The fate which sternly threatens there 
 
 Is glorious martyrdom ! 
 Then onward with a martyr's zeal. 
 
 And wait thy sure reward 
 When man to man no more shall kneel, 
 
 And God alone be Lord!" 
 
 Although Garrison and Whittier were always per- 
 sonally attached to each other, and upon more than 
 one occasion bore witness to each other's service in 
 the highest terms, they found themselves in opposite 
 wings of the anti-slavery party. It is impossible to 
 unravel to-day all the varying shades of opinion, 
 which multiplied as time went on, in regard to the 
 proper methods of dealing with the complex prob- 
 lems of slavery, but there are a few radical differ- 
 ences which stand out clearly as the main causes for 
 division in the ranks. Garrison, a nonresistant, stood 
 for disunion and non-voting, while Whittier, also 
 nonresistant, stood for the Union and the peaceable 
 attainment of righteous ends in the immediate emanci- 
 pation of the slaves by means of the ballot and 
 education, of which petitioning Congress might be re- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 177 
 
 garded as one form. Consequently Whittier voted 
 for the men of his pohtical party as long as there was 
 the least chance of their helping the cause ; he helped 
 disseminate the right principles by writing letters to 
 the Nation's officials, by contributing articles to maga- 
 zines, by attending anti-slavery conventions, and by 
 helping to send petitions to Congress. Upon one oc- 
 casion, he wrote to the Congressman, Caleb Cushing: 
 "I send thee three or four petitions, and there's 'more 
 a-comin'. We need not tell thee that we want a hear- 
 ing before Congress, and that we must have it some- 
 how or other. The next year we shall send double 
 the number, and so on, until the united voice of New 
 England thunders upon the ear of Congress." 
 
 After all is said of his invaluable assistance to the 
 cause, his poetry is still to be reckoned with as one 
 of his most effective weapons of education. One of 
 the offices of painting, according to Robert Browning, 
 is that it makes us see what we may have passed a 
 hundred times nor cared to see. The same is true of 
 poetry. A newspaper report is soon forgotten, but 
 let a poet light up an event with his imagination and 
 the picture stays, while quietly but steadily it works 
 upon the better nature of those who read it. 
 
 The subjects which Whittier treats in his anti- 
 slavery poems cover most of the iniquitous aspects of 
 the struggle which bade fair to rend the Nation in 
 pieces. His indignation breaks out against the atti- 
 tude taken by the churches in "The Pastoral Letter." 
 A deep impression had been produced by a public 
 lecture given in Massachusetts by Angelina and 
 Sarah Grimke, two women from South Carolina, who 
 told of the evils attending slavery. At a meeting held 
 
178 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 in Brookfield, June 27, 1837, the General Association 
 of Congregational Ministers decided to issue a Pas- 
 toral Letter, demanding that "the perplexed and agi- 
 tating subjects which are now common amongst 
 us should not be forced upon any church as matters 
 for debate, at the hazard of alienation and division." 
 These good men were also much exercised over the 
 dangers which seemed "to threaten the female char- 
 acter with widespread and permanent injury," Whit- 
 tier wields no mean powers of sarcasm at the expense 
 of this exercise of priestly prerogative, which he 
 calls 
 
 "A 'Pastoral Letter,' grave and dull ; 
 
 Alas ! in hoofs and horns and features. 
 How different is your Brookfield bull 
 From him who bellows from St. Peter's !" 
 
 He goes on to compare their puny efforts with 
 those of their forefathers : 
 
 "Oh, glorious days, when Church and State 
 
 Were wedded by your spiritual fathers f 
 And on submissive shoulders sat 
 
 Your Wilsons and your Cotton Mathers. 
 No vile 'itinerant' then could mar 
 
 The beauty of your tranquil Zion, 
 But at his peril of the scar 
 
 Of hangman's whip and branding iron. 
 
 "Then, wholesome laws relieved the Church 
 Of heretic and mischief-maker, 
 And priest and bailifi^ joined in search, 
 By turns, of Papist, witch, and Quaker ! 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 179 
 
 The stocks were at each church's door, 
 The gallows stood on Boston Common, 
 
 A Papist's ears the piUory bore, — 
 The gallows-rope, a Quaker woman! 
 
 "Your fathers dealt not as ye deal 
 
 With 'non-professing' frantic teachers ; 
 They bored the tongue with red-hot steel, 
 
 And flayed the backs of 'female preachers.' 
 Old Hampton, had her fields a tongue, 
 
 And Salem's streets could tell their story. 
 Of fainting woman dragged along, 
 
 Gashed by the whip accursed and gory ! 
 
 "And will ye ask me, why this taunt 
 
 Of memories sacred from the scorner? 
 And why with reckless hand I plant 
 
 A nettle on the graves ye honor? 
 Not to reproach New England's dead 
 
 This record from the past I summon, 
 Of manhood to the scaffold led. 
 
 And suffering and heroic woman. 
 
 "No, for yourselves alone, I turn 
 
 The pages of intolerance over, 
 That, in their spirit, dark and stern. 
 
 Ye haply may your own discover ! 
 For, if ye claim the 'pastoral right' 
 
 To silence Freedom's voice of warning. 
 And from your precincts shut the light 
 
 Of Freedom's day around ye dawning ; 
 
 "If then ye would, with puny hands, 
 Arrest the very work of Heaven, 
 
180 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 And bind anew the evil bands 
 
 Which God's right arm of power hath riven ; 
 
 "What marvel that, in many a mind, 
 Those darker deeds of bigot madness 
 Are closely with your own combined. 
 Yet less in anger than in sadness?" 
 
 "But ye, who scorn the thrilling tale 
 
 Of Carolina's high-souled daughters. 
 Which echoes here the mournful wail 
 
 Of sorrow from Edisto's waters, 
 Close while ye may the public ear. 
 
 With malice vex, with slander wound them. 
 The pure and good shall throng to hear, 
 
 And tried and manly hearts surround them." 
 
 The ministers were not the only people in New 
 England who demanded the suppression of free 
 speech. At a pro-slavery meeting in Faneuil HaU, 
 August 21, 1835, the citizens had made the same 
 demand lest it should endanger the foundation of 
 commercial society. Upon this occasion Whittier 
 wrote his "Stanzas for the Times," wherein the vials 
 of his wrath were poured out with the utmost fierce- 
 ness of which he was capable in such outbursts as 
 these : 
 
 "Shall outraged Nature cease to feel.'' 
 Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow? 
 Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel. 
 
 The dungeon's gloom, the assassin's blow, 
 Turn back the spirit roused to save 
 The Truth, our Country, and the slave? 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 181 
 
 "Shall tongue be mute, when deeds are wrought 
 Which well might shame extremest hell? 
 Shall freeman lock the indignant thought? 
 
 Shall Pity's bosom cease to swell? 
 Shall Honor bleed? — shall Truth succumb? 
 Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb? 
 
 *'No ; by each spot of haunted ground. 
 
 Where Freedom weeps her children's fall ; 
 
 By Plymouth's rock, and Bunker's mound; 
 By Griswold's stained and shattered wall ; 
 
 By Warren's ghost, by Langdon's shade ; 
 
 By all the memories of our dead ! 
 
 "By their enlarging souls, which burst 
 The bands and fetters round them set ; 
 
 By the free Pilgrim spirit nursed 
 Within our inmost bosoms, yet, 
 
 By all above, around, below, 
 
 Be ours the indignant answer, — No !" 
 
 Whittier has exercised every poetic faculty with 
 which he was endowed in the writing of these anti- 
 slavery poems. 
 
 In "The Slave Ships" he had a subject as grue- 
 some as that of "The Ancient Mariner," and into the 
 telling of the story he has thrown a weird horror so 
 terrible that it cannot be read without awakening a 
 deep sense of pain. It seems to twist itself into a 
 symbol of all the monstrous evils connected not only 
 with slavery, but with those that have come in the 
 wake of its abolition, in this country, and grins at us 
 like a skull and cross-bones from the grave of the 
 buried past. 
 
 The story is of two slave-ships, one French and one 
 
182 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Spanish. Whittier found his material in the speech 
 of M. Benjamin Constant, in the French Chamber of 
 Deputies, June 17, 1820, and also in the BibliotMque 
 Ophthalmologique for November, 1819. It is as 
 follows : 
 
 "The French ship Le Rodeur, with a crew of 
 twenty-two men, and with one hundred and sixty 
 negro slaves, sailed from Bonny, in Africa, April, 
 1819. On approaching the line, a terrible malady 
 broke out, — an obstinate disease of the eyes, — con- 
 tagious, and altogether beyond the resources of medi- 
 cine. It was aggravated by the scarcity of water 
 among the slaves (only half a wine-glass per day be- 
 ing allowed to an individual) , and by the extreme im- 
 purity of the air in which they breathed. By the 
 advice of the physician, they were brought upon deck 
 occasionally; but some of the poor wretches, locking 
 themselves in each other's arms, leaped overboard, in 
 the hope, which so universally prevails among them, 
 of being swiftly transported to their own homes in 
 Africa. To check this the captain ordered several, 
 who were stopped in the attempt, to be shot or hanged 
 before their companions. The disease extended to the 
 crew, and one after another were smitten with it, un- 
 til only one remained unaffected. Yet even this 
 dreadful condition did not preclude calculation: to 
 save the expense of supporting slaves rendered un- 
 saleable, and to obtain grounds for a claim against 
 the underwriters, thirty-six of the negroes having be- 
 come blind, were thrown into the sea and drowned. 
 
 "In the midst of their dreadful fears lest the soli- 
 tary individual whose sight remained unaffected 
 should also be seized with the malady, a sail was dis- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 183 
 
 covered. It was the Spanish slaver Leon. The same 
 disease had been there; and, horrible to tell, all the 
 crew had become blind! Unable to assist each other, 
 the vessels parted. The Spanish ship has never since 
 been heard of. The Rodeur reached Guadaloupe on 
 the 21st of June; the only man who escaped the dis- 
 ease and has thus been enabled to steer the slaver into 
 port, caught it in three days after it arrived." 
 
 The brutality depicted in the first part of the poem 
 gives way toward the end to a scene of pathetic horror: 
 
 " 'A storm,' spoke out the gazer, 
 
 'Is gathering and at hand; 
 Curse on 't, I'd give my other eye 
 
 For one firm rood of land.' 
 And then he laughed, but only 
 
 His echoed laugh replied, 
 For the blinded and the suffering 
 
 Alone were at his side. 
 
 "Night settled on the waters, 
 
 And on a stormy heaven. 
 While fiercely on that lone ship's track 
 
 The thunder gust was driven. 
 'A sail! — thank God, a sail!' 
 
 And as the helmsman spoke, 
 Up through the stormy murmur 
 
 A shout of gladness broke. 
 
 "Down came the stranger vessel. 
 Unheeding on her way, 
 So near that on the slaver's deck 
 
 Fell off her driven spray, 
 'Ho! for the love of mercy. 
 We're perishing and blind !' 
 
184 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 A wail of utter agony 
 
 Came back upon the wind : 
 
 " 'Help us ! for we are stricken 
 
 With blindness, every one ; 
 Ten days we've floated fearfully, 
 
 Unnoting star or sun. 
 Our ship's the slaver Leon, — 
 
 We've but a score on board ; 
 Our slaves are all gone over, — 
 
 Help, for the love of God!' 
 
 "On livid brows of agony 
 
 The broad red lightning shone ; 
 But the roar of wind and thunder 
 
 Stifled the answering groan ; 
 Wailed from the broken waters 
 
 A last despairing cry, 
 As, kindling in the stormy light. 
 
 The stranger ship went by." 
 
 In "The Hunters of Men," directed against the 
 Colonization Society for its opposition to emancipa- 
 tion unless expatriation followed, there is an almost 
 rollicking satirical tone : 
 
 "Have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen, 
 Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men.'' 
 The lords of our land to this hunting have gone. 
 As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn; 
 Hark ! the cheer and the hallo ! the crack of the whip. 
 And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip ! 
 All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match. 
 Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch, 
 So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen, 
 Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 185 
 
 No aspects of the struggle which was waged so 
 long before redress was finally reached, caused more 
 bitterness and indignation than the admission of fresh 
 slave territory into the Union and the treatment 
 of fugitive slaves. So fierce was Whittier in his poem 
 written at the earnest entreaty of Lowell, at the time 
 of the annexation of Texas, with, it was boasted, 
 enough territory for six new slave states, that later 
 he thought it well to tone down some of the lines. 
 Among the changes may be noted those in the eight- 
 eenth stanza: 
 
 *'And when vengeance lights your skies, 
 Hither shall ye turn your eyes, 
 As the damned on Paradise," 
 
 in which "lights" was changed to "clouds," and 
 "damned" to "lost." Lowell had already published 
 anonymously in the Boston Courier^ March, 1844, 
 a poem called "Rallying Cry for New England 
 Against the Annexation of Texas," which began: 
 
 "Rise up, New England, buckle on your mail of proof sub- 
 lime. 
 
 Your stern old hate of tyranny, your deep contempt of 
 crime ; 
 
 A plot is hatching now, more full of woe and shame 
 
 Than ever from the iron heart of bloodiest despot came." 
 
 Lowell's poem was attributed to Whittier. When, 
 some weeks later, Whittier's appeared in the Courier j 
 Lowell prefaced it with an explanatory and appreci- 
 ative paragraph, signed "L," in which he said: 
 
 "A few weeks since, some verses appeared in the 
 
186 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Courier, which were generally ascribed to Whit- 
 tier. They were not his, however. In the present 
 crisis of the fate of the Republic, New England listens 
 for a trumpet-call from her Tyrtsus. Nor will she 
 be disappointed. Whittier has always been found 
 faithful to the Muses' holy trust. He has not put 
 his talent out at profitable interest, by catering to the 
 insolent and Pharisaical self-esteem of the times, nor 
 has he hidden it in the damask napkin of historical 
 commonplaces, or a philanthropy too universal to con- 
 cern itself with particular wrongs, the practical re- 
 dressing of which is all that renders philanthropy of 
 value. Most poets are content to follow the spirit of 
 their age, as pigeons follow a leaky grain cart, picking 
 a kernel here and there, out of the dry dust of the 
 past. Not so Whittier. From the heart of the onset 
 upon the serried mercenaries of every tyranny, the 
 chords of his iron-strung lyre clang with a martial and 
 triumphant cheer; and where Freedom's Spartan few 
 maintain their inviolate mountain pass against the 
 assaults of slavery, his voice may be heard, clear and 
 fearless, as if the victory were already won. It is 
 with the highest satisfaction I send you the enclosed 
 poem, every way worthy of our truly New England 
 poet. I trust that when this meets his eye, the few 
 words which I could not refrain from adding by way 
 of preface will not be deemed impertinent." 
 
 We are told that the indignation with which both 
 poems was ablaze was communicated to receptive 
 minds throughout the North, and although the hour 
 was not yet ripe for the full political effect desired, 
 they contributed greatly to the promotion of a feel- 
 ing antagonistic to the spread of the institution of 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 187 
 
 slavery over the new territory then soon to be acquired 
 by an unjust war. 
 
 Among several poems expressing sympathy with 
 fugitive slaves, none possesses a deeper or more con- 
 trolled intensity of feeling than "Rendition," written 
 at the time of the arrest of Anthony Bums, a fugitive 
 slave from Virginia. After being under arrest for ten 
 days at the Boston Court House, on June 2d, 1854, 
 he was remanded to slavery under the Fugitive Slave 
 Act and taken down State Street to a steamer, char- 
 tered by the United States Government, under guard 
 of United States troops and artillery, Massachusetts 
 mUitia and Boston police. An attempt had been made 
 to rescue Bums while he was under arrest. Public 
 excitement over this case was so great that the streets 
 were crowded with tens of thousands of people, of 
 whom many came from other towns and cities of the 
 State to witness the humiliating spectacle. 
 
 The effect of this episode upon Whittier caused him 
 to write: 
 
 "I felt a sense of bitter loss. 
 
 Shame, tearless grief, and stifling wrath, 
 And loathing fear, as if my path 
 A serpent stretched across. 
 
 "All love of home, all pride of place, 
 All generous confidence and trust, 
 Sank smothering in that deep disgust 
 And anguish of disgrace. 
 
 "Down on my native hills of June, 
 And home's green quiet, hiding all. 
 Fell sudden darkness like the fall 
 Of midnight upon noon! 
 
188 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "And Law, an unloosed maniac strong, 
 
 Blood-drunken, through the blackness trod, 
 Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God 
 The blasphemy of wrong. 
 
 " 'Mother of Freedom, wise and brave. 
 Rise awful in thy strength,' I said ; 
 Ah me! I spake but to the dead; 
 I stood upon her grave." 
 
 A year later the bill against the Fugitive Slave Act 
 had passed, and he was able to write: 
 
 "I said I stood upon thy grave, 
 
 My Mother State, when last the moon 
 Of blossoms clomb the skies of June. 
 
 "And, scattering ashes on my head, 
 I wore, undreaming of relief. 
 The sackcloth of thy shame and grief. 
 
 "Again the moon of blossoms shines 
 On leaf and flower and folded wing, 
 And thou hast risen with the spring!" 
 
 The supreme test of Whittier's Quakerism came 
 when he had to decide between war and the secession 
 of the Southern States. His inherited principles con- 
 quered, and he was ready to say: 
 
 "They break the links of Union: shall we light 
 The fires of hell to weld anew the chain 
 On that red anvil where each blow is pain.'' 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 189 
 
 Draw we not even now a freer breath, 
 As from our shoulders falls a load of death 
 Loathsome as that the Tuscan's victim bore 
 When keen with life to a dead horror bound? 
 Why take we up the accursed thing again? 
 Pity, forgive, but urge them back no more 
 Who, drunk with passion, flaunt disunion's rag 
 With its vile reptile-blazon. Let us press 
 The golden cluster on our brave old flag 
 In closer union, and, if numbering less. 
 Brighter shall shine the stars which still remain." 
 
 His position is stated even more strongly in his an- 
 niversary poem, read at the Friends' Yearly Meeting 
 School in Newport, in 1863: 
 
 "This day the fearful reckoning comes 
 
 To each and all; 
 We hear amidst our peaceful homes 
 The summons of our conscript drums. 
 
 The bugle's call. 
 
 "Our path is plain ; the war-net draws 
 
 Round us in vain. 
 While, faithful to the Higher Cause, 
 We keep our fealty to the laws 
 
 Through patient pain. 
 
 "The levelled gun, the battle-brand. 
 
 We may not take: 
 But, calmly loyal, we can stand 
 And suffer with our suffering land 
 
 For conscience' sake." 
 
 His conscience would not aUow him to sympathize 
 with war or to take any active part in it, but all 
 
190 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 through the war his voice was still heard singing the 
 songs of freedom, and, through magazine articles and 
 correspondence, he continued to urge his views that 
 slavery was at the bottom of the whole difficulty. 
 
 The whole body of Friends foimd itself in a dilem- 
 ma when the cause in which it had been so active was 
 finally forced into the arena of war. The younger 
 members of the society were many of them conquered 
 by their patriotic impxilses, and enlisted in the war, 
 feeling that though as a society they must bear wit- 
 ness against war, as individuals they had their duty 
 as citizens to perform. Whittier took the view that, 
 while they should remain non-combatants, they had a 
 mission to perform. This was to mitigate the suf- 
 ferings of those who were active in the war or who 
 wei'e left destitute. "Our society is rich," he wrote, 
 "and of those to whom much is given much will be 
 required in this hour of proving and trial." 
 
 One more quotation wUl show that only by trusting 
 in the omniscient guidance of the Lord could he at all 
 reconcile himself to the war: 
 
 "We hoped for peace ; our eyes survey 
 The blood-red dawn of Freedom's day: 
 We prayed. for love to loose the chain: 
 'Tis shorn by battle's axe in twain! 
 
 "Nor skill, nor strength, nor zeal of ours 
 Has mined and heaved the hostile towers ; 
 Not by our hands is turned the key 
 That sets the sighing captives free. 
 
 "A redder sea than Egypt's wave 
 Is piled and parted for the slave; 
 
Lincoln 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 191 
 
 A darker cloud moves on in light; 
 A fiercer fire is guide by night! 
 
 "The praise, O Lord! is Thine alone. 
 In Thy own way Thy work is done! 
 Our poor gifts at Thy feet we cast, 
 To whom be glory, first and last !" 
 
 Lowell was only second, if, indeed, he was not 
 abreast of Whittier, in his enthusiasm for the anti- 
 slavery cause, but he was what an active socialist to- 
 day would call an "Academic." His pen was wielded 
 for the cause, both in prose and verse. He could 
 strike sledge-hammer blows at the evils which swarmed 
 about the slavery problem like birds of ill-omen, if he 
 chose, but his meditative mind was prone to go off to 
 one side and dilate upon the elemental principles un- 
 derlying the forces at work, or to take wide sweeps 
 over generalities. He was quite aware of his own 
 limitations as the promoter of a cause, and was evi- 
 dently not surprised when he was informed that his 
 contributions to the Standard, for which he had been 
 engaged to write as editorial contributor, were not 
 satisfactory to the management as a whole. Mr. Gay, 
 the editor-in-chief, considered his contributions to the 
 Standard invaluable. He wrote to Lowell, "Through 
 you it has a reputation which in all its previous ex- 
 istence it had failed to gain. A respect and regard is 
 accorded to it because of yovu- efforts, which no other 
 person ever had, and no other person probably would 
 ever have gained for it." 
 
 "But," as Horace Scudder writes, in his Biography 
 of Lowell, "the Standard was not Mr. Gay's paper to 
 do with as he would, and there was a section of the 
 
192 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 committee in control that was impatient of a contribu- 
 tor who was not, as they were, fighting away on foot, 
 with stout oak staves in their hands, but was flying 
 about as a sort of light-horse contingent, and some- 
 times seemed out of sight and yet not in the enemy's 
 country." 
 
 He was roused to strong expression in regard to 
 the resolutions in favor of the annexation of Texas, 
 when he wrote for the Boston Courier the verses al- 
 ready mentioned. Again, the capture of some fugi- 
 tive slaves near Washington awakened in him such 
 indignation that he could contemplate the possibility 
 of a revolt from the Constitution and Union, if it 
 were not found possible to abolish slavery in New 
 England in any other way: 
 
 "Our country claims our fealty ; we grant it so, but then 
 Before Man made us citizens, great Nature made us men. 
 He's true to God who's true to man ; wherever wrong is 
 
 done, 
 To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding 
 
 sun, 
 That wrong is also done to us ; and they are slaves most 
 
 base, 
 Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their 
 
 The disgraceful war with Mexico^ brought on by 
 the Texas affair, was the occasion of his first series 
 of Biglow Papers, the popularity of which was so 
 great that it is to be wondered how a dozen years were 
 allowed to slip by before he wrote the second series. 
 Pungent satire, frolicsome humor and profound wis- 
 dom are all to be found in the Biglow Papers, but we 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 193 
 
 cannot to-day attain unto a complete understanding 
 of them without making ourselves familiar with the 
 political issues of the time. We must realize to the 
 full why Hosea Biglow was justified in exclaiming: 
 
 "Guess you'll toot till you are yeller 
 Tore you git a-hold o' me." 
 
 President Polk had been authorized to call out fifty 
 thousand volunteers, if necessary, for the conduct of 
 the Mexican war. He immediately did so, requesting 
 Massachusetts to furnish seven hundred and seventy- 
 seven men. Governor Briggs at once issued a procla- 
 mation for the enrollment of the regiment. This was 
 regarded by many as a sanction for the extension of 
 slavery, which the party in power had agreed to op- 
 pose as far as consistent with the Constitution. The 
 Liberator was severe in its censure of the Government, 
 and Lowell flung his darts in Hosea's poem at war in 
 general, and this war in particular. The penetrating 
 Hosea is not to be taken in by military glitter: 
 
 "I dunno but wut it's pooty 
 
 Trainin' round in bobtail coats, — ■ 
 But it's curus Christian dooty 
 This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats." 
 
 He belongs to the clear-seeing idealists who feel 
 deeply how Massachusetts has disgraced herself by 
 thus ranging herself on the side of slavery: 
 
 "Massachusetts, God forgive her, 
 She's a-kneelin' with the rest. 
 
194 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Ha'n't they sold your colored seamen? 
 
 Ha'n't they made your env'ys w'it? 
 Wut '11 make ye act like freemen? 
 
 Wut '11 git your dander riz ? 
 Come, I'll tell ye wut I'm thinkin' 
 
 Is our dooty in this fix, 
 They'd ha' done 't ez quick ez winkin' 
 
 In the days o' seventy-six. 
 
 "Clang the bells in every steeple, 
 
 Call all true men to disown 
 The tradoocers of our people. 
 
 The enslavers o' their own ; 
 Let our dear old Bay State proudly 
 
 Put the trumpet to her mouth. 
 Let her ring this messidge loudly 
 
 In the ears of all the South." 
 
 Hosea stands for the good sense and honor of 
 Massachusetts, while poor Birdofreedum Sawin, who 
 joins the regiment and goes to the war, is made the 
 scapegoat of all the weakness and meanness char- 
 acteristic of the lowest, self-seeking politician, as well 
 as the victim of the war policy. He is so wholly 
 despicable that one almost feels pity for him. He 
 falls under the spell of the recruiting sergeant be- 
 cause he is made to believe that glory and plunder 
 and fun will be his reward. As for glory, he found 
 somehow, that: 
 
 "Wen we'd fit an' licked, I oilers found the thanks 
 
 Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks ; 
 
 The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' 
 
 so on, — 
 We never gut a blasted mite o' glory ez I know on." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 195 
 As for plunder, he thought, — 
 
 "thet gold-mines could be gut cheaper than Chiny asters. 
 
 An* see myself a-comin' back like sixty Jacob Astors ; 
 
 But sech idees soon melted down an' didn't leave a grease- 
 spot; 
 
 I vow my hoU sheer o' the spiles wouldn't come nigh a V- 
 spot." 
 
 He fares no better in his share of the fun : 
 
 "Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's one 
 Thing in the bills we ain't hed yit, an' thet's the gloeious 
 
 fun: 
 Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may presume we 
 All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy. 
 I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em : 
 We never gut inside the hall : the nighest ever I come 
 Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an' fact, it seemed a cent'ry) 
 A-ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the 
 
 entry, 
 An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' repasses, 
 A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' glasses." 
 
 The only thing he has brought from the war out 
 of which he thinks he can make capital are his wounds. 
 He has lost a leg, an arm, an eye, four fingers on the 
 hand that is left, and six ribs have been broken, but 
 he seems to take it all rather philosophically, for it 
 will bring him a pension, and, he hopes, combined 
 with the fact that he "haint gut no princerples," will 
 make him eligible for some office, his ambition soaring 
 even to the Presidency. 
 
 Lowell's sarcasm is directed especially against the 
 sort of politician who trims his sails to suit every wind 
 
196 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of opinion, and who plays upon the sentiments of the 
 people in bringing forward his qualifications for of- 
 fice. The enthusiasm of the American people at large, 
 at that time, and since, could usually be aroused by 
 the contemplation of military glory. Generalship has 
 been regarded as the proper preparation for states- 
 manship. This attitude of mind is reduced to absurd- 
 ity by Lowell in Birdofreedum's advice in regard to 
 the proper manner of conducting his own campaign : 
 
 "Ef , wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should 
 
 beg 
 To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer wooden leg! 
 Ef they aint settisfied with that, an' kin o' pry an' doubt 
 An' ax fer sutthin deffynit, jest say, one eye put out ! 
 Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find '11 answer to a charm, 
 An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hoi' up my missin' 
 
 arm ; 
 Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous 
 
 look 
 An' tell 'em thet's percisely wut I never gin nor: — took ! 
 
 "Then you can call me 'Timbertoes,' — ^thet's wut the people 
 
 likes ; 
 Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes ; 
 Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you 
 
 please, — 
 I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees ; 
 'Old Timbertoes,' you see 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold 
 
 on; 
 There's nothin' in't the other side can any ways git hold on ; 
 It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody 
 Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy; 
 It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind 
 Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind; 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 197 
 
 Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 
 
 'em, 
 Sech ez the One-eted Slarterer, the Bloody Birdofree- 
 
 dum: 
 Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the 
 
 masses, 
 An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes." 
 
 When Birdofreedum finds that, despite all his 
 claims upon the public for sympathy, there is no 
 chance of his getting the nomination for president, he 
 naturally throws in his vote for Zachary Taylor, the 
 colorless candidate of the Whigs for president in 1848. 
 This gentleman was of Birdofreedum's own sort. He 
 had not any "princerples," and never made any 
 pledges, and was so vague generally in his statements 
 that the North thought he meant to oppose the ex- 
 tension of slavery and the South was reassured be- 
 cause he was himself a slaveholder. Birdofreedum's 
 arguments in favor of Taylor reveal the true inward- 
 ness of the considerations that led to his nomination: 
 
 "Another p'int thet influences the minds o' sober j edges 
 
 Is thet the Gin'ral hez n't gut tied hand an' foot with 
 
 pledges ; 
 He hez n't told ye wut he is, an' so there ain't no knowin' 
 But wut he may turn out to be the best there is agoin' ; 
 This, at the on'y spot thet pinched, the shoe directly eases, 
 Coz every one is free to 'xpect percisely wut he pleases : 
 I want free-trade; you don't; the Gin'ral isn't bound to 
 
 neither ; — 
 I vote my way ; you, yourn ; an' both air sooted to a T there. 
 Ole Rough an' Ready tu's a Wig, but without bein' ultry; 
 He's like a holsome hayin' day, thet's warm, but isn't sultry ; 
 
198 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 He's jest wut I should call myself, a kin' o' scratch ez 't ware, 
 Thet ain't exactly all a wig nor wholly your own hair ; 
 I've ben a Wig three weeks myself, jest o' this mod'rate 
 
 8ort, 
 An' don't find them an' Demmercrats so defferent ez I 
 
 thought." 
 
 Birdofreedum's lack of "princerple" takes him 
 lower and lower. He thinks it would add to his im- 
 portance in the eyes of the Nation if he could buy a 
 nigger baby cheap. He, therefore, goes hunting for 
 fugitive slaves, expecting to receive sufficient reward 
 to enable him to make the purchase. Lowell here 
 points a moral, showing by sharp contrast the superi- 
 ority of the self-respecting negroes to such good-for- 
 nothing white trash as Birdofreedum, who, the tables 
 being turned upon him, is kept in slavery by the ne- 
 groes he would have caught, finally to be kicked out 
 with the opprobious remarks: 
 
 "Ef you know wut's best fer ye, be off, now, double-quick; 
 The winter-time's a-comin' on, an' though I gut ye cheap, 
 You're so darned lazy, I don't think you're hardly wuth 
 
 your keep ; 
 Besides, the children's growin' up, an' you ain't jest the 
 
 model 
 I'd like to have 'em immertate, an' so you'd better toddle !" 
 
 Lowell did not hesitate to bring under his lash in- 
 dividuals who were in the public eye. Hosea writes 
 his infectious rhymes on John P. Robinson, who, 
 having been a zealous Whig, decided to vote for Gin- 
 eral C. Gineral C. is Caleb Gushing, the colonel of 
 the Massachusetts regiment of volunteers, and an 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 199 
 
 opposition nominee against Briggs for governor, 
 whom Hosea aptly describes as, 
 
 "a dreffle smart man: 
 He's ben on all sides thet give places or pelf; 
 But consistency still wuz a part of his plan, — 
 He's ben true to one party, — an' thet is himself: — 
 
 So John P. 
 
 Robinson he 
 
 Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C." 
 
 Caleb Gushing, of Newburyport, was the man in 
 whom Whittier had placed much trust and to whom 
 he was loyal until he had to admit that he was not 
 to be depended upon. Whittier's early political am- 
 bitions had been bound up in a way with Cushing's. 
 Gushing had been a candidate for a seat in Gongress 
 in his district and had seventeen times missed being 
 elected. Whittier was proposed in his place, but the 
 plan had to be given up because he was under the 
 required age. Finally Gushing succeeded in being 
 elected in 1834, largely through Whittier's help. 
 Twice subsequently Whittier was instrumental in 
 electing him. At first Whittier could depend upon 
 Gushing to bring anti-slavery measures before Gon- 
 gress. But Gushing finally, with the desire to receive 
 an ofiice when the Whigs came into power in 1841, 
 repudiated his anti-slavery record. Whittier, at 
 last thoroughly disillusionized, exerted his influence 
 against Gushing. He reprinted the letter by means 
 of which he had carried Gushing's last election to Gon- 
 gress, adding a preface which revealed so completely 
 Cushing's former entente with the anti-slavery power 
 that he was defeated. For his military services in 
 
200 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Mexico, Gushing was raised by President Polk to the 
 rank of Brigadier-General. But neither his military 
 glory, nor the fact that John P. Robinson said he 
 would vote for Gineral C, won the election for him, 
 when he ran for governor against Governor Briggs, 
 in 1847. 
 
 An opposite case to that of Robinson's was Pal- 
 frey's, who the same year retarded the election of 
 R. C. Winthrop to the speakership of the House by 
 refusing to vote for him upon the ground that he 
 would not exert his influence against the Mexican war, 
 and against the extension of new slave territory. 
 Great was the indignation of the supporters of the 
 war at Mr. Palfrey for taking this independent stand. 
 This feeling of the Cotton Whigs, as they were called, 
 is sarcastically portrayed by Lowell in the "Remarks 
 of Increase D. O'phase, Esquire." The gem of the 
 xespectable Increase's arguments is his hit at the anti- 
 slavery people: 
 
 "Wut right had Palfrey 
 To mix himself up with fanatical small fry? 
 Warn't we gittin' on prime with our hot an' cold blowin', 
 A-condemnin' the war wilst we kep' it agoin'? 
 We'd assumed with gret skill a commandin' position, 
 On this side or thet, no one couldn't tell wich one. 
 So, wutever side wipped, we'd a chance at the plunder 
 An' could sue fer infringin' our paytented thunder; 
 ■We were ready to vote fer whoever wuz eligible, 
 Ef on all points at issoo he'd stay unintelligible." 
 
 From what has been said, it will be seen that Whit- 
 tier and Lowell were entirely at one in their attitude 
 rtoward the early problems of the anti-slavery agita- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 20U 
 
 tion. Upon the question of the extension of slave 
 territory and the iniquity of the Mexican war, they 
 both felt with great intensity. Both were aroused to 
 indignation at the self-interest displayed by the mon- 
 eyed classes and the politicians; both were disgusted 
 at the insincerity of the churches, and the hypocriti- 
 calness of the colonization scheme. War was as ab- 
 horrent to Lowell as it was to the Quaker Whittier. 
 He perhaps saw a little more deeply into the under- 
 lying evils of war than Whittier. He saw that not 
 merely the shooting down of men was to be depre- 
 cated, but the letting loose of capitalistic and political 
 self-seeking. Not only was it the crime of murder, 
 but it was murder in the cause of the individual pocket 
 and individual preeminence. 
 
 Whittier possessed the greater emotional fervor 
 during these early days ; hence it is that from his anti- 
 slavery poems we derive more completely the inten- 
 sity of feeling rife at the time, while he shows us 
 the actual events with truly dramatic power. Lowell, 
 on the other hand, refers to events in an allusional 
 way, and in presenting such imaginary types as 
 Hosea Biglow, Birdofreedum Sawin, and Increase D. 
 O'phase, he lays before us the opinion rather than the 
 feeling of the time, and especially the unpleasant 
 deviousness of the political sharpers of the day. 
 
 When Lowell printed the first series of the Biglow 
 papers in book form, he added much matter from the 
 pen of the Reverend Homer Wilbur: an Introduction 
 and Introductory Notes, and so on. He explains in 
 a letter in regard to an English edition of the Big- 
 low Papers, published ten years later, "When I came 
 to collect them and publish them in a volimae, I con- 
 
202 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ceived my parson-editor, with his pedantry and ver- 
 bosity, his amiable vanity, and superiority to the 
 verses he was editing, as a fitting artistic background 
 and foil. It gave me the chance, too, of glancing 
 obliquely at many things which were beyond the hor- 
 izon of my other characters. I was told afterwards 
 that my parson was only Jedediah Cleishbotham over 
 again, and I dare say it may be so; but I drew him 
 from the life as well as I could and for the authentic 
 reasons I have mentioned." 
 
 It has been hinted that there were resemblances be- 
 tween the parson and Lowell's father; the resem- 
 blances between the parson and Lowell himself are, 
 however, far more striking. Every now and then the 
 discursive Wilbur, with his tiresomely learned al- 
 lusions and his roundabout manner of making his 
 points, disappears in a forthright-speaking Lowell. 
 Partly true of Mr. WUbur in the first series, this is 
 even more marked in the second series. Such a para- 
 graph as the following is characteristic of the parson : 
 
 "I know nothing in our modern times which ap- 
 proaches so nearly to the ancient oracle as the letter 
 of a Presidential candidate. Now, among the Greeks 
 the eating of beans was strictly forbidden to aU such 
 as had it in mind to consult those expert amphibolo- 
 gists, and this same prohibition on the part of Py- 
 thagoras to his disciples is understood to imply an 
 abstinence from politics, beans having been used as 
 ballots. That other explication, quod videlicet sensus 
 eo ciho obtundi eccistimaret, though supported pugnis 
 et calcibus by many of the learned, and not wanting 
 the countenance of Cicero, is confuted by the larger 
 experience of New England. On the whole, I think 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 203 
 
 it safer to apply here the rule of interpretation which 
 now generally obtains in regard to antique cosmog- 
 onies, myths, fables, proverbial expressions, and 
 knotty points generally, which is, to find a common- 
 sense meaning, and then select whatever can be im- 
 agined the most opposite thereto. In this way we 
 arrive at the conclusion, that the Greeks objected to 
 the questioning of candidates. And very properly, 
 if, as I conceive, the chief point be not to discover 
 what a person in that position is, or what he will do, 
 but whether he can be elected. Vos eacemplaria Grceca 
 nocturna versate manu, versate diurna." 
 
 This elaborate fim, thrusting like a double-edged 
 sword at the pedant's methods of argument and the 
 sort of conclusions at which politicians arrive, is, when 
 one has unravelled its indirections, fine sarcasm, but 
 how much more convincing such an eloquent outburst 
 as this other, full of wisdom, applicable to all time! 
 In it the voice of the serious Lowell is speaking. Wil- 
 bur is forgotten, and feeling has^ for the time, burst 
 the bounds of the dramatic masque: 
 
 "I made one of the crowd at the last Mechanics' 
 Fair, and, with the rest, stood gazing in wonder at 
 a perfect machine, with its soul of fire, its boiler-heart, 
 that sent the hot blood pulsing along the iron arteries, 
 and its thews of steel. And, while I was admiring 
 the adaptation of means to end, the harmonious in- 
 volutions of contrivance, and the never-bewildered 
 complexity, I saw a grimed and greasy fellow, the 
 imperious engine's lackey and drudge, whose sole of- 
 fice was to let fall, at intervals, a drop or two of oil 
 upon a certain point. Then my soul said within me. 
 See there a piece of mechanism to which the other you 
 
204 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 marvel at is but as the first rude effort of a child, — a 
 force which not merely suffices to set a few wheels in 
 motion, but which can send an impidse all through 
 the infinite future, — a contrivance, not for turning out 
 pins, or stitching buttonholes, but for making Ham- 
 lets and Lears. And yet this thing of iron shall be 
 housed, waited on, guarded from rust and dust, and 
 it shall be a crime but so much as to scratch it with a 
 pin; while the other, with its fire of God in it, shall 
 be buffeted hither and thither, and finally sent care- 
 fully a thousand miles to be the target for a Mexican 
 cannon-ball. Unthrifty Mother State! My heart 
 burned within me for pity and indignation." 
 
 One of the whimsical features of the collected edi- 
 tion of the Biglow Papers was the imaginary notices 
 of the press, which were prefixed. They are bur- 
 lesques of the various types of unappreciative praise 
 and vituperative dispraise which is pretty sure to be 
 the portion of any strong book. The surprising thing 
 about them is that they are so much like the press 
 notices of to-day. One or two of these notices have 
 the air of the serious, carefully weighed criticism of 
 the more ponderous weekly, like this from the "Bung- 
 town Copper and Comprehensive Toscin" (a tri- 
 weekly family journal) : 
 
 "Altogether an admirable work . . . Full of 
 humor, boisterous but delicate, — of wit withering and 
 scorching, yet combined with a pathos cool as morn- 
 ing dew, — of satire ponderous as the mace of Richard, 
 yet keen as the scymitar of Saladin ... A work 
 full of 'Mountain-mirth,' mischievous as Puck, and 
 lightsome as Ariel . . . We know not whether 
 to admire most the genial, fresh, and discursive con- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 205 
 
 cinnity of the author, or his playful fancy, weird im- 
 agination, and compass of style at once both objective 
 and subjective." 
 
 The gem of the collection, however, is the parody 
 of Carlyle, quite as laughter-provoking as any of 
 Hosea's shafts or Birdofreedum's self-revelations,, 
 from which a paragraph will give a sample of the 
 whole. There is little to be said of Wilbur after this 
 imaginary Carlyle has dissected him: 
 
 "O purblind, well-meaning, altogether Melesigenes 
 Wilbur, there are things in him incommunicable by 
 stroke of birch ! Did it ever enter that old, bewildered 
 head of thine that there was the Possibility of the 
 Infinite in him? To thee, quite wingless (and even 
 featherless) biped, has not so much as a dream of 
 wings ever come? Talented young parishioner? 
 Among the arts whereof thou art Magister, does that 
 of seeing happen to be one? Unhappy Artium Magis- 
 ter! Somehow a Nemean lion, fulvous, torrid-eyed, 
 dry-nursed in a broad-howling sand-wilderness of a 
 sufficiently rare spirit — Libya (it may be supposed )| 
 has got whelped among the sheep." 
 
 In work of the nature of these papers Lowell shows 
 an intellectual tendency to let his sense of humor run 
 away with him, just as we have previously seen his 
 intellectual meditations at times overtop his emotions. 
 This tendency was somewhat curbed in the second 
 series, written during a time which tried men's souls 
 to the uttermost, and was for him mingled with deep 
 personal grief. 
 
 Birdofreedum continues in his downward path. He 
 marries, according to his own account, an F. F. V., 
 regardless of the fact that he has a wife in the North, 
 
20e THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 and excuses himself upon the ground that having 
 seceded he is no longer under the laws of the North. 
 Lowell's scorn of the aristocratic pretensions of the 
 South finds full vent in the merciless revelations Bird- 
 ofreedum gives of his own utterly despicable char- 
 acter, as well as in the remarks of Mr. Wilbur. The 
 Invocation to Virginia, already quoted, was a grace- 
 ful means of burying the hatchet many years later, 
 when the enmity begotten of the war had given place 
 to calmer judgment. Not the South alone comes 
 under Lowell's lash. He never spares his criticisms 
 upon the shortcomings of Northern politicians. Al- 
 most in the same breath he flings his shafts at Jeff 
 Davis and the Southern Confederacy as he makes 
 Birdofreedum tell of his allegiance to the secession 
 cause; and at the flaws in Northern politics through 
 that same gentleman's exquisite reasons why he won't 
 "up stakes" at present: 
 
 "Long 'z A'U turn tu an' grin' B's exe, ef B'll help him grin' 
 hisn, 
 
 "Long 'z ye give out commissions to a lot o' peddlin' drones 
 Thet trade in whisky with their men an' skin 'em to their 
 
 bones, — 
 Long "z ye sift out 'safe' canderdates thet no one ain't 
 
 afeard on 
 Coz they're so thund'rin' eminent for bein' never heard on," 
 
 these are a few of the reasons. 
 
 Hosea is more poetic in the second series than in 
 the first. Some of Lowell's most charming descrip- 
 tions of nature are here put into Hosea's month. For 
 some mysterious reason, the Yankee dialect seems an 
 
Bunker Hill Monument 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 207 
 
 especially happy medium for the describing of spring 
 flowers : 
 
 "Half-vent'rin' liverworts in furry coats, 
 Bloodroots, whose roUed-up leaves ef you oncurl, 
 Each on 'em 's cradle to a baby-pearl," 
 
 or, such a perfect bit as this: 
 
 "Tore long the trees begin to show belief, — 
 The maple crimsons to a coral-reef. 
 Then saffern swarms swing off from all the willers. 
 So plump they look like yaller caterpillars. 
 Then gray hossches'nuts leetle hands unfold, 
 Softer'n a baby's be at three days old." 
 
 One of the most interesting of this series is the 
 conversation between the Concord Bridge and Bunker 
 Hill Monument, overheard by Hosea in an evening 
 walk, relating to the Mason and Slidell difficulty. 
 The intensity of feeling at the time is strongly re- 
 flected in .this poem, and is pleasanter to contemplate 
 in the form of a dialogue between the bridge and the 
 monument, which might be expected to have con- 
 centrated within their ancient wooden and stony con- 
 sciousnesses a belligerent feeling against the mother 
 country, than to read about as a bitter episode of the 
 war, thoroughly in keeping with the stand which Eng- 
 land took in according belligerent rights to the Con- 
 federacy. We do not like to think of the England 
 of that day expressing such deliberate unfriendliness 
 to the United States, nor to think that she could thus 
 throw in her sympathies on the side of dissolution, 
 and the establishment of a slave nation. In speaking 
 
208 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of this incident, the Reverend Mr. Wilbur's identity- 
 is lost in that of the indignant Lowell, who exclaims, 
 "Was there nothing in the indecent haste with which 
 belligerent rights were conceded to the Rebels, noth- 
 ing in the abrupt tone assumed in the Trent case, 
 nothing in the fitting out of Confederate privateers, 
 that might stir the blood of a people already over- 
 charged with doubt, suspicion, and terrible responsi- 
 bility?" 
 
 There is a hint, too, in this poem of Lowell's final 
 stand. Slavery became with him a secondary issue, 
 while the preservation of the Union grew to be of the 
 first importance. When this issue arose he believed 
 that war, since it had come, must be entered into in 
 dead earnest: 
 
 "We've turned our cuffs up, but, to put her thru. 
 We must git mad an' off with jackets, tu; 
 'T wun't du to think that killin' ain't perlite, — 
 You've gut to be in airnest, ef you fight ; 
 You wun't do much ontil you think it's God, 
 An' not constitoounts, thet holds the rod." 
 
 In a paper written for the Atlantic at the same 
 period, we find an exact statement of his attitude in 
 regard to the war. The whole situation is summed 
 up once for all in a strong paragraph, which shows 
 that the events of a dozen years, in conjunction with 
 his own intellectual growth, had carried Lowell far 
 from the earlier feeling which occasionally swept over 
 him, that the secession of the slave states would be 
 better than to allow for a moment the continuance of 
 slavery within the Nation's borders. 
 
 "To our minds, though it may be obscure to Eng- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 209 
 
 lishmen, who look on Lancashire as the centre of 
 the universe, no army was ever enlisted for a nobler 
 service than ours. Not only is it national life, and a 
 foremost place among nations that is at stake, but the 
 vital principle of Law itself, the august foimdation 
 on which the very possibility of government, above 
 all of self-government, rests in the hollow of God's 
 own hand. If democracy shall prove itself capable 
 of having raised twenty millions of people to a level 
 of thought where they can appreciate this cardinal 
 truth, and can believe no sacrifice too great for its 
 defense and establishment, then democracy will have 
 vindicated itself beyond all chance of future cavil. 
 Here, we think, is a Cause, the experience of whose 
 vicissitudes and the grandeur of whose triumph will 
 be able to give us heroes and statesmen. The Slave- 
 Power must be humbled, must be punished, — so hum- 
 bled and so punished as to be a warning forever; but 
 slavery is an evil transient in its cause and its con- 
 sequence, compared with those which would result 
 from unsettling the faith of a nation in its own man- 
 hood, and setting a whole generation of men hope- 
 lessly adrift in the formless void of anarchy." 
 
 It is notorious that Lowell was at first not much 
 prepossessed with the policy of Lincoln. He felt that 
 his movements were too slow and cautious. This 
 feeling comes out in "The Latest Views of Hosea 
 Biglow," at the same time that his growing respect 
 for Lincoln, which finally ended in boundless admir- 
 ation for his statesmanship, is also shown. Hosea's 
 complaints of the lack of proper leadership culminate 
 in an expression of faith in the wisdom of the eman- 
 cipation proclamation: 
 
210 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "An' come wut will, I think it's grand 
 
 Abe's gut his will et last bloom-furnaced 
 In trial-flames till it'll stand 
 
 The strain o' bein' in deadly earnest. 
 Thet's wut we want, — ^we want to know 
 
 The folks on our side hez the bravery 
 To b'lieve ez hard, come weal, come woe, 
 
 In Freedom ez Jeff doos in Slavery." 
 
 There is a deep pathos in Mr. Hosea Biglow's next 
 utterance, a letter to the editor of the Atlantic 
 Monthly^ in which he declares he cannot respond to 
 the request to be funny. Everything has lost its 
 power of inspiration for him. He can think only of 
 the "Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street, 
 
 I hear the drummers makin' riot. 
 An' I set thinkin' o' the feet 
 
 Thet followed once an' now are quiet, — 
 White feet ez snowdrops innercent, 
 
 Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, 
 Whose comin' step ther' 's ears thet won't. 
 
 No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'. 
 
 "Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee.? 
 
 Didn't I love to see 'em growin'. 
 Three likely lads ez wal could be, 
 
 Hahnsome an' brave an' not tu knowin'? 
 I set an' look into the blaze 
 
 Whose natur', jes' like theim, keeps climbin', 
 Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways. 
 
 An' half despise myself for rhymin'. 
 
 "Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth 
 On war's red techstone rang true metal, 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 211 
 
 Who ventured life an' love an' youth 
 
 For the great prize o' death in battle?" 
 
 These are, of course, personal references to his 
 nephews, Charles Russell Lowell and his brother, 
 James Jackson Lowell, and William Lowell Putnam, 
 their cousin, who were all killed in the war. Some- 
 how, Whittier's peace principles seem almost puerile 
 in the face of such sacrifice of beautiful young lives 
 for the great Cause. One has only to look at the por- 
 traits of these young men to realize of what fine and 
 noble fibre they were. Lowell, writing of the death 
 of William Putnam, says : "He came home yesterday 
 afternoon, his face little changed, they tell me, and 
 with a smile on it. He got his wound as we could 
 wish. The adjutant of the regiment was hit, Willie 
 sprang forward to help him, and was shot instantly. 
 Jamie sprang to help him, and was hit, but will be 
 about again in ten days or so." 
 
 Edward Everett Hale says, writing of Putnam, 
 that he was drilling for the war at the same time, and 
 was so much attracted by Putnam's noble, cheerful 
 face that he presented arms in parade not so much to 
 the commanding ofiicer as to this beautiful boy, who, 
 at the distance of thirty or forty yards, presented arms 
 to him. Upon his recovery, James Jackson Lowell re- 
 joined his regiment and in less than a year after his 
 cousin's death received his mortal wound. General 
 Charles Russell Lowell was ordered in November, 
 1862, to report to Governor Andrew for the purpose 
 of organizing the Second Massachusetts Cavalry, of 
 which he was appointed colonel. For many months 
 he was occupied in resisting the incursions of Mosby, 
 
212 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 and was finally mortally wounded at Cedar Creek 
 while leading his command. Even his enemy, Colonel 
 Mosby, bore witness to the fine qualities of this young 
 commander, of whom he wrote that, of all the Federal 
 commanders opposed to him, he had the highest re- 
 spect for Colonel Lowell, both as an officer and a 
 gentleman. 
 
 This poem of Hosea's was not written until the 
 close of the war, but out of deep personal feeling 
 Lowell had already written a remarkable poem, "The 
 Washers of the Shroud." It has the effect of a sym- 
 bolic vision born of great anguish of spirit. Fear for 
 the country which he loves with passionate intensity is 
 mingled with hope that the bravery of the country's 
 defenders shall save it, and anxiety lest those whom 
 he loves may be sacrificed. Through all the agony is 
 felt a great longing for peace. The vision is of three 
 fair Fates, Time was. Time is, and Time shall be. 
 They are washing a shroud for Hesper, typical of 
 the West, who has "gathered States like children 
 round his knees." The poet cries out, "But not for 
 him" — "not yet for him" — "Not yet his thews shall 
 fail, his eye grow dim." Then he thinks of what sac- 
 rifices it may mean that the Nation may be rescued 
 from the fateful shroud, and the poem ends with a 
 cry of pain: 
 
 "Tears may be ours, but proud, for those who win 
 Death's royal purple in the f oeman's lines ; 
 
 "God, give us peace ! Not such as lulls to sleep. 
 But sword on thigh, and brow with purpose knit ! 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 213 
 
 And let our Ship of State to harbor sweep, 
 
 Her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit, 
 
 And her leashed thunders gathering for their leap ! 
 
 "So cried I with clenched hands and passionate pain, 
 Thinking of dear ones by Potomac's side ; 
 Again the loon laughed mocking, and again 
 The echoes bayed far down the night and died. 
 While waking I recalled my wandering brain." 
 
 Upon the day when this poem was published the 
 writing of which had left the poet in a state of utter 
 exhaustion, he received the news of his nephew's death. 
 
 Four other poems, inspired in war times, were writ- 
 ten before we hear the last of Hosea Biglow, who 
 for more than two years kept silence. The first of 
 these is "Two Scenes from the Life of Blondel," a 
 parable, of which Lincoln is the hero of the first part. 
 The second part is somewhat obscure, and not, to my 
 mind, so much an improvement to the whole as 
 Lowell himself seemed to think it. It reflects a gen- 
 eral feeling of disillusionment in regard to his "King" 
 and himself, a reaction against a moment of enthusi- 
 asm, which may be "clever," as the poet thought, but 
 is not inspiring. If this is the gist of it, amends, as 
 far as Lincoln is concerned, are made in "The Com- 
 memoration Ode," in which he has thrown aside what- 
 ever doubts he had of Lincoln's qualities as a leader 
 in the Nation's crisis, and has characterized the great 
 statesman in a way which has given to him the dis- 
 tinction of being, as a recent writer has said, "the 
 first of the leading American writers to see clearly 
 and fully, and clearly and fully and enthusiastically 
 proclaim the greatness of Abraham Lincoln." 
 
214 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The memorial poem to Robert Shaw, a tribute to 
 Bryant, for the strong stand taken by him during the 
 war, and "The Commemoration Ode," recited at 
 Harvard, July 21, 1865, in memory of the Harvard 
 men who had fallen, complete the list of war poems. 
 Of these, the last marks the climax of Lowell's war 
 poetry in seriousness and dignity. "The Biglow 
 Papers" delight because of their political acumen, 
 their keen satire, and their humor. "The Washers of 
 the Shroud" touches the heart with its poignant note 
 of anguish, but "The Commemoration Ode" is the 
 grand Te Deum of the war. In this all the powers of 
 the poet's mind and heart come into play in a har- 
 monious welding of the several themes which had been 
 the mainsprings of his life for many years. Preg- 
 nant joy in the attainment of Freedom blends with a 
 note of deep yet calm grief for those who had given 
 their life in the Cause; there are still undertones of 
 criticism and doubt, but all are resolved in a final 
 solemn psean of praise, faith and loyalty to the death : 
 
 "Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release ! 
 Thy God, in these distempered days, 
 Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways. 
 
 And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! 
 Bow down in prayer and praise! 
 
 No poorest in thy borders but may now 
 
 Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. 
 
 O Beautiful ! my Country ! ours once more !" 
 
 One almost wishes that "The Commemoration Ode" 
 had been Lowell's last word on the war, but the 
 trouble was not all over yet. Reconstruction brought 
 upon the scene political issues of grave import, and 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 215 
 
 upon these Hosea must have his say. He does so in 
 a speech to his fellow Kebhige-Heads, in which he 
 satirizes the pohcy of the President, Andrew John- 
 son, who attempted to carry out, in opposition to 
 Congress and the mass of the Republican party, a 
 plan of his own. He was in favor of punishing in- 
 dividuals and reinstalling all the states at once, ex- 
 acting few guarantees of loyalty. Congress, on the 
 other hand, thought it wise to keep the seceded states 
 in a position resembling that of territories, and under 
 military surveillance until it could be assured of their 
 good faith. The bitter contests ensuing upon these 
 different policies ended in an attempt to impeach 
 Johnson in 1868. However, Congress, in the end, 
 won its cause by voting over the President's veto. 
 What was to be done with the negro was the centre 
 of the problem. Hosea's solution of this problem was 
 simple, and, as far as the franchise was concerned, 
 was the one adopted. Whether it has been as prac- 
 tically successful as it ought to have been, considering 
 its ideal justice, is not a matter to be discussed here. 
 
 "You take the Darkies, ez we've took the Paddies — • 
 Ign'ant an' poor we took 'em by the hand. 
 An' they're the bones an' sinners o' the land ! 
 I ain't o' them thet fancy there's a loss on 
 Every inves'ment thet don't start from Bos'on; 
 But I know this : our money's safest trusted 
 In sumthin', come wut will, thet can't be busted. 
 An' thet's the old Amerikin idee. 
 To make a man a Man an' let him be." 
 
 If Whittier was the laureate of the anti-slavery 
 movement, Lowell was certainly more than merely a 
 
216 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 laureate — ^he was the Seer of the War for the Union. 
 Whittier's peace principles took him out of the tur- 
 moil and away to a mountain-top to watch and pray 
 and have faith that the Lord must know what He 
 was about, though His ways were beyond compre- 
 hension to a believer in peaceful means of attaining 
 justice. As Whittier retired, Lowell became mili- 
 tant. His love of peace, just as inbred as that of 
 Whittier, gave way before his stronger love of coun- 
 try, and to save that, war became a righteous and 
 solemn duty. His beautiful words to Mr. Charles 
 Norton, at the close of the war, reveal what depth of 
 feeling Lowell had for the ideal of country: "The 
 news is from Heaven. I felt a strange and tender 
 exaltation. I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry, 
 and ended by holding my peace and feeling devoutly 
 thankful. There is something magnificent in having 
 a country to love. It is almost like what one feels 
 for a woman, not so tender perhaps, but to the full 
 as self-forgetful." 
 
 Neither Bryant nor Emerson contributed much to 
 the poetry of anti-slavery and the war. A handful 
 of short poems between them, for the most part not 
 inspired by any definite historical incidents, but by 
 the burning ideals of the period. Bryant's chief war 
 poems are "Our Country's Call" and "The Death of 
 Slavery." 
 
 The first shows Bryant a believer in war when the 
 dire necessity arises, although he had held a middle 
 groimd during the many years of agitation preceding 
 that necessity. For fifty years he, as the editor of 
 the New York Evening Post, had insisted upon the 
 right of absolutely free discussion in the matter, and 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 217 
 
 while he did not take the ultra-radical views of the 
 Garrisonites, he set his face against any extension 
 of slavery. His temperate attitude was not the re- 
 sult of any leaning toward the institution, but grew 
 out of his faith that the moral development of the 
 Nation would lead naturally to its peaceful extinction. 
 The final stanza of the poem shows what his feelings 
 became, when he finally realized that the change could 
 not be brought about by peaceful methods. 
 
 The second of these poems is a somewhat conven- 
 tional piece of work, but if not inspired in utterance, 
 its sentiment rings true and shows how thoroughly in 
 sympathy Bryant was with the final accomplishment 
 of the purpose of the anti-slavery movement. 
 
 What Emerson has done in poetry, for the time, 
 is* marked by his usual qualities of exaltation and 
 philosophical perception. In his "Voluntaries" he 
 shows the same eagerness expressed by Lowell, that 
 the Nation may have heroes willing to sacrifice them- 
 selves in war. His emphasis is, however, more upon 
 the ideal of Freedom than upon that of Country. In 
 the third of these, he exclaims : 
 
 "In an age of fops and toys. 
 Wanting wisdom, void of right. 
 Who shall nerve heroic boys 
 To hazard all in Freedom's fight?" 
 
 to which he answers: 
 
 "So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
 So near is God to man. 
 When Duty whispers low. Thou must. 
 The youth replies, I can." 
 
218 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 In the fifth voluntary, his thought soars entirely 
 away from the actual of relative right and wrong to 
 the Eternal Rights: 
 
 "Blooms the laurel which belongs 
 To the valiant chief who fights ; 
 I see the wreath, I hear the songs 
 Lauding the Eternal Rights. 
 Victors over daily wrongs: 
 Awful victors, they misguide 
 Whom they will destroy, 
 And their coming triumph hide 
 In our downfall, or our joy: 
 They reach no term, they never sleep. 
 In equal strength through space abide; 
 Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep. 
 The strong they slay, the swift outride: 
 Fate's grass grows rank in valley clods. 
 And rankly on the castled steep, — 
 Speak it firmly, these are gods. 
 All are ghosts beside." 
 
 With Emerson, feeling vanishes in light. Poetry 
 of this calibre might grow out of one fight for free- 
 dom as well as another, but that of Whittier and 
 Lowell could have arisen out of nothing but the spe- 
 cial events of our own struggle, and the especial ex- 
 periences and enthusiasm of these two men, and on 
 this account their poems will to the end of time fire 
 the patriotism and loyalty of those who believe pro- 
 foundly in the "Amerikin idee," as Hosea calls it. 
 
 Though so little of their patriotism came out in 
 their verse, these two poets did splendid work in other 
 directions. Bryant, as the editor of the New York 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 219 
 
 Evening Post, made a deep impression at the time. 
 As George William Curtis has written, "He acknowl- 
 edged every lawful defense, every plea of expedi- 
 ency, every appeal of possible calamity. He had 
 deprecated agitation which seemed to him only to 
 exasperate feeling and rivet bonds more closely. But 
 now he saw — ^not as a Democrat, not as a New 
 Yorker, not as a Northerner — ^he saw as a man, that 
 humanity was in danger, where he could help ; he saw 
 as an American, that America was imperilled; he 
 saw as a lifelong lover of liberty, that liberty was 
 vitally assailed; and as a man, as an American, as a 
 lover of liberty, he declared, in the spring of 1856, 
 against the extension of slavery, and five years later 
 his whole political faith burst forth in one indignant 
 peal of patriotism," 
 
 Emerson's temperament was not that of one who 
 rushes into practical methods of reform, yet he used 
 his influence to good purpose by speaking upon many 
 occasions in sympathy with anti-slavery ideals. He 
 believed that the most righteous way of solving the 
 problem would be for the Nation to buy the freedom 
 of the slaves. In an address before the anti-slavery 
 society in New York, he drew a glowing picture of 
 the manner in which slavery was to be abolished. He 
 said in part: "Every man Avill bear his part. We 
 will have a chimney tax. We will give up our coaches 
 and wine and watches. The church will melt her plate. 
 The Father of His Country shall wait, well pleased, a 
 little longer for his monument. Franklin will wait 
 for his, the Pilgrim Fathers for theirs ; and the patient 
 Columbus, who waited all his mortality for justice, 
 shall wait a part of immortality also. . . . The 
 
220 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 rich shall give of their riches, the merchants of their 
 commerce; the mechanics of their strength; the needle- 
 women will give, and children can have a Cent So- 
 ciety. . . . Every man in this land would give a 
 week's work to dig away this accursed mountain of 
 slavery, and force it forever out of the world." 
 
 Like Bryant, when he found that no such ideal 
 method as his was going to be possible, he was ready 
 to meet the occasion. He felt that the struggle for 
 freedom was developing a heroism and moral gran- 
 deur noble to see. It is pleasant to think of Emerson 
 and Lincoln closeted together iq Washington, dis- 
 cussing the subject. This was in 1862, when Emer- 
 son had been invited to speak on "American Civiliza- 
 tion." The lecture was given at the Smithsonian 
 Institute. Lincoln and his cabinet were present, and 
 we are told the lecture made a profound impression. 
 Emerson is described as having seemed inspired 
 through nearly the whole of it, especially the part 
 referring to slavery and the war. 
 
 Emerson read his Boston Hymn at a Jubilee 
 Concert in Boston, when, on January 1, 1863, the 
 emancipation proclamation was issued, and the "Vol- 
 untaries" were published later in the year. Mr. 
 George Willis Cooke, in his most interesting life 
 of Emerson, has well summed up Emerson's place in 
 the great conflict: 
 
 "Emerson was neither a zealous agitator nor an 
 enthusiastic worker in this great controversy; for he 
 was unfitted for both by nature and by reason of his 
 views of human progress. . . . As the agitation 
 proceeded, and brave men took part in it, and it rose 
 to a spirit of moral grandeur, he gave a heartier as- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 221 
 
 sent to the outward methods adopted. His faith in 
 Brown, his immediate insight into the rare qualities 
 of that true hero, gave him a greater zeal and a larger 
 confidence in the spirit and purposes of the North. 
 Few literary men, with natures so meditative and 
 withdrawn from all material pursuits, have given so 
 much thought and effort to such a cause. A student, 
 a poet, a seer, the spiritual interpreter of our times, 
 with no capacity for joining in the conflicts of men, 
 he yet looked with eager eyes upon every phase of 
 this great movement, watched it with growing hope, 
 had faith in the triumph of freedom and love, gave 
 such aid as he could, and all his sympathies, to those 
 seeking the emancipation of the poor and oppressed." 
 
 There is little to relate of either Longfellow or 
 Holmes in this struggle. They neither of them took 
 any active interest in the agitation, yet when the time 
 came each contributed his literary quota. Longfel- 
 low's slim book of anti-slavery poems, sentimental 
 and romantic as they are, yet aroused at the time a 
 tremendous amount of enthusiasm,* and had their 
 share in strengthening feeling against the evil. 
 Holmes was for a long period not to be convinced by 
 the arguments of Garrison that the negro had any 
 claims ; besides, his sense of the ridiculous was aroused 
 by the peculiarities of reformers, one of the disad- 
 vantages of a predilection for being more funny than 
 you ought to be. But by the time the war for the 
 Union arrived his opinions had undergone a change, 
 and he blazed out into a strenuous and excited patriot. 
 
 He seems only once to have made a public speech 
 
 *See author's "Longfellow's Country.' 
 
222 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 on the subject, and that was a Fourth of July oration, 
 delivered in Boston in 1863. His appreciation of all 
 the points at issue is shown in this oration, and we 
 may feel assured that Holmes was saved from the 
 early error of his ways, and that it was not only in 
 order to save the Union that his patriotism was awak- 
 ened. His Hymn, after the emancipation proclama- 
 tion, touches a note which shows how completely his 
 antipathy to the early anti-slavery cause had died out : 
 
 "Ruler of Nations, judge our cause 
 If we have kept Thy holy laws, 
 The sons of Belial curse in vain 
 The day that rends the captive's chain. 
 
 "Then, God of vengeance ! Israel's Lord ! 
 Break in their grasp the shield and sword, 
 And make the righteous judgments known 
 Till all Thy foes are overthrown." 
 
 The most characteristic of Holmes's war poems is 
 "The Sweet Little Man," dedicated to the stay-at- 
 home rangers. He has a chance in this to indulge his 
 vein of sarcasm and humor at the expense of the stay- 
 at-home in war time: 
 
 "All the fair maidens about him shall cluster, 
 
 Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan. 
 Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster, — 
 That is the crest for the sweet little man !" 
 
 From this sketch of the part taken by our poets 
 in the history of their own time and its use as subject 
 matter in their poetry, it will be seen that their in- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 223 
 
 dividual characteristics come out as distinctly in these 
 poems as in the work spoken of in the previous chap- 
 ters. The fact that they were all on the same side 
 does not, in the least, affect their manner of treating 
 the subject. We see the same careful, painstaking 
 Whittier, painting genre pictures now instead of land- 
 scapes. The color tone varies with the intensity of 
 the themes, and all are illuminated with the glow of 
 varied personal emotion. Lowell, too, in spite of the 
 dramatic setting of "The Biglow Papers," is the same 
 Lowell, expressing himself in terms of knowledge and 
 thought, even under the deepest stress of emotion. 
 And he has, here as elsewhere, splendid moments, 
 when his thought is so instinct with emotion that he 
 touches the highest pinnacle of art. He climbs up to 
 sit beside Emerson as the see-er of visions, and takes 
 along with him the glint of the precious metals and 
 the jewels which he has mined in less inspired mo- 
 ments. Emerson, true to his own line, "Onward and 
 on the Eternal Pan, resteth never in one shape," 
 lets go the ladder by which he has climbed, and, look- 
 ing forth from his high place, sees only the naked 
 thought "so majestical" that binds men's actions with 
 the infinite. 
 
 For Longfellow's romantic temperament the sub- 
 ject is too near at hand to be treated effectively. We 
 know too much about the realities to be satisfied with 
 anything but pictures from life. We can accept 
 Acadians who reveal Swedish characteristics, wear 
 Swedish gowns and dwell in Swedish houses, but ne- 
 groes of the war-time were too vitally human to be 
 permanently acceptable to art in the garments of 
 sentimentality. It might almost be set down as law 
 
224 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 that past history may, nay, must be resuscitated by 
 the poet in romantic form to live as art, but present 
 history to convince as art must be true at least to 
 actual conditions, if not to incident. In this lies 
 Whittier's strength in his anti-slavery poems, while 
 it is very possible that the over-exaggeration of Bird- 
 ofreedum, who is typical, not real, in "The Biglow 
 Papers," may cause that gentleman to be less ap- 
 preciated as time goes on. 
 
 Bryant was even less qualified than Longfellow to 
 shine in subjects for poetic treatment based upon 
 contemporary events. That is probably the reason 
 why his contribution is so slim. With anti-slavery 
 and the war a hundred years in the past, he could 
 probably have written a stirring poetical synthesis of 
 the whole episode, in which all details should be left 
 to the reader's imagination. 
 
 Finally, who shall say how much of Holmes's pa- 
 triotic fervor was due to those same military displays 
 at Harvard, which he en j oyed as a small boy ? Certain 
 it is that his war poems are almost naively warlike, 
 and in spite of their undoubted sincerity of patriotism, 
 give one a little the impression of having been written 
 for the occasion rather than inspired by it. 
 
 As one proceeds in the study of these New England 
 poets, the wonder grows that at the very dawn of 
 American literature, there should have been a group 
 of men, all with an English background, who showed 
 such distinct individuality in their temperaments and 
 poetic methods. 
 
HI 
 
 n 
 
 
 
 1-5 
 U 
 
FRIENDSHIP: 
 PERSONAL AND LITERARY 
 
 225 
 
"This is the place; whether its name you spell 
 Tavern, or caravansera, or hotel. 
 Would I could steal its echoes! You should f,nd 
 Such store of vanished pleasures brought to mind: 
 Such feasts! the laughs of many a jocund hour 
 That shook the mortar from King George's tower; 
 Such guests! What famous names its record boasts 
 Whose owners wander in the mob of ghosts! 
 Such stories! Every beam and plank is fUled 
 With juicy wit the joyous talkers spilled. 
 Ready to ooze as once the mowntain pine 
 The floors are laid with oozed its turpentine. 
 
 "I start; I wake; the vision is withdrawn. 
 Its figures falling like the stars of dawn; 
 Crossed from the roll of life their cherished names. 
 And memory's pictures fading in their frames; 
 Yet life is lovelier for these transient gleams 
 Of buried friendships; blest is he who dreams!" 
 
 Holmes. 
 
 226 
 
IV 
 
 Friendship: Peesonal and Literaey 
 
 IT is a pleasant thing to think upon, that all of 
 "our poets" were knit together in strong personal 
 bonds of friendship. Their meetings and part- 
 ings remind one of the motions of the planets in our 
 own solar system. Never entirely outside of one an- 
 other's influence, the sympathies between them varied 
 in distance, as the distances between the planets, and 
 like the planets, sometimes two, sometimes three, some- 
 times all of them moved into lines forming conjunc- 
 tions or oppositions and quadratures, to use astronom- 
 ical language, upon which occasions, being human, the 
 phenomena to be observed are dinners, either at home 
 or in delightful clubs, letters from distant climes at 
 those times when, like other men, they went on "pil- 
 grimages," or the more serious approaches caused by 
 some political crisis or important literary plan. 
 
 Bryant having taken up his life-work in New York, 
 was, like Neptune, upon the outer skirt of the system 
 and, though much respected and honored by all, did 
 not so frequently meet with them. Whittier also was 
 somewhat isolated, both by reason of his distance, in 
 Amesbury, from the centre of activity, and on ac- 
 coimt of his poor health. The others lived within 
 easy reach of one another. Longfellow and Lowell, 
 
 237 
 
228 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 a ten-minutes' walk apart, in Cambridge; Holmes, 
 not beyond walking distance, in Boston, and Emerson 
 an hour's ride away, in Concord. If Emerson was 
 not literally the centre around which all the others 
 revolved, he was at least near the centre, like Mercury, 
 lost in sunlight. No matter what criticisms his 
 brother poets, in their all-seeing wisdom, might have 
 to make of Emerson's verse, or upon his transcenden- 
 tal philosophy, they could not open their mouths to 
 speak of the man himself without uttering poems. 
 One and all they paid tribute to his unique and won- 
 derful personality. Longfellow never wrote anything 
 more exquisite than his words about Emerson in his 
 diary : 
 
 "Emerson is like a beautiful portico, in a lovely 
 scene of nature. We stand expectant, waiting for 
 the High Priest to come forth ; and lo, there comes a 
 gentle wind from the portal, swelling and subsiding; 
 and the blossoms and the vine-leaves shake, and far 
 away down the green fields the grasses bend and 
 wave; and we ask, 'When will the High Priest come 
 forth and reveal to us the truth?' and the disciples 
 say, 'He has already gone forth, and is yonder in the 
 meadows.' 'And the truth he was to reveal?' 'It is 
 nature ; nothing more.' " 
 
 Holmes tells of the delight of sitting beside Emer- 
 son at dinner. He is not so purely poetic as Long- 
 fellow in his comparisons. He is charmed by Emer- 
 son's delicious voice and his fine sense of wit, but he 
 does not think of a beautiful portico in a lovely scene 
 of nature. His semi-scientifico-poetic mind thinks 
 of a cat or an ant-eater when he watches the delicate 
 way Emerson steps about among the words of his 
 
Beyant. 1794-1878 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 229 
 
 vocabulary, "... If you have seen a eat picking her 
 footsteps in wet weather, you have seen the picture 
 of Emerson's exquisite intelligence, feeling for its 
 phrase or epithet, — sometimes I think of an ant-eater 
 singling out his insects as I see him looking about and 
 at last seizing his noun or adjective, — ^the best, the 
 only one which would serve the need of his thought." 
 
 Examples might be multiplied indefinitely, show- 
 ing how widespread was the recognition of a quality 
 in Emerson quite apart from that of all other men. 
 It was felt by the humble as well as by his brother 
 poets and others of high degree in intellectual mat- 
 ters. Indeed, the former were not only won by his 
 angelic presence, but often showed a more spontane- 
 ous perception of his wisdom than those sophisticated 
 in the ways of thought, as, for example, the congre- 
 gation at East Lexington, which desired so much to 
 have Emerson for their minister that they could not 
 settle upon any one else. When one of the members 
 was asked why this was so, she replied: "We are a 
 very simple people and can understand no one but 
 Mr. Emerson." One of the mots of these old days 
 which seemed particularly to delight Longfellow, who 
 found it very difficult to comprehend Emerson's 
 flights of thought, was a remark of Jeremiah Mason, 
 who, when asked if he could understand Emerson, 
 replied: "No, I can't, but my daughters can." 
 
 "A sharp thing," Longfellow called this retort, but 
 that was so long ago, in the medieval mists of the last 
 century (1838) , that it was before men had come any 
 appreciable distance toward the recognition that a 
 man's daughters might be his intellectual equals, much 
 less that they, like the child in Maeterlinck's "Les 
 
230 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Aveugles," might perceive the truths of the future 
 more clearly because not blinded by intellectual or 
 religious prejudices. 
 
 If we want to see all the poets in line at once, there 
 is no better place to look for them than at a dinner of 
 the "Saturday Club," of which five of them were 
 members. Bryant was, of course, too far away to be 
 included and, for some reason, could not be induced 
 to dine with the club, even when he was in Boston. 
 Longfellow records the fact, but does not give any 
 reason. Besides the poets, the membership of this 
 club included a number of brilliant men, among 
 whom may be mentioned Hawthorne, Motley, Agas- 
 siz, Dwight, Sumner, Dana, — and others of a later 
 time — nearly all of them names to conjure with. No 
 wonder Lowell could wi'ite home from England that 
 nowhere had he had better talk than at the "Saturday 
 Club." 
 
 The members, if we may judge by the constant 
 references to it in letters or diaries, took great delight 
 in this little coterie, but of them all. Holmes seems 
 to have been its most devoted member, and from him 
 we get more glimpses of its sessions than from any 
 one other member. It is even hinted that he expanded 
 in its sympathetic atmosphere to such a degree as 
 occasionally to make the mistake of talking too much. 
 That might have been trying to Lowell, who also had 
 a great gift of speech, but when we are told that in 
 his talk at the "Saturday Club" Holmes was more 
 delightful than his own Autocrat or his own Pro- 
 fessor, we feel that to hear him must have been more 
 interesting even to Lowell than to talk himself. Haw- 
 thorne's teeth must have gleamed as he furtively 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 231 
 
 looked up from his plate and cast upon Holmes the 
 sunbeams of his appreciative smile. We may be per- 
 fectly sure, too, that even if Holmes did have a ten- 
 dency to monopolize, Lowell would sooner or later 
 get his innings, while Emerson must have "occupied 
 considerable time picking out the right words, for it 
 was at the club Holmes observed his skill in this par- 
 ticular. Speaking of Holmes's devotion to this club, 
 his biographer says: 
 
 "Outside the sacred penetralia which were shut with- 
 in his own front door, nothing else in Dr. Holmes's 
 life gave him so much pleasure as did this club. He 
 loved it; he hugged the thought of it. When he was 
 writing to Lowell and Motley in Europe, he seemed 
 to think that merely to name 'The Club,' was enough 
 to give a genial flavor to his page. He would tell 
 who were present at the latest meeting, and where 
 they sat. He would recur to those who used to come, 
 and mention their habitual seats, — matters which his 
 correspondents already knew perfectly well. But the 
 names were sweet things in his mouth, and, in fact, he 
 was doing one of the deepest acts of intimacy in thus 
 touching the chord of the dearest reminiscence which 
 their memories held in common." 
 
 All this feeling finally burst forth in his later years 
 in the poem, "At the Saturday Club," in which he 
 describes how, — 
 
 "Loosed from its chain, along the wreck-strown track 
 Of the dead years my soul goes travelling back ; 
 My ghosts take on their robes of flesh, it seems : 
 Dreaming is life; nay, life less life than dreams, 
 So real are the shapes that meet my eyes." 
 
232 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 He draws but four portraits of the guests who 
 have forever departed, Longfellow, Agassiz, Haw- 
 thorne and Emerson. In each case it is a speaking 
 likeness. Through his eyes we see at least these four 
 as they dined at Parker's at the "Saturday Club": 
 
 "Here sits our Poet, Laureate, if you will. 
 Long has he worn the wreath, and wears it still. 
 
 Kind, soft-voiced, gentle, in his eye there shines 
 
 The ray serene that filled Evangeline's. 
 
 Modest he seems, not shy ; content to wait. 
 
 Amid the noisy clamor of debate, 
 
 The looked-for moment when a peaceful word 
 
 Smooths the rough ripples louder tongues have stirred. 
 
 In every tone I mark his tender grace 
 
 And all his poems hinted in his face ; 
 
 What tranquil joy his friendly presence gives! 
 
 How could I think him dead? He lives! He lives! 
 
 "But who is he whose massive frame belies 
 The maiden shyness of his downcast eyes? 
 Who broods in silence till, by questions pressed. 
 Some answer struggles from his laboring breast? 
 
 Virile in strength, yet bashful as a girl. 
 Prouder than Hester, sensitive as Pearl." 
 
 Emerson we seem to see with especial distinctness. 
 Bis rare skUl in finding the right word is again noted, 
 more poetically than in the former instance. He is 
 a king now, choosing jewels for his bride when he 
 speaks. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 233 
 
 "From his mild throng of worshippers released, 
 Our Concord Delphi sends its chosen priest, 
 Prophet or poet, mystic, sage or seer, 
 By every title always welcome here. 
 Why that etherial spirit's frame describe? 
 You know the race marks of the Brahmin tribe, — 
 The spare, slight form, the sloping shoulder's droop. 
 The calm, scholastic mien, the clerkly stoop. 
 The lines of thought the sharpened features wear, 
 Carved by the edge of keen New England air. 
 
 "List ! for he speaks ! As when a king would choose 
 The jewels for his bride, he might refuse 
 This diamond for its flaw, — find that less bright 
 Than those, its fellows, and a pearl less white 
 Than fits her snowy neck, and yet at last. 
 The fairest gems are chosen, and made fast 
 In golden fetters; so, with light delays 
 He seeks the fittest word to fill his phrase ; 
 Nor vain nor idle his fastidious quest. 
 His chosen word is sure to prove the best." 
 
 This club, according to Dr. Holmes, started with 
 a trio or quartette consisting of Emerson and two or 
 three of his admirers, who fell into the habit of dining 
 together occasionally at Parker's. Others gathered 
 around them, and at last the little group grew into 
 the famous club. Edward Everett Hale declares 
 that the club originated with a dinner given by Mr. 
 Phillips to a few men, including Longfellow, Lowell, 
 Holmes and Emerson, at the time of the founding 
 of the Atlantic Monthly. Mr. Underwood, who was 
 Phillips' literary man, declares, on the other hand, 
 that this dinner gave rise to the Atlantic Club, or 
 
234. THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Atlantic dinners, and that he ought to know, because 
 the invitations and reminders were always in his 
 hands. Holmes insists that there never was such a 
 thing as the Atlantic Club. Mr. John T. Morse, Jr., 
 Holmes's biographer, feeling, evidently, the helpless- 
 ness of this state of contradictions, tries to clear the 
 matter up thus: "Certain it is that nearly all the 
 frequent (male) contributors to the magazine, who 
 lived within convenient reach of the Parker House, 
 were members of the club, or doubtless might have 
 been so had they desired; and that for a long while a 
 multiplicity of nerves and filaments tied the magazine 
 and club closely together. Equally certain it is that 
 from the outset a few members of the club were 
 never contributors to the magazine, and that all these 
 nerves and filaments have long ere the present day 
 been entirely severed." 
 
 An entry in Longfellow's diary, February 28, 1857, 
 three months before the first Atlantic dinner, which 
 was May 5, and is also recorded by Longfellow, 
 throws some light on the matter: "Saturday. In 
 town. Dined with Agassiz at his club, which he 
 wishes me to join, and I think I shall." Lowell, 
 Emerson and Longfellow had talked about forming 
 a club to dine once a month as far back as February, 
 1850, when, under date of the twenty-second, there 
 is an entry in Longfellow's diary to that effect. 
 
 Whatever may have been the origin of the Satur- 
 day Club, Holmes himself celebrates not only that 
 club, but writes a poem for an Atlantic dinner in 
 1874, which proves that, even in his mind, the two 
 series of dinners were quite distinct from each other. 
 
 Finally, another entry in Longfellow's diary. May 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 235 
 
 14, 1859, is to the effect that he dined that day at the 
 Atlantic Club. He adds, "the Atlantic is not the Sat- 
 urday Club, though many members belong to both." 
 
 Upon one occasion the "Atlantic Club" ventured 
 to ask also its women contributors to a dinner. Long- 
 fellow speaks of this, and remarks that Mrs. Stowe 
 wore a green wreath on her head, which he thought 
 very becoming. Colonel T. W. Higginson gives an 
 amusing account of this dinner in his "Cheerful Yes- 
 terdays." Mrs. Stowe and Miss Prescott were the 
 only ladies who accepted. The former did so with 
 hesitation, and only upon the condition that no wine 
 should be drunk. 
 
 The presence of ladies and the absence of wine 
 seemed to have a very depressing effect upon the 
 other Atlantic contributors; so much so that one after 
 another they sent out their water glasses with a mys- 
 terious whisper to the waiter, who returned with them 
 filled with a rosy liquid. He recalls that the brilliant 
 Holmes devoted himself largely to demonstrating to 
 Dr. Stowe that all swearing doubtlessly originated in 
 the free use made by the pulpit of sacred words and 
 phrases. The equally brilliant Lowell was trying to 
 prove to Mrs. Stowe at the same time that "Tom 
 Jones" was the best novel ever written. It is not 
 surprising that, owing to the mischievousness of these 
 two. Dr. Stowe told Whittier that he and Mrs. Stowe 
 found the conversation at the club not quite what 
 they had been led to expect, though no doubt they 
 were all very distinguished men. 
 
 Besides Saturday Club dinners and Atlantic din- 
 ners, our poets, two or more of them, often met at 
 dinners for gala occasions. One of the most interest- 
 
236 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ing of these must have been the celebration by the 
 Burns Club of the centennial of that poet's birth, 
 January 25, 1859. Emerson was there, and gave 
 a fine address, in which he expressed the highest 
 appreciation of Burns. Lowell was there also, and 
 he tells of the effect made upon him by Emerson's 
 speech: "Every word seemed to have just dropped 
 down to him from the clouds. He looked far 
 away over the heads of his hearers with a vague 
 kind of expectation, as into some private heaven 
 of invention, and the winged period came at last 
 to obey the spell. 'My dainty Ariel,' he seemed 
 murmuring, as he cast down his eyes as if in depreca- 
 tion of the frenzy of applause, and caught another 
 sentence from the sibylline leaves that lay before him 
 ambushed behind a dish of fruit, and seen only by 
 the nearest neighbors. Every sentence brought down 
 the house as I never saw one brought down before; 
 and it is not so easy to hit Scotsmen with a sentiment 
 that has no hint of native brogue in it. I watched — 
 for it was an interesting study — how the quick sym- 
 pathy ran flashing from face to face down the long 
 tables like an electric spark, thrilling as it went, and 
 then exploded in a thunder of plaudits. I watched 
 till tables and faces vanished, for I, too, found my- 
 self caught up in the common enthusiasm, and my 
 excited fancy set me under the bema listening to him 
 who fulmined over Greece." 
 
 Judge Hoar said of this address that it surprised 
 him as much to hear of Emerson's speaking on Burns 
 as it did to hear of Holmes writing a life of Emerson. 
 Emerson evidently shared in this surprise, according 
 to a note of his in Sanborn's Recollections. He could 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 237 
 
 not comprehend why his address had aroused such 
 enthusiasm, for he had never had much opinion of 
 Burns, but had read him over to better purpose. Still 
 he had but a short time in which to prepare himself. 
 Lowell himself contributed a poem, and Whittier, 
 though not present, sent one, which was read by Em- 
 erson. 
 
 Whittier owed more of a debt to Burns than the 
 others, for it was Burns who first brought him to 
 a consciousness of beauty, and aroused his latent 
 talent for poetry. His school-teacher, Mr. Coffin, 
 who was in the habit of reading to Whittier and his 
 mother and aunt, brought, one evening, a volume of 
 Burns. It is recorded that Whittier was spellbound 
 with delight ; the teacher left the book Avith him, and, 
 as Whittier tells, in a charming poem to Burns, writ- 
 ten some time before the Burns celebration, from that 
 time — 
 
 "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." 
 
238 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Holmes was there also, with a poem. With one 
 accord they eulogize the art and humanity of Burns, 
 and,, excepting Emerson, with that conscientiousness 
 characteristic of the admirers of Burns, do not fail 
 to touch upon his faults, albeit lightly, and then for- 
 give him for them. Even the ascetic Whittier has 
 no heart for censure, — 
 
 "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." 
 
 Emerson follows, literally, this ideal, and speaks 
 only of that which was fine and beautiful in the char- 
 acter and poetry of Bums. It is depressing when 
 enthusiasm for the good and the beautiful must be 
 tempered by the consciousness of pitiful failures, and, 
 except for purposes of psychological analysis, to re- 
 gard the highest in a human being as his real self, and 
 let the rest go, as Emerson does, is wiser and truly 
 more forgiving than to dim the picture with smoke, 
 and then try to brush oflF the soot. This was probably 
 the secret of the magnetism exerted by Emerson on 
 that day, of which Lowell speaks in such admiring 
 terms. Emerson stretched forth his hands to Burns, 
 not only because of his art, not only because of his 
 humanness, but because he thought of him as a power- 
 ful force in the great progressive movement of the 
 modern world. On this point he said: "Not Latimer, 
 nor Luther, struck more telling blows against false 
 theology than did this brave singer. The Confession 
 of Augsburg, the Declaration of Independence, the 
 
Emerson. 1803-1882 
 From a photograph by Ethel C. Brown 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 239 
 
 French Rights of Man, and the Marseillaise, are not 
 more weighty documents, in the history of freedom, 
 than the songs of Burns." 
 
 Longfellow was prevented by a fit of lumbago 
 from attending this dinner, whereat he was greatly 
 chagrined, and from his diary we catch a glimpse of 
 him eagerly reading the newspaper account the next 
 morning. 
 
 Among important gala occasions, were birthday or 
 farewell dinners to each other, at which the whole 
 group were, if possible, present. One of these was 
 a farewell dinner to Lowell when he went abroad in 
 the spring of 1855. The dinner was at the Revere 
 House in Boston, and was presided over by Long- 
 fellow, who speaks of it as a joyous banquet, one of 
 the pleasantest he had ever attended — a meeting of 
 friends to take leave of one whom they all loved. 
 Lowell, too, gives a glimpse of this joyous occasion, 
 at which Holmes not only repeated charming verses, 
 but sang songs. One of the guests, Rolker, added 
 much to the hilarity of the after-dinner festivities by 
 reciting two stanzas, beginning "A helf to ve nort- 
 ward boun." "He gave it with so much sentiment," 
 Lowell says, "that we were all entirely overcome, and 
 laughed so inmioderately that the brave Rolker at 
 length sat down." The dinner ended with all singing 
 "Auld Lang Syne" in true college style, and Lowell, 
 at the advanced age of thirty-six, talks about feeling 
 young again. The verses by Holmes are to be found 
 in his collected poems, "Farewell to J. R. Lowell," 
 the concluding stanzas of which show in what a happy 
 vein the poem was written: 
 
240 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "Nay, think not that Friendship has called us in vain 
 To join the fair ring ere we break it again ; 
 There is strength in its circle, — you lose the bright star, 
 But its sisters still chain it, though shining afar. 
 
 "I give you one health in the juice of the vine, 
 The blood of the vineyard shall mingle with mine ; 
 Thus, thus let us drain the last dew-drops of gold, 
 As we empty our hearts of the blessings they hold." 
 
 There is another dmner in honor of Lowell to be 
 recorded, — that celebrating his seventieth birthday, a 
 few years after his return from his ambassadorship 
 in England, in 1889. It was given at the Tavern 
 Club, and presided over by Mr. Norton. Holmes was 
 there, and read a poem, but of the other poets none 
 was left except Whittier, who does not seem to have 
 been present. He was, however, among those who 
 sent tributes to the Lowell Birthday number of the 
 New York Critic. 
 
 At Whittier's seventieth birthday celebration, De- 
 cember 17, 1877, Lowell was far overseas, looking 
 forward to participation in the brilliant ceremonies 
 attendant upon the marriage of the young Spanish 
 king, and soon to experience his first bull-fight. He 
 expresses in a letter to Longfellow, about this time, 
 a feeling of homesickness. He misses his old friend- 
 ships. He might well regret not being present at the 
 great banquet given at the Hotel Brunswick by the 
 pubhshers of the Atlantic Monthly to their contribu- 
 tors and other distinguished guests, in honor of Whit- 
 tier. Mr. H. O. Houghton presided, with Whittier, 
 Emerson and Longfellow at his right, Holmes, How- 
 ells and Warner at his left. The Literary World 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 241 
 
 printed the same month a Whittier Birthday number, 
 to which all the distinguished literati of the country 
 sent greetings. Among those of his old friends who 
 sent poems were Longfellow, Dr. Holmes, Wm. 
 Lloyd Garrison, Lydia Maria Child, Lucy Larcom; 
 and among those who sent letters were Richard H. 
 Dana, W. C. Bryant, George Bancroft, and Harriet 
 Beecher Stowe. Whittier was deeply touched, says 
 his biographer, at this outpouring of the hearts of his 
 literary friends, and uttered his characteristic "Re- 
 sponse" ! He was not so enthusiastic about the dinner, 
 and when told of it refused at first to go. He wrote 
 to his niece, "They are wanting to make a fuss over 
 my birthday on the 17th. I think I have put a stop 
 to it." However, he was induced to attend, and upon 
 his introduction by Mr. Houghton, the company arose 
 and cheered. Whittier's little speech was not very 
 spontaneous. He really did not altogether like being 
 a centre of interest on accoimt of his age, a fact he 
 had confided to his niece, to whom he had said : "It is 
 bad enough to be old without being twitted of it." 
 The writer has attended birthday dinners to some of 
 to-day's brilliant literary lights, and has been im- 
 pressed with the fact that the speakers descant upon 
 the age of the person they would honor much more 
 than is necessary, or is in quite good taste, as if age 
 were the one single attribute of humanity. When the 
 cheering subsided, therefore, Whittier made this un- 
 inspired little speech : 
 
 "You must know you are not to expect a speech 
 from me to-night. I can only say that I am very glad 
 to meet with my friends of the Atlantic, a great many 
 contributors to which I have only known through 
 
242 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 their writings, and that I thank them for the recep- 
 tion they have given me. When I supposed that I 
 would not be able to attend this ceremony, I placed, 
 myself, in my friend Longfellow's hands, a little bit 
 of verse, that I told him, if it were necessary, I wished 
 he would read. My voice is of 'a timorous nature and 
 rarely to be heard above the breath.' Mr. Longfellow 
 wiU do me the favor to read the writing. I shall be 
 very much obliged to him, and hope at his ninetieth 
 anniversary some of the younger men will do as much 
 for him." 
 
 Longfellow then read the "Response" : 
 
 "Beside that milestone where the level sun, 
 Nigh unto setting, sheds his last low rays 
 On word and work irrevocably done, 
 Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, 
 
 I hear, O friends, your words of cheer and praise, 
 Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. 
 Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, 
 A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. 
 Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise 
 I see my life-work through your partial eyes ; 
 Assured, In giving to my home-taught songs 
 A higher value than of right belongs, 
 You do but read between the written lines 
 The finer grace of unfulfilled designs." 
 
 Emerson, who was not given to writing verses on 
 his friends, although there are one or two occasions 
 when he did, read Whittier's "Ichabod," which had 
 been written in protest of Webster's speech in support 
 of Compromise and the Fugitive Slave Law. There 
 was not one among our poets who did not feel at the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 243 
 
 time Webster made this speech, as Whittier expresses 
 himself in the first stanza of this poem: 
 
 "So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 
 Which once he wore ! 
 The glory from his gray hairs gone 
 Forevermore !" 
 
 — but few of them who would have been so willing 
 to treat him with the gentleness shovra in the second 
 and subsequent stanzas unless, indeed, it might be 
 Emerson, though even he pictured the car of slavery, 
 with all its abominations, and Webster as a leading 
 horse, straining to drag on this car. Whittier pre- 
 ferred to think of Webster as dead: 
 
 "All else is gone; from those great eyes 
 The soul is fled : 
 When faith is lost, when honor dies, 
 The man is dead! 
 
 "Then, pay the reverence of old days 
 To his dead fame; 
 Walk backward, with averted gaze. 
 And hide the .shame." 
 
 Emerson, in a couplet, strikes this uncompromising 
 blow: 
 
 "Why did all manly gifts in Webster fail.? 
 He wrote on Nature's grandest brow, For Sale." 
 
 Holmes also read a poem which, as well as paying 
 tribute to Whittier, takes very clever poetical "snap- 
 
244 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 shots" at his colleagues, Longfellow, Emerson, and 
 Lowell. Here is Longfellow: 
 
 "Though in Hebrew, in Sanscrit, in Choctaw you write. 
 Sweet singer who gave us the Voices of Night, 
 Though in buskin and slipper your song may be shod. 
 Or the velvety verse that Evangeline trod, 
 
 "We shall say, 'You can't cheat us, — ^we know it is you,' 
 There is one voice like that, but there cannot be two. 
 Maestro, whose chant like the dulcimer rings : 
 And the woods will be hushed while the nightingale sings;" 
 
 Holmes exclaims: "How we all know each other!" 
 and, we may add, how he makes us know them! Em- 
 erson, Lowell, and Whittier follow in order, and bet- 
 ter photographs of their essential qualities could not 
 be foimd: 
 
 "And he, so serene, so majestic, so true. 
 Whose temple hypaethral the planets shine throu^. 
 Let us catch but five words from that mystical pen. 
 We should know our one sage from all children of men. 
 
 "And he whose bright image no distance can dim. 
 Through a hundred disguises we can't mistake him. 
 Whose play is all earnest, whose wit is the edge 
 (With a beetle behind) of a sham-splitting wedge. 
 
 "Do you know whom we send you. Hidalgos of Spain.'' 
 Do you know your old friends when you see them again? 
 Hosea was Sancho ! you Dons of Madrid, 
 But Sancho that wielded the lance of the Cid ! 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 245 
 
 "And the wood-thrush of Essex, — ^you know whom I mean, 
 Whose song echoes round us while he sits unseen, 
 Whose heart-throbs of Terse through our memories thrill 
 Like a breath from the wood, like a breeze from the hill. 
 
 "So fervid, so simple, so loving, so pure. 
 We hear but one strain and our verdict is sure, — 
 Thee cannot elude us, — no further we search, — 
 'Tis Holy George Herbert cut loose from his church! 
 
 "We think it the voice of a seraph that sings, — 
 Alas ! we remember that angels have wings, — 
 What story is this of the day of his birth? 
 Let him live to a hundred, we want him on earth !" 
 
 The homage he received upon this occasion was 
 prized by Whittier, but he expressed himself as being 
 humbled rather than exalted by praise which he mod- 
 estly said he did not deserve, for "As the swift years 
 pass, the Eternal Realities seem taking the place of 
 the shadows and illusions of time." 
 
 How different was Lowell's feeling upon the sim- 
 ilar occasion! He wrote to Mrs. Leslie Stephen, "I 
 was dined on my birthday, and praised to a degree 
 that would have satisfied you, most partial even of 
 your sex. But somehow I liked it, and indeed none 
 but a pig could have helped liking the affectionate 
 way it was done. I suppose it is a sign of weakness 
 in me somewhere, but I can't help it. I do like to be 
 liked. It gives me a far better excuse for being about 
 (and in everybody's way) than having written a fine 
 poem does. That'll be all very well when one is under 
 the mould. But I am not sure whether one will care 
 for it much." 
 
246 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 There is no record of a public or semi-public din- 
 ner to celebrate Longfellow's seventieth birthday, 
 which fell in the same year as Whittier's. On his 
 seventy-second birthday he, however, received a trib- 
 ute well worth while. The school children of Cam- 
 bridge, as all the world knows, presented him, at 
 a festival gathering of all the schools, with a chair 
 made from the chestnut tree under which the village 
 smithy stood.* He mentions a farewell dinner at 
 Fields' in his honor, when he went abroad in 1868, 
 "very beautiful with flowers and all pleasant things," 
 and that Lowell and Holmes were present, and a din- 
 ner in honor of his fiftieth birthday, given by the Sons 
 of Maine. At the Fields' dinner Holmes read his 
 verses, beginning, — 
 
 "Our Poet, who has taught the Western breeze 
 To waft his songs before him o'er the seas. 
 Will find them wheresoe'er his wanderings reach, 
 Borne on the spreading tide of English speech. 
 Twin with the rhythmic waves that kiss the farthest beach." 
 
 The Atlantic breakfast to Holmes, in honor of his 
 seventieth birthday, was another great occasion. It 
 was given December 3, 1879, although his birthday 
 fell in July. But that was an unseasonable time for 
 social functions. Howells presided at this, and one 
 feels that a newer generation has come upon the scene. 
 Ladies were also included upon this occasion, and, 
 their shyness of former years having vanished, they 
 appeared in such numbers that it has been described 
 
 *See "Longfellow's Country." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 247 
 
 as a brilliant gathering of men and women, and was 
 regarded as even more successful than Whittier's din- 
 ner. Thus the world moves. None of our group con- 
 tributed poems to the occasion, but some of them must 
 have been present, for Holmes, writing to Lowell 
 about it, says : 
 
 "My friends were there in great force, except Long- 
 fellow, who sends me an affectionate note this morn- 
 ing, telling me how he was prevented by a sharp and 
 sudden attack of influenza from coming. Of course, 
 a banquet from which the two L's are absent is shorn 
 of its brightest ornaments, but we did — they did, I 
 should say — ^as well as possible under the circtun- 
 stances, and this morning I look back on all the fine 
 things that were said and sung about me, and feel 
 like a royal mummy just embalmed. The only thing 
 is that, in hearing so much about one's self, it makes 
 him think he is dead and reading his obituary notices." 
 
 Longfellow refers to many a little private dinner 
 at his own home or elsewhere, at which one or other 
 of the poets were present, the other guests being Fel- 
 ton, Sumner, Agassiz, Hawthorne, Fields or Dana — 
 all intimately associated with one another, and, of 
 coui'se, there were sometimes guests not so constantly 
 of their company. 
 
 The record of these dinners gives one a general 
 view of the social doings in which our poets were for 
 many years constantly associated. The view is, how- 
 ever, only an external one; their true meaning for one 
 another comes out in their more personal relations. 
 While they were all friends, each being so much in- 
 terested in the work of all the others that in their 
 Saturday Club and Atlantic relations they were 
 
248 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 clubbed "The Mutual Admiration Society," there 
 were especial affinities between them at certain periods 
 of their lives. 
 
 In his college days, Longfellow contributed verse 
 to a magazine called the U. S. Literary Gazette. In 
 the Galaxy, another magazine, his name was men- 
 tioned favorably, along with Bryant's. One of his 
 poems, "Autumnal Nightfall," was considered so 
 beautiful that it was thought to have been written by 
 Bryant himself, and, as Longfellow's correspondent 
 from the North American Review said, "If you are 
 aware of the estimation in which he is held here, you 
 will think this a high compliment." These are in- 
 dications that the early influence of Bryant upon 
 Longfellow was a strong one. In the fifteenth num- 
 ber of the Gazette, November, 1824, Longfellow still 
 being an undergraduate, there appeared upon the 
 same page of the magazine two sonnets by Bryant, 
 and a poem, entitled "Thanksgiving," by Longfel- 
 low. The Bryant influence is plainly visible in this 
 early poem, which begins, — 
 
 "When first in ancient times, from Jubal's tongue, 
 The tuneful anthem filled the morning air" — 
 
 and ends with an especially imitative strain, — 
 
 "Have our mute lips no hymn — our souls no song? 
 Let him that in the summer day of youth 
 Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling. 
 And him that in the nightfall of his years 
 Lies down in his last sleep and shuts in peace 
 His dim, pale eyes on life's short wayfaring. 
 Praise Him that rules the destiny of man." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 249 
 
 Many years after this Longfellow spoke of his 
 early admiration in a letter to Bryant: 
 
 "Let me say what a stanch friend and admirer of 
 yours I have been from the beginning, and acknowl- 
 edge how much I owe to you, not only of delight but 
 of culture. When I look back upon my early years 
 I cannot but smile to see how much in them is really 
 yours. It was an involuntary imitation, which I most 
 readily confess, and say, as Dante says to Virgil, — 
 'Tu se 'lo mio maestro, e '1 mio autore.' " 
 
 The meeting between the poets did not occur, how- 
 ever, until about a dozen years after the association 
 of their names in the Gazette, and then by accident, 
 in Heidelberg. Hearing that Bryant was there with 
 his family, Longfellow called upon him; the visit was 
 immediately returned. They took some long walks 
 together over the hills, and we are told that Bryant's 
 mild, expressive eye, his calm countenance, and his 
 thoughtful spirit were very attractive to Longfellow. 
 Unfortunately for an acquaintance so auspiciously 
 begun, Bryant was suddenly called home, and, leav- 
 ing his family in Germany, returned to America. 
 Longfellow took many pleasant little trips with Mrs. 
 Bryant and her family during the remainder of their 
 stay, and thus ended a meeting which might have 
 ripened into intimacy. An occasional meeting and 
 a few letters make up the sum total of their subse- 
 quent relations to each other. One of the meetings, 
 unexpected, like the first, was at "The Verandah," the 
 famous summer hotel near Portland, whither Long- 
 fellow went in the summer of 1847. "Who should 
 appear at the dinner table to-day but the Bryants!" 
 writes Longfellow; and another was when Bryant 
 
250 THE POETS' NEW ENGL'AND 
 
 visited Boston in 1861, when calls were exchanged 
 and dinners given to the distinguished visitor. At 
 this time Longfellow writes that he never saw Bryant 
 so gentle and pleasant. 
 
 Longfellow, of course, drifted away from the early 
 poetic influence of Bryant, but he continued to feel 
 genuine admiration for Bryant's verse, while the lat- 
 ter expresses the warmest admiration for his younger 
 contemporary, to whom he wrote, after reading a 
 collection of Longfellow's poems, published in 1846: 
 "They appear to me more beautiful than upon for- 
 mer readings, much as I then admired them. The 
 exquisite music of your verse dwells more than ever 
 on my ear; and more than ever am I affected by their 
 depth of feehng and spirituality, and the creative 
 power with which they set before us passages from 
 the great drama of life." 
 
 The relations between Bryant and Lowell were not 
 quite so smooth as those between Bryant and Long- 
 fellow. Bryant did not have a proper regard for 
 Lowell's poetry, and in a review of it in the New 
 York Evening Post, praised only one poem, "The 
 Morning Glory," which happened to be by Mrs. 
 LoweU. He also hinted that Lowell had borrowed 
 from him in his poem, "To the Past." No wonder 
 Lowell was a little provoked, although he declares 
 he was only amused, for the two poems have nothing 
 in common but the title. Bryant sees the Past as an 
 abstraction, and ends with a personal and rather sen- 
 timental touch. Lowell sees the Past in historic sym- 
 bols, and leads up to its meaning intellectually for 
 the present. Lowell's "amusement" is expressed cer- 
 tainly with some tartness, if not with rancor: "I 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 251 
 
 steal from him, indeed! If he knew me he would not 
 say so. When I steal I shall go to a specie vault, not 
 to a till. Does he think that he invented the past, 
 and has a prescriptive title to it? Do not think I am 
 provoked. I am simply amused. If he had riled me, 
 I might have knocked him into a cocked hat in my 
 satire. But that, on second thoughts, would be no 
 revenge, for it might make him President, a cocked 
 hat being now the chief qualification. It would be 
 more severe to knock him into the middle of next 
 week, as that is in the future, and he has such a par- 
 tiality toward the past." We never think of Bryant 
 now except as the venerable, much beloved poet, who 
 was one of the bulwarks of the Nation at a time when 
 it was sorely in need, and consequently Lowell's words 
 about him seem unnecessarily irreverent. 
 
 At that time, however, Bryant was still a com- 
 paratively young man, and had not gone through the 
 trial fire of the war. It happened, too, that Lowell 
 was writing his "Fable for Critics," and had just 
 finished his characterizing of Bryant, which he says 
 is funny and, as far as he could make it, unmitigably 
 just. The criticism of Bryant does not to-day im- 
 press one as being either remarkably funny or abso- 
 lutely just, but rather as flippant and unpenetrating, 
 with no clear perception of either his good points or 
 his faults. He strikes his hardest blow in the first 
 stanza: 
 
 "There is Bryant, as quiet, as cool, and as dignified 
 As a smooth, silent iceberg, that never is ignified. 
 Save when by reflection 't is kindled o' nights 
 With a semblance of flame by the chill Northern Lights. 
 
252 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 He may rank (Griswold says so) first bard of your nation 
 (There's no doubt he stands in supreme iceolation), 
 Your topmost Parnassus he may set his heel on, 
 He's too smooth and too polished to hang any zeal on." 
 
 Lowell speaks of adding some complimentary 
 verses after the comic part when he is in a happier 
 mood, by which he probably means the closing lines: 
 
 "If I call him an iceberg, I don't mean to say 
 There is nothing in that which is grand in its way ; 
 He is almost the one of your poets that knows 
 How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in Repose; 
 If he sometimes fall short, he is too wise to mar 
 His thought's modest fullness by going too far." 
 
 To do Lowell justice, he was never quite easy in 
 his mind about his treatment of Bryant in this fable, 
 and declared some eight years later that he did not 
 do Mr. Bryant justice in it, and that he regretted 
 what he had said lest it might seem personal, adding 
 that it had something of youth's infallibility in it, or, 
 at any rate, of youth's irresponsibility. He recom- 
 mended Bryant, over himself, about this time also, 
 to W. J. Stillman, the editor of the Crayon, to whom 
 he wrote: "I wish your journal to succeed. Remem- 
 ber that success is the only atmosphere through which 
 your ideas will look lovely to the public you wish to 
 influence. Bryant's name will help you more than 
 mine; therefore, take him first." 
 
 Bryant wrote at least one poem which aroused in 
 Lowell a feeling of genuine enthusiasm, "Among the 
 Trees." Of this he wrote to Fields : "It was pleasant 
 to see him (Bryant) renewing his youth like the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 253 
 
 eagles, in that fine poem about the trees. He de- 
 serves to have a tree planted over his grave, which I 
 wouldn't say of many men, There was a very high 
 air about those verses, a tone of the best poetic society, 
 that was very delightful. Tell Mrs. Fields that I 
 think they justify his portrait." 
 
 Lowell made final amends to Bryant in his poem, 
 "On Board the '76," for Bryant's seventieth birthday, 
 which shows a remarkable appreciation of his services 
 to the cause of freedom during the war, considering 
 the fact that he (Lowell) never read the New York 
 Evening Post, and had supposed that it was mainly 
 Godwin's. The closing stanzas of this stirring poem 
 blot out the flippancy of Lowell's earlier utterances: 
 
 "But there was one, the Singer of our crew. 
 
 Upon whose head Age waved his peaceful sign. 
 
 But whose red heart's-blood no surrender knew ; 
 And couchant under brows of massive line, 
 
 The eyes, like guns beneath a parapet, 
 
 Watched, charged with lightnings yet. 
 
 "The voices of the hills did his obey ; 
 
 The torrents flashed and tumbled in his song: 
 He brought our native fields from far away. 
 
 Or set us 'mid the innumerable throng 
 Of dateless woods, or where we heard the calm 
 Old homestead's evening psalm. 
 
 "But now he sang of faith to things unseen. 
 Of freedom's birthright given to us in trust; 
 
 And words of doughty cheer he spoke between. 
 That made all earthly fortune seem as dust. 
 
 Matched with that duty, old as Time and new, 
 
 Of being brave and true. 
 
254 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "We, listening, learned what makes the might of words, — • 
 Manhood to back them constant as a star ; 
 His voice rammed home our cannon, edged our swords. 
 
 And sent our boarders shouting ; shroud and spar 
 Heard him and stiffened; the sails heard, and wooed 
 The winds with loftier mood. 
 
 "In our dark hours he manned our guns again; 
 
 Remanned ourselves from his own manhood's stores ; 
 Pride, honor, country, throbbed through all his strain ; 
 
 And shall we praise? God's praise was his before; 
 And on our futile laurels he looks down, 
 Himself our bravest crown." 
 
 Whittier contributed a poem to this anniversary 
 festival, in which he emphasized entirely Bryant's 
 services in the cause of freedom. Holmes, on the 
 other hand, dwelt more especially upon his qualities 
 as a poet, though he touches in one or two stanzas 
 upon his loyalty to the cause : 
 
 "How can we praise the verse whose music flows 
 With solemn cadence and majestic close. 
 Pure as the dew that filters through the rose.? 
 How shall we thank him that in evil days 
 He faltered never, — nor for blame, nor praise. 
 Nor hire, nor party, shamed his earlier lays.?" 
 
 Whittier was the only other member of the group, 
 between whom and Bryant there was any special con- 
 tact. Lowell may not have known of his work in the 
 Post^ an almost incredible fact, considering his in- 
 terest in politics; but Whittier was in touch with it 
 and him, and, what is more to the purpose, probably 
 wielded a strong influence at the start in turning 
 
Whittier. 1807-1892 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 255 
 
 Bryant's face away from party politics to the larger 
 national issues. It was not discovered until after 
 Whittier's death that he was the author of a poem, 
 published in the Haverhill Iris of September 29, 1832, 
 entitled "To a Poetical Trio in the City of Gotham," 
 It was an appeal to Bryant and two other well-known 
 poets of the day, Leggett and Lawson, to give up 
 their Jacksonianism, and come out boldly for freedom. 
 
 It was not many years before Whittier had the 
 delight of seeing two of the trio, Bryant and Leggett, 
 working with the unpartisan fervor which delighted 
 him. 
 
 Whittier and Lowell were, of course, brought es- 
 pecially close in the early days before the war, when 
 they were working for the cause of anti-slavery. A 
 year before the episode recorded in the last chapter, 
 when Lowell's anti-slavery poem in the Courier was 
 thought to be by Whittier, Lowell had asked Whit- 
 tier to contribute to a magazine, the Pioneer, which 
 he was to edit. In his letter to Whittier, Lowell says 
 that any little poem he may have by him will be ac- 
 ceptable. Lowell cannot offer to pay Whittier much 
 at first, he explains, but trusts that the hope of aiding 
 a good endeavor will be a sufficient inducement. His 
 interest in Whittier's pohtical ambitions is also 
 shown in the same letter, for he says : "I wish I were 
 in your district to vote for you as a member of Con- 
 gress." The friendliness toward his work and toward 
 the man himself was an abiding attitude in Lowell's 
 life. As Whittier said of him, in relation to some 
 proposed change in a stanza of a poem sent to the 
 Atlantic J, "If friend Lowell, however, thinks the lines 
 not quite up to the subject, or to his estimate of my 
 
256 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ability, he is a true man and a true friend, and will 
 act accordingly." 
 
 When Whittier was sending contributions to the 
 Atlantic J letters often went with them to the editor, 
 Lowell, and sometimes Lowell made friendly sug- 
 gestions in regard to improvements in his verses. In 
 his "Fable for Critics" Lowell does not hesitate to 
 point out Whittier's faults, which grew, he declares, 
 out of, — 
 
 "A fervor of mind which knows no separation 
 'Twixt simple excitement and pure inspiration." 
 
 But there is more praise than blame in all that he 
 said. Besides, many times his pen was wielded in 
 prose to the honor of Whittier, whom he had char- 
 acterized in anti-slavery days in the Pioneer as "the 
 fiery Koerner of this spiritual warfare, who, Scaevola- 
 hke, has sacrificed on the altar of duty that right hand 
 which might have made him acknowledged as the most 
 passionate lyrist of his time." At another time, after 
 Whittier had split off from the Ultra Abolitionists, 
 and joined the Liberty Party, Lowell's praise of his 
 poetry, in a long review contributed to the Standard 
 of a volume just published, made the editor of that 
 paper, Mr, Gay, think it incumbent upon him to 
 point out in an editorial note the fact that Whittier 
 had been found in a different camp from that of the 
 "older abolitionists," and to animadvert on the subject. 
 
 We hear of at least two visits made by Lowell to 
 Whittier, and probably there were more. One of 
 these was in July, 1850, in company with Bayard 
 Taylor, who writes in a letter to a friend: "Friday 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 257 
 
 morning early, Lowell and I started for Amesbury, 
 which we reached in a terrible northeaster. What a 
 capital time we had with Whittier, in his nook of a 
 study, with the rain pouring on the roof, and the 
 wind howling at the door." The other, in September, 
 1868, Lowell tells about in one of his letters, when 
 he drove with a friend to Amesbury and called on 
 Whittier. Whittier piloted them to a fine bluflf over 
 the Merrimac, where they had a beautiful view. Be- 
 sides such visits as these they, of course, met at the 
 clubs, though not frequently, for Whittier loved not 
 company over well. According to Colonel T. W. 
 Higginson, when he did go to the club he appeared 
 simple, manly, unbecomingly shy, yet reticent and 
 quiet, and with no power for holding his own in a con- 
 versation led by Lowell and Holmes. Nevertheless, 
 the same observer says he had plenty of wit and keen- 
 ness, and no one could give a more interesting sum- 
 mary of what had happened in the course of the dinner 
 than Whittier. 
 
 All that Whittier was, in Lowell's estimation, both 
 as poet and man, is briefly and pertinently summed 
 up in his sonnet to Whittier, sent from Europe for 
 Whittier's seventy-fifth birthday, and read at the 
 presentation by the Society of Friends to the Friends' 
 School at Providence of a portrait of Whittier : 
 
 "New England's poet, rich in love as years, 
 
 Her hills and valleys praise thee, her swift brooks 
 Dance in thy verse ; to her grave sylvan nooks 
 Thy steps allure us, which the wood-thrush hears 
 As maids their lovers', and no treason fears ; 
 Through thee her Merrimacs and Agiochooks 
 And many a name uncouth win gracious looks, 
 
258 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Sweetly familiar in both Englands' ears : 
 Peaceful by birthright as a virgin lake, 
 
 The lily's anchorage, which no eyes behold 
 Save those of stars, yet for thy brother's sake 
 
 That lay in bonds, thou blewest a blast as bold 
 As that wherewith the heart of Roland brake, 
 
 Far heard across the New World and the Old." 
 
 Whittier and Longfellow were not closely asso- 
 ciated, though they had a high regard for each other, 
 more frequently expressed by Whittier than Longfel- 
 low. While Whittier and Lowell were fierce in their 
 anti-slavery enthusiasms, Longfellow, who shrank tem- 
 peramentally from participation in any sort of polit- 
 ical controversies, was browsing in the lore of Euro- 
 pean culture or delving into the myths of American 
 Indians. He frequently bemoans the fact that his 
 friends, especially when Sumner was of the party, 
 would drift into political talk at his dinner table. Yet 
 all the time, his sympathy was with the noble workers 
 in the cause. It comes out over and over again in the 
 entries in his diary. At the time of the capture of a 
 fugitive slave in the streets of Boston and his return 
 to his master in New Orleans, Longfellow speaks 
 with regret of not having been at the monster meeting 
 at Faneuil Hall to hear the speeches of Sumner, 
 Wendell Phillips, and Howe. Again, he speaks of 
 Simaner's making a Free-soil speech in Cambridge, 
 and exclaims "Ah, me! in such an assembly I It was 
 like one of Beethoven's symphonies played in a saw- 
 mill 1 He spoke admirably well. But the shouts and 
 the hisses and the vulgar interruptions grated on my 
 ears. I was glad to get away." And this is what he 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 259 
 
 has to say of January 6, 1863: "A great day. The 
 President's Proclamation for Emancipation of Slaves 
 in the rebel States, goes into effect. A beautiful day, 
 full of sunshine, ending in a tranquil, moonlight night. 
 May it be symbolical of the Emancipation! There 
 was a grand meeting in Boston, at which Emerson 
 recited a poem. I was not there." 
 
 Perhaps his strongest expression of sympathy with 
 the slave is in a letter to Sumner: "Your report on 
 the rejection of colored testimony I read with a kind 
 of agony, to think what we had been inflicting upon 
 those whose despair is dumb. This dreadful stone of 
 Slavery! Whenever you lift it, what reptiles crawl 
 out from under it!" 
 
 When all this passive sympathy broke out in ex- 
 pression in his poems on slavery, his friends were joy- 
 ful. Sumner wrote him that by these poems his name 
 was fastened to an immortal truth; Lowell made them 
 an opportunity for waving the anti-slavery banner in 
 his Pioneer, but Whittier determined to turn such 
 sympathy at once to some practical advantage. He 
 immediately wrote, thanking Longfellow for the 
 poems, which had been published as a tract and were 
 doing important service in the liberty movement, and 
 asked him to allow his name to be used as a candidate 
 for Congress on the ticket of the Liberty Party. 
 Longfellow's answer to this request states in an im- 
 equivocal manner just where he stood. After saying 
 he was not qualified for the duties of such an oiSce, 
 and that he did not belong to the Liberty Party, he 
 added that he rejoiced in the progress of true liberty, 
 and in freedom from slavery of all kinds, but that he 
 could not think of entering the political arena. Par- 
 
260 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 tisan warfare, he declared, was too violent and too 
 vindictive for his taste, and he would be but a weak 
 champion in public debate. 
 
 All through his life Whittier frequently expressed 
 admiration of Longfellow's work in letters both to 
 him and to other friends. One instance of this is 
 especially interesting. It seems tiiat Whittier had 
 intended to write upon the subject of the banishment 
 of the Acadians from Nova Scotia, but he put it off 
 until he found that the subject had been suggested to 
 Hawthorne, and had, in consequence of Hawthorne's 
 not desiring to use it, been taken up by Longfellow. 
 After "Evangeline" appeared, Whittier said he was 
 glad he had been delayed, for Longfellow was the right 
 person to write the poem. Whittier was of the opin- 
 ion that if he had attempted it, he would have spoiled 
 the artistic effect of the poem by his indignation at the 
 treatment of the exiles. He wrote a very appreciative 
 notice of the poem, and received from Longfellow a 
 letter of grateful acknowledgment. 
 
 They seem to have been in the habit of praising each 
 other in letters to their lady friends. For example, 
 Longfellow writing to Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, says: 
 "There is something more in education than is set 
 down in school books. Whittier has touched this 
 point very poetically in that little lyric of his called 
 'In School Days.' " And Whittier, writing to Annie 
 Fields, says of "Morituri Salutamus": "How good 
 Longfellow's poem is! A little sad, but full of 'sweet- 
 ness and light.' " 
 
 When Longfellow died, Whittier felt it deeply. 
 When asked by Aldrich to write a poem for the At- 
 lantic, he replied that it seemed as if he could never 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 261 
 
 write again. "A feeling of unutterable sorrow and 
 loneliness oppresses me." Though he wrote no poem 
 for the Atlantic^ he expressed the depth of his ad- 
 miration and affection for Longfellow in a letter to 
 his niece: "Pure, kindly, and courteous, simple yet 
 scholarly, he was never otherwise than a gentleman. 
 There is no blot on the crystal purity of his writings." 
 And on the fly-leaf of a volume of Longfellow's 
 poems he wrote the following stanzas: 
 
 "Hushed now the sweet consoling tongue 
 Of him whose lyre the Muses strung; 
 His last low swan song has been sung. 
 
 "His last ! And ours, dear friend, is near ; 
 As clouds that rake the mountains here, 
 We, too, shall pass and disappear. 
 
 "Yet howsoever changed or tost. 
 Not even a wreath of mist is lost. 
 No atom can itself exhaust. 
 
 "So shall the soul's superior force 
 Live on and run its endless course 
 In God's unlimited universe." 
 
 Longfellow speaks of one meeting with Whittiei 
 at his publisher's, and remarks that he grows mellower 
 and milder as does his poetry. 
 
 Between Whittier and Dr. Holmes there seems to 
 have been a special liking. The two men must have 
 been antipodal in many of their feelings, — ^Whittier, 
 the man of the people, a simple farmer, a Quaker op- 
 posed on principle to war; a democrat, not only in 
 
262 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 theory but in practice, with a distaste for show and 
 public functions ; and Holmes, the aristocrat and con- 
 servative, the boy who delighted in military display, 
 the man sought after as a brilliant star to grace all 
 kinds of social functions, public and private. When 
 Whittier first met Holmes he declared that he liked 
 him and that there was rare humor in the man. And 
 it was Whittier who started the poem, "The Cham- 
 bered Nautilus," on its career of popularity, when 
 he said of it that the little poem was "booked for 
 immortality." In his letters to the Atlantic j, he is 
 constantly throwing out little snatches of praise for 
 Holmes. Holmes seemed to take equal delight in 
 Whittier's poems, many of which he could not read 
 (by his own confession) without weeping. 
 
 In a letter to Whittier, thanking him for his ap- 
 preciation of the Andover poem, he retorts, "To cover 
 my egotisms, let me say to you unhesitatingly that 
 you have written the most beautiful school-boy poem 
 in the English language. I just this moment read it, 
 because I was writing to you, and before I had got 
 through 'In School Days' the tears were rolling out 
 of my eyes." 
 
 In another letter, thanking Whittier for a volume 
 of his poems. Holmes writes: "My wife wanted me 
 to read one, — a special favorite of my own, 'The 
 Witch of Wenham,' but I told her 'No'— I knew I 
 should break down before I got through with it, for 
 it made me tearful again, as it did the first time I 
 read it." 
 
 In the next paragraph of the letter we perhaps get 
 a glimpse not only of the qualities of Whittier, but 
 of the genuine Holmes, when his soul fluttered out of 
 
Longfellow. 1807-1882 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 263 
 
 his conservative shell, as it was prone to do if re- 
 hgion was in question. Not only Whittier's very 
 real poetic gift touched him, but he could find him- 
 self thoroughly in sympathy with a religion free 
 from dogma as Whittier's was. Their approach here 
 is typical of the sympathy many Quakers have felt in 
 Unitarianism, to the extent even of joining them- 
 selves to that body of religionists: 
 
 "I was going to say, I thank you, but I would say 
 rather, I thank God that He has given you the 
 thoughts and feelings which sing themselves as nat- 
 urally as the wood-thrush sings his silver bell — to steal 
 your own exquisitely descriptive line. Who has 
 preached the gospel of love to such a mighty con- 
 gregation as you have preached it? Who has done so 
 much to sweeten the soul of Calvinistic New England? 
 You have your reward here in the affection with which 
 all our people who are capable of loving anybody re- 
 gard you. I trust you will find a still higher, in that 
 world, the harmonies of which find an echo in so 
 many of your songs." 
 
 In the light of artistic and religious affinities, the 
 mere accident of a different mental attitude toward 
 social or political ideals becomes as nothing. They 
 could love each other, although Holmes once foimd 
 the anti-slavery people a queer lot, and in spite of the 
 fact that they were on opposite sides upon the ques- 
 tion of woman suffrage. 
 
 Touchingly Whittier acknowledges, a little later, a 
 birthday greeting from Holmes: 
 
 "Among the many kind greetings which reach me 
 on this anniversary, thine has been the most welcome, 
 for a word of praise from thee is prized more highly 
 
264 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 than all." He speaks of a feeling that the four 
 singers are isolated from the rest of humanity in lonely- 
 companionship. He realizes that fame is nothing and 
 "that love is the one essential thing, always welcome, 
 outliving time and change, and going with us into the 
 unguessed possibilities of death." Then he speaks 
 especially of their literary life abreast of each other: 
 "We began together in Buckingham's Magazine, and 
 together we are keeping step in the Atlantic. Not 
 evenly, indeed, for thy step is .lighter and freer than 
 mine. How many who began with us have fallen by 
 the way! The cypress shadows lie dark about us, but 
 I think thee contrive to keep in the low westering sun- 
 shine more than I can." 
 
 When he wrote to the Critic in celebration of 
 Holmes's birthday, the praise, though almost extrava- 
 gant, is evidently Whittier's sincere conviction, after 
 a lifetime of friendship, and intimate familiarity with 
 Holmes's work: 
 
 "Poet, essayist, novelist, humorist, scientist, ripe 
 scholar, and wise philosopher, if Dr. Holmes does not 
 at the present time hold in popular estimation the 
 first place in American literature, his rare versatility 
 is the cause. In view of the inimitable prose writer, 
 we forget the poet; in our admiration of his melodious 
 verse, we lose sight of 'Elsie Venner' and 'The Auto- 
 crat of the Breakfast Table.' We laugh over his wit 
 and humor, until, to use his own words, — 
 
 'We suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot. 
 As if Wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root' ; 
 
 and perhaps the next page melts us into tears by a 
 pathos only equaled by that of Sterne's sick Lieuten- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 265 
 
 ant. He is Montaigne and Bacon under one hat. 
 . . . To those who have enjoyed the privilege of 
 his intimate acquaintance, the man himself is more 
 than the author. His genial nature, entire freedom 
 from jealousy or envy, quick tenderness, large char- 
 ity, hatred of sham, pretense, and unreality, and his 
 reverent sense of the eternal and permanent, have* se- 
 cured for him something more and dearer than liter- 
 ary renown — the love of all who know him." 
 
 These two great friends and admirers of each other, 
 found themselves alone together at the last. After 
 L/Owell's death they seemed to have almost a feverish 
 anxiety to see each other. Holmes wrote, "I am 
 longing to see you, and if you are coming to Danvers, 
 you must expect me to drive over for an hour's talk 
 with you. As I have often said, we, that is, you and 
 I, now are no longer on a raft, but we are on a spar." 
 Whittier replied, "I am most happy to know that I 
 may expect a visit from thee as soon as the present 
 wet weather permits. I need not tell thee how glad 
 I shall be to see thee before I let go that 'spar' and 
 leave it to thee alone." In another letter Whittier 
 calls attention to the fact that in Griswold's "Poets 
 and Poetry of America," printed 1842, he finds the 
 names of John Greenleaf Whittier and Oliver Wen- 
 dell Holmes next each other "in their due order as 
 they should be." In the following year Whittier 
 died, a few weeks after writing his last poem, one 
 for Holmes's birthday — -not a very good poem, but 
 infinitely pathetic. Holmes wrote a poem in memory 
 of Whittier's death, breathing the same spirit of love 
 and appreciation which we have seen reflected in his 
 letters. 
 
266 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 We think of Lowell and Holmes associated to- 
 gether, especially in the Atlantic Monthly — one as the 
 first editor, and the other as the contributor who did 
 the most to bring about the initial success of that 
 magazine. Its inauguration at a dinner has already 
 been spoken of. It was started at a propitious time, 
 when society, which had hooted at the abolitionists, 
 as it is apt to hoot at everybody who breaks through 
 the peaceful self-satisfaction of its unconscious medi- 
 EBvalism, was waking up to the fact that slavery, 
 after all, was not exactly the sort of thing it wanted 
 to countenance. As society and its hangers-on make 
 up a large proportion of the population of every city, 
 it is well-nigh impossible for a Garrison, or even a 
 Phillips, to bring success to a cause unless the "broad- 
 cloth" element does have such an awakening. The 
 new magazine was started for the express purpose of 
 enlisting upon the side of the righteous cause society 
 and public opinion. The group of men who would 
 stand and had stood for the moral rectitude of the na- 
 tion were also those whom the public honored for their 
 genius. The combination was irresistible, the maga- 
 zine made an immediate impression. Awakened so- 
 cial opinion was ready to support it, and applauded 
 this fine combination of genius with moral purpose. 
 The geniuses, in jovial conclave, decided that Lowell 
 was the man to be editor-in-chief, to which he replied : 
 "I will take the place, as you all seem to think I 
 should, but, if success is achieved, we shall owe it 
 mainly to the doctor." 
 
 Underwood, in his dehghtful reminiscences of 
 Lowell, relates that the new editor-in-chief then 
 turned to him arid said, in an aside: "You see, the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 267 
 
 doctor is like a bright mountain stream that has been 
 dammed up among the hills, and is waiting for an out- 
 let into the Atlantic." (The name was suggested by 
 Holmes.) "You will find he has a wonderful store of 
 thoughts, serious, comic, pathetic, and poetic, of com- 
 parisons, figures and illustrations. I have seen noth- 
 ing of his preparation, but I imagine he is ready. It 
 will be something whoUy new, and his reputation as 
 a prose writer will date from this magazine." 
 
 Holmes never forgot this. He spoke of it at the 
 Atlantic breakfast in his own honor, twenty-two 
 years later, magnanimously declaring that if it had 
 not been for the confident words of Lowell he might 
 not have taken up his pen in serious earnest, and so 
 have missed the chance of saying some things he was 
 glad to have said, and which others had been willing 
 to listen to. 
 
 Again, many years after, upon the death of Lowell, 
 Holmes wrote to Charles Eliot Norton, of the stimu- 
 lation he had received from Lowell at this time, who 
 urged upon him the use of certain gifts, his by na- 
 ture, for the use of the public. Although Lowell was 
 ten years his junior, he recognized the younger man's 
 literary experience and wisdom, and from the impulse 
 given him by Lowell's belief in him, he dated his best 
 efforts and his nearest approach to success in liter- 
 ary pursuits. 
 
 From the letters which passed between these two, 
 many a pleasant picture of their friendly relations 
 may be collected. They did not so uniformly feed 
 each other with honey and sugar as did Whittier and 
 Holmes, perhaps because in the one case the sym- 
 pathy was temperamental, in the other, intellectual. 
 
268 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Although there were intellectual differences between 
 Lowell and Holmes, they were sufficiently on the same 
 plane mentally to enjoy intellectual sword play. 
 Lowell might dare to laugh at the "old square-toed 
 heroics" of Holmes's verse, and Holmes might retort 
 "upon the rattlety-bang sort of verse in which Lowell 
 sometimes indulged." He found a good deal of this 
 sort of verse in "The Vision of Sir Launfal," his 
 praise of which was considerably shadowed with 
 blame. What propriety, he wants to know, is there in 
 introducing the Baltimore oriole in the tableau of that 
 old feudal castle? And furthermore, "There are ob- 
 jective instances, as the Rev. Homer Wilbur's critic 
 would say, of a want of unity, which shows itself 'sub- 
 jectively' in various other passages, where the old 
 story, which should have been brocaded throughout 
 with old-world and old-time imagery, is overlaid with 
 fine new philanthropizing and philosophizing gen- 
 eralities." The critical doctor has the grace to ad- 
 mire the description of the brook, the "most ingenious 
 and exquisitely finished piece of pen fancy-work I 
 have seen for a long time," but why did he not equally 
 object to Beaver Brook, which was almost as near 
 Lowell's home as the hang-bird on the ehn-tree bough? 
 Lowell tells, himself, of the scene that inspired his 
 description of the brook, in a letter to his friend, Mr. 
 Briggs. He was walking home in the moonlight on 
 a frosty night, when the stillness of the fields was 
 broken only by the "tinkle of a little brook which runs 
 too swiftly for Frost to catch it." 
 
 Dr. Holmes's criticisms are eminently "square 
 toed" no doubt, yet, who would like to have the hang- 
 bird and the dandelion banished from Sir Launfal's 
 
Beaveb, Brook 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 269 
 
 Vision? What is the use of poetry if it must be as 
 hteral as prose? Is it not a fairyland wherein the 
 poet-magician surely has a right to wave his wand 
 if he will, and make old-world trees animate with 
 Baltimore orioles, and old-world fields emblazoned 
 with dandelions? 
 
 If Holmes occasionally found rattlety-bang lines 
 in Lowell, he quite blotted out the effect of his ob- 
 jections in many another instance, such as the time, 
 at the Atlantic breakfast, when he was in so great a 
 state of excitement because a newspaper misprinted a 
 word in a speech praising Lowell, making him speak 
 of Lowell's "notable" instead of "noble poems," that 
 he immediately wrote to the absent Lowell, saying: 
 "The wretches printed 'noble,' notable! The idea of 
 my applying that lukewarm word to the grand poems 
 which so largely merit the adjective I gave them. I 
 was so vexed that if I had not slept off my breakfast 
 I should have had an indigestion." 
 
 A much more serious onslaught than this was made 
 by Lowell upon Holmes when he took him to task 
 because he was not a more serious and ardent re- 
 former. We know only from a letter of the doctor's 
 in defense of himself, what the grounds of Lowell's 
 criticisms were. Lowell evidently thought that 
 Holmes had too great a respect for war as a means 
 of settling national or international difficulties, that 
 he had shown contempt for the abolitionists, that he 
 had failed to show himself a believer in temperance, 
 that he was not as sympathetic about the poor as he 
 ought to be, and that he did not help along reform 
 in general. This is a formidable array of shortcom- 
 ings to be accused of, but the gentle doctor replied 
 
270 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 with so much kindliness and dignity, that no doubt 
 Lowell was convinced he was not so bad as he had 
 been painted, if he were not quite so strenuous in 
 upholding the Lowellian ideals as he might be. About 
 war. Holmes felt that it had been a powerful stimu- 
 lant in bringing out the strength of the human intel- 
 lect, and although he confessed to a growing disgust 
 to this mode of settling national quarrels, he could 
 not shut his eyes to the beauty of the heroism and 
 self-devotion of which the battle-field had often been 
 the occasion. This was in 1846. Lowell was many 
 years later to learn, in agony of spirit, the meaning of 
 the beauty of heroism. 
 
 On the subject of slavery, he said that he had to 
 plead guilty to a thoughtless line in his Phi Beta 
 Kappa poem, meant for a harmless jest, but that he 
 would not write such a verse now, for reasons we 
 may see, which might seem rather weak to Lowell. 
 These were "partly because this party had grown more 
 powerful, perhaps," but partly also because he now 
 knew it would give offense to many good persons 
 whose motives and many of whose principles he held 
 in profound respect. 
 
 He also pleaded guilty to having written some 
 poems of a convivial turn, but offset that by calling 
 attention to one written for a temperance celebration 
 in New York, and also by stating the fact that he 
 had taken a hundred and fifty dollars less rent for a 
 store on Long Wharf rather than let it for a grocery, 
 because he knew rum would be sold from it. He con- 
 tinues that he believes in all practical measures for 
 helping the poor and that he is by no means the thor- 
 oughgoing conservative Lowell seems to think him. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 271 
 
 Lowell was evidently especially troubled over the 
 poem Holmes had read before the Mercantile Li- 
 brary Association, "The Rhymed Lesson," because he 
 had not made it an occasion for an anti-slavery 
 address. 
 
 There is much sound sense in several of the points 
 Holmes makes here in his defense. For one thing, 
 so much vituperative eloquence was so constantly be- 
 ing employed on this subject, that nothing was so 
 flat and unprofitable as weakly flavored verses relat- 
 ing to it. Therefore, he confined himself to things 
 that interested him more, giving many moral lessons 
 in the course of the poem, among others, the duties 
 of religious charity. The audience being largely of 
 young people, the poet interspersed his moral lessons 
 with gay sallies, in each of which was hidden some 
 pearl of a moral. The result is not especially happy, 
 from an artistic point of view, and at the time evi- 
 dently missed fire, from a moral point of view as well, 
 since Holmes declares that one set of critics pro- 
 scribed him for betug serious and another for being 
 gay. He assured Lowell, however, that he listened 
 to his suggestions with respect, that he meant to re- 
 flect upon them, and hoped to gain something from 
 them. It is not unlikely that Lowell's criticisms 
 helped to broaden his perceptions of the good work 
 others were doing, though it never led him to take an 
 active part in that work. 
 
 There is no more attractive picture than that of 
 Holmes constantly writing letters to Lowell when he 
 was ambassador to England, and as constantly assur- 
 ing him he need not answer if he is too much over- 
 whelmed with affairs. His unselfish interest and ad- 
 
272 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 miration, his evident longing to hear at first hand of 
 his friend's doings abroad, and his determination that 
 he will not ask for a letter, show Holmes in a very- 
 lovable light. 
 
 In another letter we have an intimation that these 
 two sometimes enjoyed cattle shows together. It is 
 a refusal on the part of Holmes to accept Lowell's 
 invitation to one; but Holmes's regret, together with 
 his evident familiarity with and remembered enjoy- 
 ment of such shows, leads one to hope that they may 
 have been to many in company with each other, and 
 that Lowell shared Holmes's delight in looking at 
 prize pimipkins and squashes, or at the "sampler 
 worked by a little girl aged five years and three 
 months, and the patchwork quilt wrought by the old 
 lady of eighty-seven years, four months and six days." 
 
 Some years later we have a chance to take a peep 
 at Dr. Holmes seated in his study. Conspicuous 
 on the table is Underwood's Memoir of Lowell, 
 wherein he is, as the doctor says, "embalmed, living, 
 in fragrant adjectives as sweet as the spices that were 
 wrapped up with the mummy of the grandest of the 
 Pharaohs." On the wall is a large painting of Lowell, 
 the effect of which is "very Titian-like." There is 
 also a group in which both Lowell and Holmes ap- 
 pear. The atmosphere is so pervaded by Lowell that 
 no wonder Holmes, as he sits there, wonders why he 
 should be writing to Lowell as if he were at a distance. 
 
 After the record of these later years of devotion to 
 Lowell which Holmes showed, it is somewhat pathetic 
 to read in his letter to Charles Eliot Norton, at 
 Lowell's death, the admission, "I could claim no such 
 intimacy as yours with James, and yet I feel his loss 
 
Holmes. 1809-1894 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 273 
 
 very deeply. He always showed a very kindly feeling 
 towards me, and I owe to him more than to almost 
 any other friend. He early tried to interest me in 
 some of those larger movements in which he was him- 
 self active. I recognized the generous aim of his ef- 
 fort, and received his communication not ungraciously. 
 But the little fruit on my poorly built espalier was 
 very slow in ripening, and after that first attempt of 
 his he left me for a long time to ripen as I might." 
 
 There seems to have been no especial intimacy be- 
 tween Holmes and Longfellow, but from the remarks 
 which Holmes lets fall about him in his letters to 
 various people we learn that Holmes found him a 
 most agreeable companion. Of his first meeting with 
 Longfellow, in 1832, he wrote : "I have met Professor 
 Longfellow two or three times lately, and a very nice 
 sort of a body he seems to be." The elements of his 
 niceness come out in subsequent references to him. 
 By piecing these together, we obtain a very complete 
 portrait of the man as he appeared to Holmes, and a 
 more lovable person it would be hard to imagine — 
 the man luminous with gentle graces, whose graceful 
 and lovely nature can hardly find expression in any 
 form without giving pleasure to others, in whose so- 
 ciety he found a singular charm — "a soft voice, a 
 sweet and cheerful temper, a receptive rather than an 
 aggressive intelligence, the agreeable flavor of scholar- 
 ship without any pedantic ways, and a perceptible 
 soupgon of humor, not enough to startle or surprise 
 or keep you under the strain of over-stimulation, 
 which I am apt to feel with very witty people." Fur- 
 thermore, Longfellow was so modest it was almost 
 impossible to get him to speak in public. Even at the 
 
274 THE POETS' NEW. ENGLAND 
 
 Saturday Club, he did not throw off his modest de- 
 meanor, though in his gentle, soothing way he said 
 many excellent things. 
 
 Lowell is the only one of the group with whom 
 Longfellow had a special intimacy, a natural result 
 of their living so near together, and of their relations 
 at Harvard. LoweU was a sophomore in 1836, when 
 Longfellow became Smith Professor at Harvard, and 
 was really the leader of a little literary renaissance for 
 New England. As well as inspiring a love for con- 
 tinental literature in the students, he was a very com- 
 panionable professor. He walked and talked with 
 the students, or even smoked and played whist. It 
 does not appear, however, that Longfellow and 
 Lowell became at all intimate at this time, though 
 an incident happened, which Lowell remembered 
 thirty years later, as the beginning of an intercourse 
 which ripened into a friendship, never marred by a 
 single jar. The incident was Longfellow's acknowl- 
 edgment of Lowell's class poem in a note, as the 
 latter declared, much more friendly than it deserved. 
 Probably Longfellow's poems on slavery was a means 
 later on of drawing them together. At any rate, 
 Lowell not only spoke of them with enthusiasm in the 
 Pioneer, but he defended Longfellow against the at- 
 tacks of the anti-slavery journals, when a Philadel- 
 phia publishing house, Carey & Hart, brought out a 
 handsomely illustrated volume of Longfellow's poet- 
 ical works with the poems on slavery left out. Of 
 course, it was regarded as an act of cowardliness on 
 Longfellow's part, but Lowell told Mr. Gay, of the 
 Standard^, who had been especially bitter, that he be- 
 lieved Longfellow had left them out because he re- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 275 
 
 garded them of inferior quality. This looks a little 
 like special pleading, and is a straw to tell how loyal 
 a friend Lowell was getting to be of Longfellow, 
 for that poet indicates no such cogent reason for 
 leaving them out. In fact, all he does is to note the 
 fact that he has been attacked, and that "They are 
 rather savage." His biographer adds, in a note, that 
 they were omitted, perhaps, by a too good-natured 
 concession to the wish of the pubUshers. As a cheap 
 edition of the poems was issued by Harper's about the 
 same time, in which these poems were included, the 
 savagery of the anti-slavery journals was rather un- 
 called for. 
 
 From this time on, the entries in Longfellow's 
 diary telling of meetings with Lowell are frequent. 
 He meets him casually on his walks abroad. Lowell 
 drops in to dinner with Longfellow, or Longfellow 
 climbs to Lowell's "celestial study, with its pleasant 
 prospect through the small square windows, and its 
 ceiling so low you can touch it with your hand." They 
 discourse of anti-slavery matters, about which Lowell 
 is very ardent, or they read each other's poems with 
 much more of admiration than criticism. Later on 
 Longfellow goes to Lowell's lectures on poetry, soon 
 after which Longfellow resigns his professorship and 
 Lowell becomes Smith Professor of Literature at 
 Harvard, About this Longfellow writes to his friend 
 Freiligrath, "The Professorship has been disposed 
 of to Lowell, the poet, a great friend of mine, who 
 astonished the town last winter with a course of lec- 
 tures on poetry. Whereupon the college immediately 
 laid hold of him and made him my successor." Two 
 years before this the two poets were drawn more 
 
276 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 closely together on account of the incident of Mrs. 
 Lowell's death and the birth of Longfellow's younger 
 daughter, upon the same day, which Longfellow me- 
 morialized in one of his most exquisite poems, "The 
 Two Angels," which opens with this beautiful de- 
 scription of the angel of death and the angel of life: 
 
 "Two angels, one of Life, and one of Death, 
 
 Passed o'er our village as the morning broke; 
 The dawn was on their faces, and beneath 
 
 The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smokci 
 
 "Their attitude and aspect were the same. 
 
 Alike their features and their robes of white; 
 
 But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame. 
 
 And one with asphodels, like flakes of light." 
 
 When Lowell goes abroad soon after, Longfellow 
 drives into town with him to see him off. If he wrote 
 to Longfellow during this absence, the letters have 
 not been published. He does, however, send his love 
 in a letter to Norton, with a message to the effect that 
 to know Longfellow is to be somebody over there. As 
 the author of various works he was nothing in par- 
 ticular, but as Longfellow's neighbor — ^it was as good 
 as knowing a lord. In any case, Longfellow was 
 just as glad to see him upon his return, and asked 
 him at once to come down on a visit to Nahant. 
 
 A few other gracious incidents of their intimacy 
 shine out through the peaceful routine of every-day 
 life. When Lowell was minister to Spain he had the 
 pleasure of writing to Longfellow of his election to 
 la Real Academia Espaniola, and when ambassador 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 277 
 
 to England, he took part in the ceremonies attending 
 the unveUing of the bust of Longfellow in Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. 
 
 Perhaps the most attractive of the relations in which 
 we see these two poets is in the Dante Club, which was 
 formed for the purpose of reading and criticising the 
 proof-sheets of Longfellow's translation of Dante. 
 The nucleus of the club included Norton, as well as 
 the two poets, and occasionally other students dropped 
 into the symposiums. They met in Longfellow's 
 study, and, as Mr. Norton tells, they paused "over 
 every doubtful passage, discussed the various read- 
 ings, considered the true meaning of obscure words 
 and phrases, sought for the most exact equivalent of 
 Dante's expression, objected, criticised, praised, with 
 a freedom that was made perfect by Mr. Longfellow's 
 absolute sweetness, simplicity, and modesty, and by 
 the entire confidence that existed between us. . . . 
 They were delightful evenings; there could be no 
 pleasanter occupation ; the spirits of poetry, of learn- 
 ing, of friendship, were with us." These delightful 
 hours of study ended at ten o'clock with a supper, at 
 which one or two guests were often present. 
 
 Among the many appreciative things said by 
 Lowell of Longfellow's verse, which he seemed truly 
 to love, as if it were an emanation from the gentle 
 and scholarly personality of the poet, is his criticism 
 of the "Wayside Inn": "The introduction is master- 
 ly — so simple, clear and strong. Let 'em put in all 
 their ifs and huts; I don't wonder the public are 
 himgrier and thirstier for his verse than for that of 
 all the rest of us put together." 
 
 Where has Emerson been during this sketch of 
 
278 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 poetic affinities? Lost in sunlight, like the planet 
 Mercury, yet an ever-present influence, Lowell, be- 
 cause of his versatility, came more closely into touch 
 with every member of the group than most of them 
 came into touch with each other. His moral fervor 
 brought him into the same field of interest as Whit- 
 tier, his intellectual sprightliness endeared him to 
 Holmes, his scholarship and love of literature for its 
 own sake were the bonds of union between him and 
 Longfellow, while his profound reaches of thought 
 made him, perhaps, more comprehending of Emerson's 
 philosophy than the others. 
 
 Emerson, on the other hand, seems to have been 
 equally the friend of all and yet equally aloof from 
 all. A curious indication of the proof of this comes 
 out when we realize that in their combined poetical 
 works no poem appears which celebrates any birthday 
 festival or other function in his honor, and among his 
 poems are none to celebrate theirs. Lowell tells of 
 Emerson having sent some verses once to him in a 
 letter for his birthday, but he lost the letter. Truly, 
 so far as the public is concerned, not with "ribbons" 
 did these "celebrate their loves." Yet he was one of 
 the most constant attendants at the Saturday Club 
 dinners, and if he did not write poems to his friends 
 he often attended the festal occasions in their honor, 
 and sometimes made speeches or, as in the case of 
 Whittier, read that poet's "Ichabod." There is no 
 doubt he came and went freely among them. Long- 
 fellow frequently records that Emerson dined with 
 him, sometimes in Cambridge, sometimes at Nahant. 
 He meets him, too, at little afternoon teas at the 
 Howes', yet he seems always to have been the bright 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 279 
 
 particular star, too etherial for ordinary clay to ap- 
 proach very closely. Some one records that no one 
 would ever dream of giving Emerson a friendly slap 
 on the shoulder. But we may imagine him moving 
 round in his sunlit orbit, and coming nearer some- 
 times to one, sometimes to another of his colleagues. 
 The slavery agitation brought Whittier and Emerson 
 into sympathy, as it had Lowell and Whittier. 
 Though Emerson had in his inmost soul a philosoph- 
 ical attitude toward the problem, he did his duty as 
 far as in him lay, and we find him, in 1854, inviting 
 Whittier to a meeting in Boston for the purpose of 
 considering the political situation and devising some 
 plan of bringing together the men of all parties who 
 would work together on the slavery issue. Their love 
 and knowledge of nature must also have been a bond 
 of sympathy between them, but Whittier evidently felt 
 his limitations in comparison with Emerson when it 
 came to the point of interpreting nature. All of this 
 is evident in a letter of Whittier's to Emerson, where- 
 in, after describing how royally he has been living 
 amid the autumnal opulence of nature, he exclaims: 
 "Oh, that I could put into words the hymn of grati- 
 tude and unspeakable love which at such a season is 
 sung in my heart. I wish thee could have been 
 with us the other day on the Merrimac. We wanted 
 an interpreter of the mystery of the glory about 
 us." 
 
 In response to such genuine feeling as this Emer- 
 son could evidently not help but warm up sometimes, 
 as when he begs Whittier to come to Concord and 
 pay him a visit. As an inducement he prays him to 
 come on Friday, and "we will carry you down to the 
 
280 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Saturday Club," which he complains Whittier does 
 not honor as often as he might. 
 
 Emerson is reticent about praising Whittier's po- 
 etry, though he liked some of it; but Whittier said he 
 regarded Emerson as foremost in rank among Amer- 
 ican poets and that he had written better things than 
 any of them. Whittier's one grief in regard to Em- 
 erson was his uncertauity upon the question of im- 
 mortality. Emerson would not even give Whittier 
 the satisfaction of discussing the subject. He had 
 always avoided it, imtil shortly before he died, he 
 asked Whittier to come to Concord and see him, and 
 they would let their buckets down deep into the well 
 and see what they could bring up, — ^but they were 
 never to see each other again. 
 
 About Emerson's poetic faculty Longfellow was 
 always the most enthusiastic. From the first, he in- 
 sisted that he was more of a poet than a philosopher. 
 His diary is full of outbursts of appreciation over the 
 poetry in Emerson's lectures and addresses; for ex- 
 ample, he says in one place : "He mistakes his power 
 somewhat, and at times speaks in oracles darkly. He 
 is vastly more of a poet than a philosopher." Again, 
 "He is one of the finest lecturers I ever heard, with 
 magnificent passages of true prose poetry. But it is 
 all dreamery after all." He persists in this attitude, 
 and when his essays appeared he notes that they are 
 "full of sublime prose poetry, magnificent absurdities, 
 and simple truths. It is a striking book; but it is im- 
 possible to see any connection in the ideas." 
 
 He was delighted with Emerson's volume of poems, 
 at once recognizing their rare qualities. He and his 
 wife sat up until late at night reading this volimie. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 281 
 
 where they found, through the golden mist and sub- 
 limation of fancy, bright veins of purest poetry. 
 
 Holmes was no more in sympathy with the Emer- 
 sonian philosophy than Longfellow was, although he 
 came to have a pretty thorough intellectual compre- 
 hension of it, because of his conscientious study when 
 he was preparing the life of Emerson. It has always 
 been a cause for wonderment that Holmes, of all men, 
 should have been chosen to write the life of Emerson, 
 for they were in every way so different, it could hardly 
 be expected that Holmes would penetrate to the true 
 meanings of Emerson's life or thought. Emerson, the 
 lover of the ideal and the abstract ; Holmes, of things 
 concrete and actual. "It was interesting to see two 
 men," writes Holmes's biographer, "bred from like 
 stock, belonging in the same generation, living amid 
 the same surroundings, both engaged in knocking off 
 the fetters of old thought and belief, yet doing their 
 work along lines so widely apart, in methods so ut- 
 terly diverse, reaching such different kinds of men 
 through such different influences, and never moving 
 even tentatively towards any alliance in effort." 
 
 After he had finished the life, Holmes wrote of the 
 fact that for many months he had been living in daily 
 relations of intimacy with one who seems nearer to 
 me since he has left us than while he was here in living 
 form and feature. Imaginative power was a ground, 
 however, upon which these two poets might meet. 
 Holmes may not, as Judge Hoar said, have gotten 
 hold of all there was in Emerson, any more than 
 Emerson had understood all there was in Holmes, but 
 he did have a recognition of the fact that Emerson, 
 if not a great poet, fell very little short of it. And 
 
282 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 so it is that the chapter in the "Life of Emerson," on 
 his poems, is the most valuable. Of course he carps a 
 little, finds fault with Emerson's best things and over- 
 praises those which are more commonplace, calls "The 
 Seashore" only a fragment, and the "Concord Hymn" 
 perfect; though, to do him justice, he adds that the 
 latter might have been written by Collins. Still, as 
 he himself admits, after all criticisms, selections, an- 
 alyses, comparisons, "We have to recognize that there 
 is a charm in Emerson's poems which cannot be de- 
 fined any more than the fragrance of a rose or a 
 hyacinth." His final summing up of Emerson's 
 poetry as a whole is so appreciative of its distinction 
 that it might have been written by an all-seeing angel 
 instead of by a very human doctor-poet: 
 
 "His poetry is elemental; it has the rock beneath 
 it in the eternal laws on which it rests; the roU of 
 deep waters in its grander harmonies; its air is 
 fuU of aeolian strains that waken and die away as 
 the breeze wanders Over them; and through it 
 shines the white starlight, and from time to time 
 flashes a m6teor that startles us with its sudden 
 brilliancy." 
 
 Lowell's acquaintanceship with Emerson began 
 when, as a boy, he was suspended from college for a 
 little while and sent to rusticate in Concord. Lowell 
 had heard Emerson lecture before this time in Boston, 
 and had been impressed by Emerson's Phi Beta 
 Kappa address at Harvard in his jimior year, which 
 he seems to have remembered principally for the pic- 
 turesquesness of the occasion, due to the very advanced 
 doctrine to which Emerson gave utterance: "What 
 crowded and breathless aisles, what windows cluster- 
 
Lowell. 1819-1891 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 283 
 
 ing with eager heads, what enthusiasm of approval, 
 what grim silence of foregone dissent!" 
 
 When he came to Concord, Emerson evidently 
 treated the rusticated and decidedly egotistical stu- 
 dent with great kindness, and took him off on long 
 walks, one of which, to the cliffs, Lowell especially 
 remembered. While here in Concord, Lowell was 
 writing his class poem, and in spite of his admiration 
 for and indebtedness to Emerson, he expressed in it 
 his youthful disapproval of Emerson's famous Di- 
 vinity School address of July 15, 1838: 
 
 "Woe for Religion, too, when men who claim 
 To place a 'Reverend' before their name, 
 Ascend the Lord's own holy place to preach 
 In strains that Kneeland had been proud to reach, 
 And which, if measured by Judge Thacher's scale. 
 Had doomed their author to the county jail! 
 When men just girding for the holy strife, 
 Their hands just cleansed to break the bread of life. 
 Whose souls, made whole, should never count it loss 
 With their own blood to witness for the cross. 
 Invite a man their Christian zeal to crown 
 By preaching earnestly the gospel down. 
 Applaud him when he calls of earthly make 
 That One who spake as never yet man spake, 
 And tamely hear the anointed Son of God 
 Made like themselves — an animated clod!" 
 
 Thirty years later Emerson was again asked to de- 
 liver the Phi Beta Kappa address. Things had 
 changed. Emerson had become the prophet of a cult, 
 the centre of admiring multitudes, and Lowell, though 
 not a disciple, was a profound admirer. Edward 
 Everett Hale speaks of having observed the cordiality 
 
284 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of Lowell's congratulations when Emerson had fin- 
 ished. Lowell's enthusiasm was genuine, and ex- 
 pressed itself in the same sort of exalted language, 
 which, we have seen, was generally aroused in Emer- 
 son's poetic friends when they heard him speak: 
 
 "Emerson's oration was more disjointed than usual 
 even with him. It began nowhere and ended every- 
 where; and yet, as always with that divine man, it 
 left you feeling that something beautiful had passed 
 that way, something more beautiful than anything 
 else, like the rising and setting of stars. There was a 
 tone in it that awakened all elevating associations. He 
 boggled, he lost his place, he had to put on his glasses ; 
 but it was as if a creature from some fairer world 
 had lost his way in our fogs, and it was our fault and 
 not his. It was chaotic, but it was all such stuff as 
 stars are made of, and you could not help feeling that 
 if you waited awhile all that was nebulous would be 
 hurled into planets, and would assmne the mathemat- 
 ical gravity of system. AH through it I felt something 
 in me that cried, 'Ha, ha! to the sound of trumpets!' " 
 
 Lowell did not accept Emerson's poetry with the 
 spontaneous enthusiasm of Longfellow, nor yet with 
 the sympathetic appreciation of Holmes. "As a poet 
 we must give Emerson up," he wrote, with his mind 
 glued so fast to Emerson's rhythmical oddities that 
 he forgot for the time the splendor of the inspired 
 moments. His criticism in "The Fable for Critics" 
 seems, on the whole, to have expressed his permanent 
 opinion: 
 
 "I'm speaking of metres ; some poems have welled 
 From the rare depths of soul that have ne'er been excelled ; 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 285 
 
 They're not epics, but that doesn't matter a pin, 
 
 In creating the only hard thing's to begin ; 
 
 A grass-blade's no easier to make than an oak; 
 
 If you've once found the way, you've achieved the grand 
 
 stroke ; 
 In the worst of his poems are mines of rich matter, 
 But thrown in a heap with a crash and a clatter ; 
 Now it is not one thing nor another alone 
 Makes a poem, but rather the general tone, 
 The something pervading, uniting the whole. 
 The before unconceived, unconceivable soul, 
 So that just in removing this trifle or that, you 
 Take away, as it were, a chief limb of the statue; 
 Roots, wood, bark, and leaves singly perfect may be, 
 But, clapt hodge-podge together, they don't make a tree." 
 
 Lowell sometimes worried Holmes with his rattlety- 
 bang lines, and Emerson worried Lowell with his: 
 hodge-podge. This impression received by Lowell 
 must have been, in many cases, due to his lack of 
 comprehension of Emerson's underlying unity of 
 thought. The feeling to-day among lovers of poetry 
 is that the spontaneous delight in his poetry felt by 
 Longfellow, Whittier and Holmes is a surer index 
 of Emerson's place as a poet than the careful analyz- 
 ing of Lowell. Emerson may have had no ear for 
 accent, as he himself is said to have acknowledged, 
 but he put ideas so freshly and spontaneously that a 
 misplaced accent now and then is of little moment. 
 
 Yet Lowell was glad to have poems from Emerson 
 for the Atlantic J and even wanted to print three or 
 four in one issue, but when he was obliged to choose, 
 took "Days," which, he said, was as "limpid and com- 
 plete as a Greek epigram." 
 
286 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Emerson, we judge, from his expressions of ap- 
 preciation, thought Lowell more of a poet than Long- 
 fellow or Holmes or Whittier, probably because he 
 had more of that seer-quality at times than any one 
 except himself. When Longfellow sends him a book 
 of verse, his thanks are certainly not couched in very 
 enthusiastic language, but he would like to see Long- 
 fellow, for he has some things he would like to say to 
 him about poetry. Of Lowell, he could say, however, 
 after reading such a poem as his "The Washers of the 
 Shroud": "We will not again disparage America, 
 now that we have seen what men it will bear. What 
 a certificate of good elements in the soil, climate, and 
 institutions is Lowell, whose admirable verses I have 
 just read! Such a creature more accredits the land 
 than all the fops of Carolina discredit it." 
 
 Associated with our poets upon intimate terms were 
 men not only distinguished in other branches of liter- 
 ature, like Hawthorne and Motley, Fenton and 
 Thoreau, but men of other professions, like Sumner, 
 Agassiz, Judge Hoar. To describe the relations and 
 inter-relations existing between them all would re- 
 quire a portly volume. Agassiz, the scientist, seems 
 to have been especially beloved, and has been cele- 
 brated by Lowell in his fine poem, as well as by Em- 
 erson in his "Adirondacks." He, with Hoar, Lowell, 
 Emerson and a few others, made up the Adirondacks 
 Club, which Emerson describes, on an outing, in the 
 poem: 
 
 "We flee away from cities, but we bring 
 The best of cities with us, these learned classifiers, 
 Men knowing what they seek, armed eyes of experts. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 287 
 
 We praise the guide, we praise the forest life: 
 But will we sacrifice our dear-bought lore 
 Of books and arts and trained experiment, 
 Or count the Sioux a match for Agassiz?" 
 
 Holmes also celebrates Agassiz in "The Saturday 
 Club." 
 
 At this club we had our first glimpses of the poets 
 whom New England delights to honor. The picture 
 of their social life together may well be rounded out 
 by an account of an Atlantic dinner, written by Mr. 
 Underwood, in his "Reminiscences of Lowell": 
 
 "The bright, powerful, and inspired faces that sur- 
 rounded the ellipse come to mind almost like a sight 
 of yesterday. Each guest in turn seems to fix his eyes 
 upon the onlooker in this miraculous camera. The 
 group is immortal; the separate faces so many vary- 
 ing expressions of genius. Brilliant lights and softly 
 luminous shades seem to play around the table, until 
 the colors and forms are mingled as in the heart of 
 a picture by Turner. There was Holmes, in the flush 
 of his new fame as the Autocrat, — a man whose genius 
 flamed out in his speech and expression as clearly as 
 in his original and sparkling works. There was 
 Lowell, with features of singular power, and eyes 
 which dazzled and charmed. In merriment he was 
 irresistible ; in higher moods his face shone like a soul 
 made visible. There was Emerson, thoughtful, but 
 shrewdly observant, iand with the placid look of an 
 optimistic philosopher, whose smile was a benediction. 
 Longfellow, with a head which Phidias might have 
 modelled, by turns calm or radiant, seldom speaking, 
 but always using the fit word. Whittier, with noble 
 
288 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 head and deep-set, brilliant eyes, grown spare and 
 taciturn from ill-health, an ascetic at table, eager only 
 for intellectual enjoyment. 
 
 "There was no lack of serious and even spiritual 
 conversation. Holmes's fire often fused reasoning 
 with eloquence, and his sentences had such force, pro- 
 portion, and finish that they would not have needed 
 revision for print. Lowell always talked well and 
 often brilliantly. He soared naturally, as if the high 
 regions of imagination were his familiar haunts. And 
 the hearer never felt that Lowell had done his best, 
 for there was something like a restrained intensity, 
 which gave the impression that he was always greater 
 than anything he had done. Every competent ob- 
 server felt that his career would be a crescendo. Em- 
 erson was fond of listening, but after a set-to he often 
 made a philosophical summary or scholium that was 
 beautiful and memorable." 
 
 The life of these men together, literary and social, 
 gives us a delightful impression of mid-nineteenth- 
 century New England. The more one studies it the 
 more one feels its gracious and uplifting influences. 
 If there were any jealousies or jars or smallnesses of 
 any kind among them they certainly do not come out 
 in the records of their lives. They were as splendid 
 a group of men, intellectually and morally, as the 
 world has even seen; sufficiently original in genius and 
 temperament to make distinctive places for them- 
 selves in English literature, and to bring into it the 
 note, in varying tones, of Democracy triumphant, not 
 only in pohtics, but in social life — the true meaning of 
 which is freedom to be just and honorable; to be help- 
 
p 
 
 M 
 
 n 
 Pi 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 289 
 
 ful to and appreciative of all human efforts; to culti- 
 vate one's own talents to the uttermost, with modest 
 faith in them and a recognition that all others may do 
 the same. What these men and their colleagues have 
 so well begun, it behooves younger generations to 
 follow. The chief element of a great literature is 
 loyalty to lofty ideals. If this is present, as it was to 
 an unusual degree in all these poets, there may be 
 flaws discoverable in imaginative handling and tech- 
 nique, but they concern us no more than a few ir- 
 regularities of feature in one whose soul we love. 
 
THOUGHT: 
 EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL 
 
 291 
 
"As the birds come in the Spring, 
 We know not from where; 
 As the stars come at evening 
 From depths of the air; 
 
 "As the rain comes from, the cloud. 
 And the brook from the ground; 
 As suddenly, low or loud. 
 Out of silence a sound; 
 
 "As the grape comes to the vine. 
 The fruit to the tree; 
 As the wind comes to the pine. 
 And the tide to the sea; 
 
 "As come the white sails of ships 
 O'er the ocean's verge; 
 As comes the smile to the lips. 
 The foam to the surge; 
 
 "So comes to the Poet his songs. 
 All hitherward blown 
 From the misty realm that belongs 
 To the vast Unknoten." 
 
 ^LONGS'ELLOW. 
 
Thought: Emotional and Intellectual,. 
 
 THE final measure of a poet's meaning for his 
 time and country is to be found, not in his 
 treatment of nature, of romance, nor of his- 
 tory, but in the tone of thought and feeling which per- 
 vades his work, oftentimes hidden behind the doings or 
 the thoughts of beings quite alien to himself, but at 
 others appearing clearly on the surface, and yet again 
 given voice to in direct lyrical or philosophical expres- 
 sion. An inquiry into the personal attitude of our 
 poets in relation to New England thought will prove, 
 I think, not uninteresting. 
 
 The main stream of thought in New England was 
 that of the Puritans, in whose minds existed a strange 
 chaos of religious bigotry and superstition. On 
 the one hand, the belief that human nature was born 
 depraved and only to be rescued by Divine Grace, 
 gave rise to an austere conception of life, from which 
 everything tending in the direction of artistic enjoy- 
 ment was banished. On the other hand, the belief 
 in witchcraft and magic, though all handed over to 
 the devil, and to be feared and fought to the death, 
 actually exercised the good office of keeping their 
 imaginative faculty from becoming entirely atro- 
 phied. One very important means for the temper- 
 
 293 
 
294 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ing of Puritanical narrowness, thus existed, little 
 as he suspected it, in the pristine Puritan's own 
 mind. One of the chief external influences destined to 
 aid in the final blossoming of so emancipated a belief 
 as that of Unitarianism, was the element of which 
 the Merry Mounters might be regarded as typical, 
 namely, a spirit of fun brought in by unregenerate 
 Episcopalians, who combined with their religion a 
 zest for the joy of living. Another was the element 
 of religious tolerance emphasized by the Quakers. 
 Whatever else was needed to make Puritanical New 
 England not only Unitarian, but Transcendental, 
 came in through the gates of education with German 
 and French philosophy, and whatever was needed to 
 reduce it to its present monistic and pragmatic state 
 of unstable equihbrium came in with science and 
 scholarship. 
 
 One other element existed from the start, and that 
 was the desire for freedom. It is true that it was a 
 desire for freedom to be as bigoted and intolerant as 
 possible, but even such a desire as this was a seed 
 capable of growing, and when it was watered by the 
 doctrine of toleration, however irritatingly admin- 
 istered, and shone upon by the joy of living, however 
 clouded with frivolity that sun might be, it was bound 
 to expand until it included a wish that all as well as 
 some should be free, and should enjoy; hence fur- 
 ther expansion! — freedom must include social as well 
 as pohtical and religious freedom; joy must include 
 the higher forms of art as well as dancing around a 
 maypole, as the giddy company of Merry Mount did, 
 and a familiarity with the lore of thought beyond the 
 utmost range of the learned Cotton Mather's vision. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 295 
 
 How much of this thought and feeling has been 
 reflected in the poetry of our little New England 
 group ? In how much of it have they been the leaders ? 
 These are important questions which cannot be more 
 than glanced at in the scope of one chapter, but once 
 having entered upon this fascinating road, the reader 
 may follow it as far as inclination leads. 
 
 Bryant's inheritance and his early environment 
 were Puritanic, but from some unknown quarter came 
 the endowment of a love for beauty, which is the first 
 need of a poet. It is more than likely that the aus- 
 terity of his childish surroundings affected his poetic 
 sympathies, so that he was especially impressed with 
 those English poets who loved to discourse upon 
 death in their verse. At any rate, it was after he had 
 been reading Blair's poem, "The Grave," and others 
 of similar purport, that he had his inspiration for the 
 poem which brought him his first recognition as a 
 poet, "Thanatopsis." The thought of nature in con- 
 nection with death was no new one. It belongs to the 
 earliest days of literature. The Greek Idyllic poets, 
 Bion and Moschus, sang their laments in terms of 
 nature symbolism, imitating the earlier laments for 
 Adonis, the prototype of spring, sung by Theocritus, 
 which was itself an imitation of the folk-loric songs 
 to Linus, an earlier shepherd-prototype of spring. 
 Spenser, Milton, Tennyson — all have connected with 
 nature symbolism their poems on the death of friends. 
 With these, however, it was an occasional note; in 
 Bryant it becomes one of the constant sources of his 
 inspiration and a dominant note in his philosophy of 
 life, which must have for its completeness a constant 
 relationing between life on this earth and life after 
 
290 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 the resurrection. This, then, appears to be the chan- 
 nel into which the Calvinistic influences of Bryant's 
 inheritance and environment flowed. Opposed, how- 
 ever, to this consciousness of death, was his delight in 
 the beauty of nature, so intense a delight that he has 
 a peculiar consciousness of the living principle in na- 
 ture. He reminds one of a pristine savage in the so- 
 called animistic phase of life when everything not 
 only seemed to be endowed with spirit but actually 
 was endowed with spirit. We have already seen that 
 this consciousness of the sentiency of inanimate nature 
 did not lead him to much individualized description 
 of trees or flowers. But a small bouquet of exact 
 flower-portraits may be gathered from his poems, and 
 trees appear in groups and forests, yet they live and 
 feel and smile in manifestation of the divine power 
 flowing through them. Whether this joy in nature 
 was entirely the natural reaction of a finer-fibred 
 mind from the dolefulness of Puritan ideals, or 
 whether it was nourished in any way by external in- 
 fluences sifting down from Merry Mount ideals, it 
 was certainly a harmless way for it to show itself. 
 The relation between these two tendencies, as it comes 
 out in the poetry, is interesting. While the joy in 
 living nature sings itself alone in many poems, the 
 consciousness of death never appears without being 
 tempered by the joy element in nature, serious and 
 dignified though it be in expression. In "Thanatop- 
 sis," for example, his contemplation upon the fact of 
 all the human activity which has returned again to 
 the bosom of nature does not lead to melancholy| 
 thoughts, but to thoughts of the magnificence of the 
 couch, and the illustriousness of the company witH 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 297i 
 
 whom all shall lie down in one sepulchre. He invokes 
 mankind to approach death not like a quarry slave 
 scourged to his dungeon, but with a perfect trust like 
 one who lies down to pleasant dreams. Other phases 
 of the problem of death attract his attention. One 
 of the most striking of these is discussed in a poem 
 written almost ten years later, "A Hymn to Death," 
 in which he declares that he has come to sing the 
 praises of death, and to teach the world to thank 
 death. He then shows that death is the avenger of 
 all wrongs, the purger of evil from the earth. From 
 the first of time death has been on the side of virtue. 
 The poem is, in fact, a striking statement of a belief 
 in the evolution of goodness through the survival of 
 the fittest, since death kills the evU. Looked at in its 
 large aspects as a historical process, it awakens the 
 poet's enthusiasm. It seems, however, to be a phil- 
 osophical principle stmnbled upon by the poet, and 
 growing perhaps out of the really narrow Calvinistic 
 notion that God is constantly punishing evil-doers by 
 death and preserving the good (many examples of 
 which may be found in Cotton Mather) ; for the sud- 
 den death of his exemplary father shows him an ex- 
 ample of death destroying the good. His philosophy 
 cannot stand up against this seeming contradiction^ 
 his mood changes and he lets the poem stand only as 
 a record of an idle revery. The subject of death is 
 approached from another point of view in "A Forest 
 Hymn." In this the poet's mood is in sympathy with 
 the never-ending life of nature, by which he feels that 
 the hate of death is conquered. Once more he seems 
 to stimible upon a philosophical or scientific principle, 
 that of the persistence of energy, in spite of change 
 
298 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 and decay. A religious turn is given to the thought 
 here as in the other poem. The persistence of na- 
 ture's indwelhng life is a symbol of the eternal ex- 
 istence of God, while in the "Hymn to Death" the 
 poet's consolation for the death of his father lies in 
 the thought of his future resurrection. Examples 
 might be multiplied to show that Bryant's attitude 
 toward death was not a morbid one. It was the neces- 
 sary complement of life ; and whatever problems might 
 arise through the contemplation of it, the final solu- 
 tion lay in the assurance of a future life, the possi- 
 bilities of which the poet has shown in a poem to his 
 wife in heaven, called "The Future Life." Thus his 
 joy in the beauteous life of nature taught him a truer 
 and serener attitude toward death than that of his 
 Calvinistic ancestors. The past became linked in his 
 mind with the future. The terrors and evils of his- 
 tory would be blotted out by death, and death itself 
 blotted out by the resurrection into eternal life, sym- 
 bolized by the persistent life of nature, whose myriad 
 forms revealed the power and love of God. 
 
 When Bryant gives himself up entirely to his de- 
 light in nature, his Calvinism disappears entirely. His 
 romances, however, are apt to have sad endings. 
 
 Brilliant imagination was certainly not character- 
 istic of Bryant, yet when his muse carried him up 
 among the clouds and the stars, he could have visions 
 of an almost Shelley an order. In his "Conjunction 
 of Jupiter and Venus," he banishes reason, not, to be 
 sure, with an outburst of passion, but in his usual 
 serene manner, and declares he will give himself up 
 to the fair illusions of the past, and believe that such 
 a meeting of the planets has a direct influence on the 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 299 
 
 affairs of men. It is a curious fact that his most 
 imaginative work came late in his life. 
 
 The clouds, which had always a strange fascination 
 for him, were the inspiration of two charming frag- 
 ments, written in 1862, "A Tale of Cloudland," and 
 "Castles in the Air," which surpass aU he had written 
 previously in the display of delicate fancy. We 
 can hardly believe it is Bryant who tells us of a lovely 
 vision of a cloud-sprite, with round, white arms, a 
 gauzy scarf of blue streaming from her shoulders, 
 and a coronet of twinkling points Uke sparks of sim- 
 shine. The mother of the maiden who is made to see 
 this vision, reprimands her for being a dreamer, and 
 for imagining that any but the Creator Himself is 
 concerned in the marshalling of the clouds; but the 
 intrepid little maiden declares that though she speaks 
 ever reverently of the Creator, she believes that in 
 the middle air there abides a race, who do His will, 
 and, fuU of thought and kindness, attend to the 
 showers and the shadows which relieve the heat of the 
 noon-day sun. Truly, this first of American poets, 
 with the same instincts as those of primitive man, has 
 passed from a feeling that there is spirit in all inan- 
 imate nature, to a phase in which he personifies this 
 spirit. Imagination, having been degraded by the 
 bigotry of religion into witchcraft and black magic, 
 the implements of the evil one, is born again and is 
 now become art, the handmaid of Divine power. 
 
 In "Castles in the Air" is a succession of pictures 
 as gorgeous as a description from Keats's "Endym- 
 ion." In "Sella" he lets his imagination revel in 
 the depths of the sea, peopled bj^ kind, not cruel, 
 sea-nymphs, one of whom guided Sella thither in 
 
300 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 magic slippers. Afterwards her brothers, not liking 
 Sella's long absences in the realm of the sea maidens, 
 stole Sella's slippers and threw them far oijt in the 
 stream. Sella grieved deeply, but conquering her 
 sorrow, she becomes a sort of goddess of every human 
 invention for the artificial supply of water — wells 
 and aqueducts and water-works — an earthly counter- 
 part in fact of the cloud-sprite in the "Tale of Cloud- 
 land," who took charge of the showers. 
 
 Could Bryant have known that in this imaginative 
 story he was again following the lead of primitive 
 man by inventing a myth of civilization? If it were 
 a real primitive myih, we should torture our under- 
 standing to discover what metaphorical meaning 
 there was in the slippers, but being the invention of 
 a nineteenth-centTiry primitive imagination, we are 
 content to believe them just magic slippers and noth- 
 ing more. 
 
 In "Little People of the Snow," written in 1864, 
 occurs again the personifying of nature — the snow- 
 nymphs lead off little Eva and show her the beauty 
 of their snow-palace, in which the poet has another 
 opportunity for imaginative description. They bring 
 her back to earth, but the journey into the palace of 
 the snow-people has been too much for poor little 
 Eva, and her friends find her frozen to death. 
 
 The birthright of the founders of New England, 
 a belief in freedom, finds expression, as we have al- 
 ready seen, in his verse. It leads him not only to a 
 recognition of the meaning of political liberty, but 
 to an expression of religious toleration, as seen in his 
 poem, "The Crowded Street." All upon the street 
 are watched over by Divine love and thought, includ- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 301 
 
 ing even the lowest, and all are being guided to their 
 appointed end. 
 
 Freedom in the abstract, as in his poem, "The An- 
 tiquity of Freedom," does not appear to Bryant as a 
 youthful goddess, but as a bearded man armed to the 
 teeth, who has fought and received scars in many 
 wars and must fight many more against his enemy, 
 Tyranny, until the birth of a new earth and heaven 
 shall arrive. This conception of freedom is a fine one, 
 emphasizing as it does the himian side, and yet not 
 interfering with the thought of the spirit of freedom 
 as ever young and beautiful, like the goddess Lowell 
 pictures. 
 
 Cold, Bryant may be, as Lowell insists, but it is 
 only a surface coldness. Dignity and restraint would 
 better describe the qualities which one finds in his 
 verse. In the few legends and tales he tells, as well 
 as in his poems of patriotism, this is doubtless a blem- 
 ish. They lack human fervor, but that he was a man 
 of deep and true feeling is proved both in his love of 
 nature and his loyal devotion to his wife, expressed in 
 such poems as "The Life That Is," "The Future 
 Life," and "October." This devotion stood the test 
 of death, and he dares to look forward to loving her 
 in heaven, because he can trust his own constant soul. 
 
 His fundamental conceptions of life and death 
 never changed. He remained away from New En- 
 gland the same man, and his poetry was affected only 
 in its external aspects by its somewhat more detailed 
 descriptions of the scenery he encoimtered in his 
 travels than those of his home scenery had been. 
 
 Though he did so little to impress upon his work 
 the special atmosphere of New England, we feel that 
 
302 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 his poetry expresses a philosophy and a reticence of 
 emotion which had its roots deep in early New Eng- 
 land thought and custom, and that his wide views 
 down the ages of history, through floods of years, his 
 journeys with the clouds and out among the constel- 
 lations of space, were engendered by his childhood 
 rambles over his own wide hills. 
 
 Freedom, which was a belief with Bryant, becomes 
 with Whittier a passion that plunges him early into 
 the arena of agitation and reform. Of the whole 
 group, Whittier is most completely a democrat. 
 Thomas Whittier, his ancestor in New England, be- 
 longed to the earliest days, having sailed from South- 
 ampton in 1638, and settled in what is now Ames- 
 bury. Later he moved to Haverhill, and built the 
 house in which Whittier, nearly two hundred years 
 later, was born. He was of Huguenot descent, and 
 though he does not appear ever to have become a 
 Quaker himself, he was one of those brave people 
 whom Whittier so likes to depict — a friend of the 
 Quakers. He was among a number of citizens who, 
 in 1652, signed a petition to the general court, for 
 the pardon of one Robert Pike, whose grave misde- 
 meanor was that he had objected to an order pro- 
 hibiting Quakers from exhorting "on the Lord's Day" 
 even in their own houses. For this he was heavily 
 fined, while the petitioners in his favor were threat- 
 ened with loss of rights as "freemen" unless they 
 withdrew their names. Among the sixteen who re- 
 fused to withdraw their names was another ancestor 
 of the poet, Christopher Hussey, and among the pro- 
 hibited exhorters was another, Joseph Peasley. Thus 
 the tempering spirit of toleration was a far-back in- 
 
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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 303 
 
 heritance of the poet. It is not surprising either 
 that this tolerant Thomas Whittier should have heen 
 so good to the Indians of his neighborhood, that dur- 
 ing the border wars when every other inhabitant of 
 Haverhill was liable to be scalped at any moment, 
 his house and family were safe from molestation. So 
 secure did he feel, that it is said he never even bolted 
 his doors at night. 
 
 Whittier's inheritance and environment were much 
 more closely aflBliated with the romantic aspects of 
 New England life than Bryant's were, owing to the 
 fact that his ancestors had remained in the seaboard 
 cradle of New England, while Bryant's had isolated 
 themselves in the wilds of western Massachusetts. 
 Therefore when Nature touched John Greenleaf 
 Whittier with its wand of genius, he found close to 
 his hand a richness of material both, as biefore noted, 
 in the romance and history of the region, as well as 
 in its varied scenery. Circumstances, too, fortunately 
 kept him there, in the midst of associations which the 
 rapid growth of the big cities tended to blot out; 
 hence all things worked together to make Whittier, 
 more than any other of the six poets, not only the 
 landscape painter of New England, but the balladist 
 of its early life and traditions. Fortunately, too, his- 
 tory during his own life furnished him the outlet for 
 that fervor of freedom burning within him, and he 
 became the impassioned singer of the anti-slavery 
 movement. 
 
 Still, while he was working for the dearest wish 
 of his soul, and after it had become a reality in the 
 freeing of the slaves, there was much of life to be 
 lived and much poetry to be written. The direct 
 
304 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 expression of his passion for freedom passes fre- 
 quently into the more inclusive democracy of his 
 "Songs of Labor and Reform," and indirectly it 
 comes out in the romantic ballads, relating tales of his 
 own day. For example, in "Maud MuEer," there is 
 the Judge of high degree, in whose mind there ever re- 
 mains the vision of the simple little country maiden 
 whom he should have wedded instead of the proud 
 and fashionable wife he did not love. There is Amy 
 Wentworth, the descendant of Colonial knights and 
 ladies gently born, who scorns her perfumed suitor, 
 and dreams of her sailor-lover. 
 
 There is the city belle in "Among the Hills," who 
 weds the farmer. Whittier was quite aware of what 
 he was doing in relating such tales of true love, so 
 opposed to the ordinary conventional ideas, for at the 
 close of this poem he declares that it would be a good 
 thing if we found the truth of fact and fancy more 
 often plighted, and simple and homely hearths graced 
 with beauty. The choice of the story of the countess 
 gives another opportunity for a love story in which 
 rank is thrown aside. 
 
 The complete presentation of his views on de- 
 mocracy are given in the poem of that name, wherein 
 is recognized the latent manhood of every human 
 creature, however seemingly debased. From the 
 poems following in this division, "Songs of Labor 
 and Reform," we may gather Whittier's point of 
 view about such problems as capital punishment, and 
 imprisonment for debt, still possible in his lifetime. 
 Against both of these he raises his voice. There is 
 hardly a "cause" which is agitating reformers to-day, 
 from the peace movement down to a just treatment 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 305 
 
 of labor by capital, upon which Whittier does not 
 touch, his sympathies being invariably upon the side 
 of the oppressed. As in the slavery question, he looks 
 for the growth of a moral sentiment, which will deal 
 with the problems in the interest of humanity and 
 justice. 
 
 The prevailing didacticism of this group of poems 
 disappears in a series, especially entitled "Songs of 
 Labor." They are poems in honor of shoemakers, 
 fishermen, lumbermen, ship-builders, drovers and 
 buskers. The dignity and beauty in all these callings 
 is placed before us with the same sure touch as he 
 would use to show us a landscape. These poems bring 
 home the truth that the power of the artist to convince 
 is greater than that of the preacher. If the capitalists 
 of to-day could but be shown in some mighty vision 
 the inborn beauty of labor, would the labor unions 
 need to fight so hard to prove what Whittier said so 
 many years ago, "The interests of the rich man and 
 the poor are one and the same, inseparable evermore"? 
 
 Whittier speaks with equal clearness of his re- 
 ligion in his religious poems. The still small voice 
 speaking within each human being tells him more 
 surely of God than any man-made ritual. This 
 tenet of Quakerism is most simply and beautifully 
 expressed in "First-Day Thoughts." Along with the 
 Quaker detestation of form went a tolerance toward 
 the inner truths of religious thought — the natural out- 
 come of their belief that God had spoken to all nations 
 and races to some extent, while His full revelation to 
 mankind was realized only in the person of Jesus. 
 The poem in which these ideas are most fully de- 
 veloped is "Questions of Life," in which Quaker 
 
306 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 belief on this subject is summed, up in the following 
 lines : 
 
 "I listen to the sibyl's chant, 
 The voice of priest and hierophant; 
 I know what Indian Krishna saith. 
 And what of life and what of death 
 The demon taught to Socrates ; 
 And what, beneath his garden-trees 
 Slow pacing, with a dream-like tread, 
 The solemn-thoughted Plato said; 
 Nor lack I tokens great or small. 
 Of God's clear light in each and all ; 
 While holding with more dear regard 
 The scroll of Hebrew seer and bard, 
 The starry pages promise-lit 
 With Christ's Evangel over-writ, 
 Thy miracle of life and death, 
 O Holy One of Nazareth!" 
 
 Other poems reveal his belief in the Trinity and 
 his faith in Christ as the Redeemer. His feeling in 
 regard to immortality, the problem so often broached 
 between him and Emerson, does not reach a farther 
 certainty than trust that "All is of God that is, and 
 is to be; And God is good." 
 
 All of Whittier's religious poems together, how- 
 ever, do not convince of his spiritual perception with 
 the force that his unusual poem, "The Vanishers," 
 does. It was written shortly after his sister's death, 
 and in it he uses an old Indian belief in spirits as a 
 symbol of his own feeling. Any one who has ex- 
 perienced a conviction of the certainty of immortal- 
 ity through the death of a friend will feel that this 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 307 
 
 poem, delicate in fancy as it is, rises almost to the 
 dignity of a revelation. 
 
 That nothing might be wanting in the New Eng- 
 land Whittier knew and loved, he has, in his "Poems 
 Subjective and Reminiscent," given us some glimpses 
 of his own heart, and his own life, which have done 
 perhaps more than any of his other poems to endear 
 him to the present generation. Here we see the 
 little barefoot boy flitting gaily about amid his 
 flowers and bees, his berries and all the "tenants 
 of the wood." Can this be the Whittier we know, 
 who was to take upon himself so serious a work for 
 his country? Then there is the picture of the actual 
 school-house he attended ; and what child to-day does 
 not wonder if there was a real little girl who once 
 beat Whittier in spelling and wished she had not 
 been so clever? Children may well like this little 
 poem, which always drew tears to the eyes of Ohver 
 Wendell Holmes, though perhaps no child would un- 
 derstand just why. 
 
 There, too, occurs Whittier's one poem based upon 
 a personal experience of a feeling that certainly ap- 
 proached, if it did not actually become love, "Mem- 
 ories." Whatever intensity the feeling may have had, 
 when he writes the poem, it has become a tender and 
 sweet memory, still with power to bring a glow to 
 his cheek and to his heart, but hardly a regret. Doubt- 
 less, the "hopes" and "dreams" inspired by this at- 
 tachment made possible the tender sympathy with 
 which Whittier always treated the subject of love. In 
 spite of the fact that he never married, and in spite 
 of the serenity which belonged to his outlook upon 
 life, no one could accuse him, as they have Bryant, 
 
308 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of coldness. The concreteness of his imagination gave 
 him so many objects in which to be interested that 
 love flowed from his heart in many directions. His 
 moral fervor was but another name for love. 
 
 The most important of these personal poems is 
 "Snow Bound," which was received with such enthusi- 
 asm when it appeared that it sold for some time at 
 the rate of a thousand copies a day. 
 
 In this record of a snow storm and the way in which 
 the time was spent by his own family during its prog- 
 ress, Whittier has given an imperishable picture of 
 New England country life in his youthful days. He 
 has prefixed the poem with some lines from Cornelius 
 Agrippa, in praise of a wood-fire, and also some lines 
 from Emerson's poem, "The Snow Storm": 
 
 "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
 Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, 
 Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air 
 Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven. 
 And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. 
 The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
 Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
 Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
 In a tumultuous privacy of storm." 
 
 Whittier's description of the snow storm is an am- 
 plification from this of Emerson's. "Announced by 
 aU the trumpets of the sky" gives, with a single meta- 
 phor, the preliminary omens Whittier describes one 
 after another. The efPects of the storm in stopping 
 up the farmhouse doors, the group around the fire, and 
 various descriptions, are also, for the most part, ex- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 309 
 
 pansions from Emerson's one or two comprehensive 
 strokes. In this process of expansion Whittier has, 
 in his imaginative comparisons descriptive of the 
 snow effects, added a grace all his own, a "kind of 
 spiritual picturesqueness," as Lowell said, giving to 
 the work "a peculiar charm." The subject of the 
 poem is not the storm, however. It is not of the snow 
 but of the snow-bound that Whittier writes. The 
 snow storm is the incident that occasions the poem, by 
 grouping the isolated family around the farmhouse 
 fire, hence the pertinence of the motto from Cornelius 
 Agrippa. 
 
 Whittier has himself aptly described the scene about 
 the fireside, with the allusions that enliven the de- 
 scription, as Flemish pictures of old days, which he 
 hopes will touch the heart of the "worldling" to whose 
 memory such "winter joys" of his boyhood will be 
 recalled; but he declares they will have a historic 
 interest also for many others who have never known 
 its like, and for whom it is a transcript of old-time 
 customs. Lowell said of these Flemish pictures that 
 they "describe scenes and manners which the rapid 
 changes of our national habits will soon have made as 
 remote from us as if they were foreign or ancient. 
 Already, alas! even in farmhouses, backlog and fire- 
 stick are obsolescent words . . . already are the 
 railroads displacing the companionable cheer of crack- 
 ling walnut with the dogged self-complacency and 
 sullen virtue of anthracite." 
 
 Since Lowell wrote this, the whirligig of time has 
 brought round the modem revival of the fire on the 
 hearth. We are not to-day so altogether imacquaint- 
 ed with the "companionable cheer" of crackling wood. 
 
310 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 as Lowell fancied; though it must be admitted, the 
 office of the fireplace has changed somewhat. Now, 
 such a fire is the sport of a coolish summer evening in 
 a seaside or country cottage ; then it not only cheered, 
 but did all the cooking and, incidentally, was sup- 
 posed to keep people warm. 
 
 The curious reader may still see at Haverhill the 
 identical hearth aroimd which the particular group 
 of people, told of in the poem, gathered. Still stands, 
 a little off the road, in a good state of preservation, 
 the old Whittier homestead, built by Thomas Whit- 
 tier, in 1680. The long kitchen presents much the 
 same appearance as it did in the poet's time. Around 
 the hearth stands a mysterious array of pots and ket- 
 tles which, in those days, used to do duty as ovens for 
 baking meat and so on. On the crane hang more 
 ponderous kettles, and we get the impression that 
 Whittier, whose boots (his very own boots) are stand- 
 ing on the hearth, is about to have a very sumptuous 
 dinner. We fancy, too, that we can smell the fresh 
 bread baking in the oven in the chimney, beside the 
 fireplace. As soon as he has partaken of everything 
 from these many kettles, served in some of his 
 mother's wedding china, which is standing on the 
 dresser in an opposite corner, we can see him sit down 
 to the desk, which has been in the family for four 
 generations, and is as fairly furnished forth with little 
 drawers and pigeonholes as the hearth is with ket- 
 tles, and write such a description of the house to-day 
 as he actually did write; for still it nestles under a 
 long range of hills which stretch off to the west. And 
 still is it surrounded by woods, though probably not 
 so thick as formerly, and still is there a vista of low. 
 
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 1 ^ 
 
 ^ 5)0 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 311 
 
 green meadows, picturesque with wooded islands and 
 jutting capes of upland. Through these still a small 
 brook, noisy enough as it foams, ripples and laughs 
 down its rocky falls, winds by the garden-side si- 
 lently, and scarcely visible, to a still larger stream. 
 Out of the window by which the desk stands we may 
 look over at the barn, not so far off as we had 
 imagined it, though it might seem a good way to those 
 obliged to dig a path to it through the snow, as the 
 boys in the poem do. 
 
 Finally, after a peep into his mother's bedroom, 
 up two little steps from the kitchen, and hardly larger 
 than an ordinary stateroom, we shall settle down into 
 this good woman's rocking-chair, not forgetting the 
 "gray wizard's conjuring book," the fame of which 
 had spread far and wide through the countryside, into 
 which the children stole a frightened look. Whittier 
 himself informs us that, among the strange people 
 his mother knew in her girlhood, was Bantam the 
 Sorcerer, whose conjuring book, which he opened 
 solemnly to consult, was a copy printed in 1651, of 
 Cornelius Agrippa's "Magic." Mrs. Field mentions 
 in her reminiscences of Whittier that his mother had 
 a firm belief in witchcraft in her younger days, even 
 going so far once as to join with his aunt in making 
 a wax image of a minister they did not like, and in 
 melting it with fire, believing, as they did so, that the 
 disliked man would die. However this may be, the 
 devoutness of her Quakerism is illustrated in the poem 
 by the incident of her grave look when she recited 
 some tale from Sewall or Chalkley — ^ministers and 
 shining lights of the Friends' denomination. As we 
 dream in this old rocking-chair, every member of the 
 
312 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 household, described so vividly by Whittier, seems to 
 start out of the past. We hear the mother telling her 
 tales of her youthful experiences, and how the Indian 
 hordes came down at midnight on Cocheco town; we 
 listen to his father's numerous and various adventures 
 by land and by sea. We warm up at the thought of 
 the romantic survivals in the heart of the spinster 
 aunt. And now we see the two sisters, so strongly 
 contrasted by Whittier. The elder was impulsive, 
 earnest, prompt to act, and almost sternly just, but 
 the younger seems to have been an incarnation of 
 love. For her, the poet's affection is expressed as 
 for no other member of the household. She was his 
 companion not only in his rambles through the coun- 
 try-side, but she was his intellectual companion as 
 well, for she herself had poetical accomplishments of 
 a high order. In describing this sister, he forgets for 
 a time the fireside scene, and expresses only his love 
 for her, falling into reflections upon her death. Most 
 vividly portrayed of aU the group are the school- 
 master and the woman guest. Being outside the fam- 
 ily, the poet probably found it easier to analyze these 
 two. The schoolmaster was one Joshua Coffin, at 
 one time engaged in a dangerous mission connected 
 with slavery, and worthy, therefore, of the poet's en- 
 thusiasm when he exclaims, "Of such as he shall free- 
 dom's young apostles be." He is full of fun and 
 harmless mischief ; but, when necessary, can be a man 
 of action. He is learned, but possesses that grateful 
 softener of learning — humor. 
 
 Not the least interesting of the group is the guest, 
 Harriet Livermore, who seems a strange inmate of 
 this quiet household. When Whittier was a little boy 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 313 
 
 she taught in the little old brown schoolhouse at East 
 Haverhill. At one time she thought of becoming 
 a member of the Society of Friends; but an unlucky- 
 burst of rage discouraged the Friends from admitting 
 her. She ended by becoming a Methodist Perfec- 
 tionist, and was in the habit of insisting that she 
 was incapable of sinning. She became an itinerant 
 preacher. In her journeyings she visited Jerusalem 
 three times, and Egypt, and at another time climbed 
 Mt. Libanus to visit Lady Stanhope, who had mar- 
 ried a sheik of the mountains. Whittier found her a 
 woman, tropical and intense, a blending of a vixen 
 and a devotee: 
 
 "Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 
 Had facile power to form a fist; 
 The warm, dark languish of her eyes 
 Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 
 Brows saintly calm and lips devout 
 Knew every change of scowl and pout; 
 And the sweet voice had notes more high 
 And shrill for social battle-cry." 
 
 Thus pass the figures who were gathered in that 
 plain and unpretentious little room before us, im- 
 mortalized by a poem, which they in turn have made 
 immortal, because it gives a bit of true life from the 
 past. 
 
 This poem may well stand as a type of Whittier 
 at his best, for in it is combined his poetic appreci- 
 ation of the beauty of nature, his keen perception of 
 the values of character, and a reflective note called 
 out by his experiences of change and death, hallowed 
 
314 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 by love and religion. He does not dwell upon the 
 past, but looks forward to the enlarging life of hu- 
 manity, which the developments of later years had 
 made possible. The poem was written in 1866; when 
 he speaks, therefore, of "The Century's Aloe" flow- 
 ering to-day, he is thinking of the larger life opening 
 for America through the winning of the Cause to 
 which he devoted so many years of his life. While 
 this moral triumph means new life for the world, in 
 the love borne to those dear to him who had vanished 
 from earth with the out-lived past, lies the dearer 
 hope of immortality for him who can see "The stars 
 shine through his cypress trees." 
 
 In all the decades — one may almost say centuries — 
 since this house was built, there has been so little 
 building in the neighborhood that it is still true no 
 house can be seen in any direction from it. Even 
 from the uplands behind the house, few habitations 
 are visible, though the view extends over rolling and 
 dimpled country for many miles, to distant hills. Yet 
 the place has such an intimate charm about it that it 
 does not seem at all lonely; perhaps because in our 
 sub-consciousness persists the fact that under the tree- 
 tops nearest at hand is the ever-present trolley, which 
 will whirl us off to the railroad station in the heart of 
 Haverhill in a ride of not more than fifteen minutes. 
 
 In Longfellow's poetry there is no militant note of 
 any sort. He has the perfect calm of the philosopher 
 — not one who has passed through the storm and stress 
 of strangling problems in the realm of ethics and 
 thought, and reached a haven where all is harmonized, 
 but one who has never been aroused to the fact that 
 there were any such problems. He was born into an 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 315 
 
 atmosphere already Unitarian, his bringing up was 
 in that faith, and from it he did not depart. The 
 transcendental flights of Emerson were not only not 
 attractive to him, but were beyond his comprehen- 
 sion. In New England, during the life of Longfellow, 
 Unitarianism had almost the prestige of an estab- 
 lished religion. The best intellects filled its pulpits, 
 and the best society worshiped in its pews. The 
 depraved and sinful himianity of the Puritans had 
 given place to the essentially good humanity of the 
 Unitarians. After searching the Scriptures dili- 
 gently, they did not find sufficient proof of the 
 Trinity, but they found in Jesus the perfect model of 
 manhood, therefore others could attain unto a similar 
 perfection. The Quakers learned of God through 
 the revelation of the still, small voice within them. 
 The Unitarians learned of Him similarly, in the words 
 of Charming, from their own souls: "In these is the 
 fountain of all divine truth. An outward revelation 
 is only possible and intelligible, on the ground of 
 conceptions and principles, previously furnished by 
 the soul." And again, "The grand ideas of Power, 
 Reason, Wisdom, Love, Rectitude, Holiness, Bless- 
 edness, that is, of all God's attributes, come from 
 within, from the action of our own spiritual nature." 
 Longfellow's religion being so thoroughly that of 
 his times, there was no possibihty of religious mili- 
 tancy in his verse. Its ethics, too, being that of Chris- 
 tianity, did. not require expounding, but only reiter- 
 ating; therefore, what thought there is in his poetry 
 takes for granted a settled system of religion and 
 ethics, and falls into a mere pointing of morals, ac- 
 cording to accredited opinion. That this moral is 
 
316 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 often appended at the end of a poem, instead of being 
 emotionally worked into the body of it, brings much 
 of Longfellow's thought under the ban of didacticism. 
 There is a certain advantage, however, in a poet's 
 having no far-reaching ideals to uphold. It leaves 
 his poetic faculty quite free to roam through life or 
 literature on the search for romantic incidents and 
 episodes, which he may work up into forms of beauty, 
 epic, or narrative, or dramatic. Of course, if he be 
 a great poet, we hunt for signs and portents in such 
 poems, of the underlying ideals of the man. If he be 
 not so great, we are content to take the story for 
 itself. 
 
 Modern criticism finds itself committed to a curious 
 paradox in dealing with Longfellow's poetry. It 
 admits that he was, and still is, the most popular of 
 American poets, at the same time that it declares his 
 work to be purely academic. This last assumption is 
 based upon the fact that the bulk of his subject mat- 
 ter is derived from the literature of the past. This is, 
 of course, true, as it is of most of the poets whom we 
 have been accustomed to call great. What poet is 
 there who does not take any story which appeals to 
 his sense of beauty, as subject matter? As Long- 
 fellow's treatment of his stories, even when from his- 
 tory, are notoriously inaccurate, he was certainly not 
 academic, as far as a careful regard for facts is con- 
 cerned. On the contrary, he was romantic, first and 
 last; and this quality it is which makes him popular — 
 that is, his power of telling a story so that it will ap- 
 peal to the sentiments of the average heart — senti- 
 ments that do not grow out of profound knowledge 
 either of men or things, nor yet out of complex 
 

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THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 31T 
 
 emotions, but which are, nevertheless, the sincere feel- 
 ings of those who experience them. 
 
 When Longfellow was writing, there were prob- 
 ably more of these simple natures than there are 
 to-day, though there are still many to whose sym- 
 pathies the poet speaks directly. And possibly to the 
 future critic, so supremely developed that he does not 
 befog himself with his own profundity of thought 
 and his own complexity of emotion, the spontaneity 
 of Longfellow's sentiment upon its own plane may 
 again become evident and to be enjoyed by him, whom 
 I may call the sup.r or heyond-profound, as well as 
 by the simple. Whf ft to Longfellow's romantic tem- 
 perament is added his conventional morality, per- 
 vaded by an undoubted religious atmosphere, yet one 
 never antagonizing by being crystallized into an ex- 
 pression of any particular sect or creed, the remaining 
 element for complete popularity is added. And is 
 it not this conventional aspect of Longfellow's mind 
 which the modern critic has called academic? Lowell, 
 in spite of his greater richness of mood and, at times, 
 greater exaltation of emotion, shows, in his tenden- 
 cies to ruminate over various facets of his sub- 
 ject, more than Longfellow, the effect of academic 
 training. 
 
 Though Longfellow's poetry rarely approaches 
 purely spiritual regions of thought, his long poem, 
 "Christus," was one which reflected most nearly his 
 inner life. But even here, his plan was conventional. 
 Three phrases of religious growth are symbolized, 
 "Faith, Hope and Charity." If we were not told, on 
 good authority, that Longfellow had never departed 
 essentially from his Unitarian views, his treatment of 
 
318 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 the "Divine Tragedy" would indicate him to be a 
 devout Trinitarian. The presentation of this first 
 phase in Christianity is entirely in the light of this 
 doctrine. It is a poem in dramatic form, rather than 
 a drama, and tells very simply, and often beautifully, 
 of the events in the life of Christ, with an occasional 
 imaginative addition in the development of the minor 
 characters. Still, neither in this, in the "Golden 
 Legend," the second part, nor in the third part, "The 
 New England Tragedies," is there any attempt at 
 philosophical or spiritual interpretation. Stories re- 
 flecting the thought and action of each period they 
 are, and nothing more. Even in the interludes, the 
 poet does not contrive to throw in any vision beyond 
 that actually in character with the Abbot Joachim, 
 and Martin Luther, from which we might discover 
 his own spiritual outlook. 
 
 The only passage in which Longfellow seems to 
 be expressing himself is at the end, in an epilogue, 
 put into the mouth of "Saint John wandering over 
 the face of the Earth." Here, a religion of deeds, not 
 creeds, is declared to be the only grace for saving hu- 
 manity. Saint John, weary with his wanderings, 
 having seen kingdoms crumble into dust, and stUl 
 neither peace nor love trimnphing, exclaims: 
 
 "What then! doth Charity fail? 
 Is Faith of no avail? 
 Is Hope blown out like a light. 
 By a gust of wind in the night? 
 The clashing of creeds and the strife 
 Of the many beliefs, that in vain 
 Perplex man's heart and brain, 
 Are naught but the rustle of leaves 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 319 
 
 When the breath of God upheaves 
 
 The boughs of the Tree of Life, 
 
 And they subside again! 
 
 And I remember still 
 
 The words and from whom they came, 
 
 Not he that repeateth the name. 
 
 But he that doeth the will." 
 
 This is the conclusion to which Longfellow's care- 
 ful study of the historical growth of Christianity- 
 brought him, and with it goes a simple faith in Christ 
 as the supreme doer of deeds, and an example to be 
 followed which is far from Calvinism, and truly re- 
 flects the spirit of Unitarianism: 
 
 "And Him evermore I behold 
 
 Walking in Galilee, 
 Through the cornfield's waving gold ; 
 In hamlet, in wood, and in wold. 
 
 By the shores of the Beautiful Sea. 
 He toucheth the sightless eyes ; 
 
 Before Him the demons flee; 
 To the dead He sayeth: Arise 1 
 
 To the living: Follow me! 
 And that voice still soundeth on 
 From the centuries that are gone 
 
 To the centuries that shall be!" 
 
 The strongest note struck by Longfellow is in his 
 feeling for art. It finds expression in one of his lat- 
 est poems, "Michael Angelo," through whose passion 
 for his own art, the conviction grows that, here, in 
 art — the poet's art — ^burned the torch of Longfellow's 
 own loftiest enthusiasm. This is borne out by the fact 
 
320 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 that he was, most exclusively of the whole group, a 
 literary man. 
 
 He chafed at his professorship as long as he held 
 the chair at Harvard, and was only completely satis- 
 fied when his time became all his own, and he could 
 devote as much of it as he wished to his creative work. 
 If his genius did not bear him often into the rarefied 
 regions of the loftiest poetry, he had at least the as- 
 pirations of the true poet, and an unquenchable thirst 
 for poetic beauty, and so he makes Michael Angelo 
 say: 
 
 "Not events 
 Exasperate me, but the funest conclusions 
 I draw from these events ; the sure decline 
 Of art, and all the meaning of that word; 
 All that embellishes and sweetens life. 
 And lifts it from the level of low cares 
 Into the purer atmosphere of beauty; 
 The faith in the Ideal; the inspiration 
 That made the canons of the church of Seville 
 Say, 'Let us build, so that all men hereafter 
 Will say that we were madmen.' " 
 
 In his poems, "Prometheus" and "Epimetheus," 
 Longfellow's poetic fervor is again emphasized, and 
 though he may not have been of the bards he mentions, 
 who, in sublime endeavor, scale the walls of heaven — 
 there are few such — we can say of him, with absolute 
 sincerity in his own words : 
 
 "Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted 
 
 Honor and believe the presage. 
 Hold aloft their torches lighted. 
 Gleaming through the realms benighted, 
 
 As they onward bear the message!" 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 321 
 
 From what has been said, it is evident that Long- 
 fellow's poetry was an outcome of the gentlest and 
 most cultured influences of his time, that it reflected 
 the orthodox liberalism in religion and the pure morals 
 which distinguished the best classes in New England 
 in the first half of the nineteenth century, but that 
 he was in no sense a leader either in spiritual vision 
 or in the making of the momentous events of the 
 times. He was, however, owing to his professorship 
 at Harvard, a leader in the awakening of an interest 
 in literature and poetry for its own sake, and in his 
 work this forward-looking ideal is strongly and di- 
 rectly expressed more than once, while one feels that 
 the impelling motive of all he did was devotion to his 
 own art of bard. 
 
 We go to Whittier if we wish to receive vivid im- 
 pressions of the sterner side of public life in New 
 England, but for impressions of the multifarious 
 activities that belong to the normal social and public 
 life of New England — seen in institutions which re- 
 cord their growth by anniversaries ; diplomatic doings 
 which blossom out in banquets; clubs, which rejoice in 
 periodical dinners, we go to Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 It may seem a waste of time for a poet to devote so 
 much of it to poems for occasions, yet it is no small 
 thing to have been so successful in this kind of poetic 
 effusion that no festival occasion was considered com- 
 plete without a poem from Holmes. Tournaments 
 and Courts of Love had their troubadours and jon- 
 gleurs in the middle ages ; why should not Unitarian 
 societies and mercantile library associations, and the 
 proprietors of the Long Wharf in Boston have theirs 
 in the nineteenth century? — not to speak of innumer- 
 
322 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 able birthdays, arrivals and departures of distin- 
 guished people, from the Grand Duke Alexis to 
 Agassiz, from Humboldt's birthday to President 
 Everett's inauguration at Harvard. Considering how 
 constant the demands were upon his occasional muse, 
 who is, for the most part, a laughter-loving goddess, 
 though she could be gracefully serious at need, it is 
 remarkable what a high grade of cleverness and hu- 
 mor, spiced with sarcasm sometimes, and salted down 
 with wisdom at others, he succeeded in maintaining. 
 Open at random to any of his poems for occasions, 
 and you will fall upon some choice bit, which will at 
 once amuse and show what a penetrating observer of 
 human foibles the merry doctor was. Take this, for 
 example : 
 
 "Sweet is the scene where genial friendship plays 
 The pleasing game of interchanging praise. 
 Self-love, grimalkin of the human heart, 
 Is ever pliant to the master's art ; 
 Soothed with a word, she peacefully withdraws 
 And sheathes in velvet her obnoxious claws, 
 And thrills the hand that smooths her glossy fur 
 With the light tremor of her grateful purr." 
 
 Or this piece of pure fun and nonsense, from "A 
 Modest Request": 
 
 "The Speech. (The speaker, rising to be seen, 
 Looks very red because so very green.) 
 I rise — I rise — with unafiPected fear — 
 (Louder! — Speak louder! — Who the deuce can hear.') 
 I rise — I said — with undisguised dismay — 
 Such are my feelings as I rise, I say! 
 
Beacon Street House of Holmes 
 From a photograph by Ethel C. Brown 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 323 
 
 Quite unprepared to face this learned throng, 
 Already gorged with eloquence and song; 
 Around my view are ranged on either hand 
 The genius, wisdom, virtue of the land; 
 'Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,' 
 Close at my elbow stir their lemonade." 
 
 It is safe to say that if all the records of nineteenth- 
 century New England were swept away, and from 
 the ruins should be excavated a copy of Holmes's 
 poems, it would furnish all that would be needed in 
 the way of material for the reconstruction of a pic- 
 ture showing the genial manners and customs of the 
 religion-enfranchised descendants of the Puritans. 
 
 Besides these larger aspects of social life, one will 
 find an almost complete record of the formal and so- 
 cial life of Harvard College, from the time of his 
 graduation to his death. Constantly he was called 
 on for poems, both at the formal ceremonies and at 
 the annual meetings of his class, which graduated 
 in 1829. 
 
 Holmes was not, like Longfellow, bred in Unita- 
 rian doctrine. He even studied at Andover, the 
 stronghold of Calvinism, after the progressive spirit 
 of Harvard had left Calvinism behind. He was not 
 the man, however, to withstand the spirit of the age, 
 and so he departed from the ways of his father, and 
 became a sound Unitarian. His Unitarianism, how- 
 ever, did not take him finally in the direction of the 
 more spiritualized religious attitude of Emerson. He 
 could truly say, "I like a church," for not only was 
 he a constant attendant at King's Chapel, but one of 
 his most cherished ambitions was to write fine hymns. 
 Looking through his work, one will find quite a num- 
 
324 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ber of his occasional poems written in this form. 
 Holmes was, in fact, a curious outcome of New Eng- 
 land civilization. His orthodox inheritance was 
 probably responsible for his conservatism in many di- 
 rections. He not only loved the "trappings" of the 
 church, but he loved the people who had grandfathers, 
 though he does admit that a man without a family 
 portrait may, after being proved, turn out to be re- 
 spectable. Still this is very far from the all-embracing 
 democracy of Whittier. He was slow to see the 
 worth of social reform; he regarded mystical vagaries 
 as mere fancies; yet the Pilgrim's birthright of a 
 desire for freedom concentrated itself upon his neces- 
 sity for a more rational basis of religious thought 
 than he found in Calvinism. Having arrived at this 
 point, so characteristic of the time, was there any ele- 
 ment of progressive thought which he especially em- 
 phasized? Emotionally, as we have seen, he was 
 chiefly social in his poetic expression, but there is a 
 distinctively new note brought by him into the poetry 
 of the period, a note which is due probably both to 
 the rationalistic bent of his mind and to his scientific 
 training. Such a poem as "The Living Temple" is 
 based on the accurate scientific knowledge of the pro- 
 fessor of anatomy, and that he has transmuted this 
 knowledge into genuine poetry should silence all those 
 who insist that science cannot be poetic. Take, for 
 example, this description of the brain, and its mar- 
 velous powers : 
 
 "Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 
 All thought in its mysterious folds; 
 That feels sensation's faintest thrill. 
 And flashes forth the sovereign will. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 325 
 
 Think on the stormy world that dwells 
 Locked in its dim and clustering cells! 
 The lightning gleams of power it sheds 
 Along its hollow glassy threads !" 
 
 Besides those poems in which the scientific lore of 
 the physician is prominent, there are others in which 
 allusions of a special scientific nature occur, showing 
 a familiarity on his part with other branches of science 
 than his own. Imitative coloring in nature is touched 
 on in these lines from "The Mind's Diet": 
 
 "When the fiirst larvae on the ehn are seen, 
 The crawling wretches, like its leaves, are green ; 
 Ere chill October shakes the latest down. 
 They, like the foliage, change their tint to brown." 
 
 And here is a stanza "compounded" of allusions 
 based upon a knowledge of cosmic and geological 
 evolution: 
 
 "Eternal Truth! beyond our hopes and fears 
 Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres ! 
 From age to age while history carves sublime 
 On her waste rock the flaming curves of time. 
 How the wild swayings of our planet show 
 That worlds unseen surround the world we know !" 
 
 The poem which reflects most completely his habit- 
 ually scientific attitude of mind is the long one from 
 "The Poet at the Breakfast Table," "Wind-Clouds 
 and Star-Drifts." Holmes is intensely in earnest in 
 this poem, and from it one may glean more of this 
 poet's genuine thought than from any other of his 
 
326 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 poems. In this the young astronomer discourses 
 upon a number of subjects with the true scientific 
 spirit. His ambition is to discover a planet to which 
 his name shall be linked. Far better such a garland 
 of fame, which time cannot change, than the laurel 
 of the hero, whose fame will be stamped out by some 
 stronger hero. He rises, however, to the higher stand 
 that it is even greater to leave your work to humanity 
 without your name. In the second division "Regrets," 
 the mood is one, at first, of scorn for mankind's little 
 life as contrasted with the life and death of worlds. 
 The astronomical imagery here is very fine. The 
 possible future of the earth is foreseen: 
 
 "When the old hulk we tread shall be a wreck, 
 A slag, a cinder, drifting through the sky." 
 
 Or, as the new-born seer, with greater wisdom fore- 
 tells, the time must come when its growing mass, — 
 
 "Pelted with star-dust, stoned with meteor balls. 
 Heats like a hammered anvil, till at last 
 Man and his works and all that stirred itself 
 Of its own motion, in the fiery glow 
 Turns to a flaming vapor, and our orb 
 Shines a new sun for earths that shall be born." 
 
 What profits all earthly fame in view of this catas- 
 trophe? The result of this meditation is to awaken in 
 the astronomer's mind a wish to exchange all the 
 myriad lifeless worlds he visits for one poor patch of 
 earth, where he may in word or deed serve mankind. 
 
 In the third division the astronomer decides to tell 
 in verse to his Muse the story of his life. 4 boy run 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 327 
 
 wild from books and teachers, he had been sought by 
 an aged scholar, learned in astronomy, whose pupil he 
 became. He grows to be master of all the wise man's 
 learning, and in the end, the guardian of his fame, his 
 staff and his guide, imtU at last the old man died. 
 Left alone to watch the silent worlds that crowd the 
 sky, he became the searcher of the causes of all things. 
 The following lines express exactly the scientific at- 
 titude of mind of the nineteenth century, and may 
 be taken as an index to the poet's own : 
 
 "Thus have I learned to search if I may know 
 The whence and why of all beneath the stars 
 And all beyond them ; and to weigh my life 
 As in a balance, — poising good and ill 
 Against each other, — asking of the Power 
 That flung me forth among the whirling worlds. 
 If I am heir to any inborn right. 
 Or only as an atom of the dust 
 That every wind may blow where'er it will." 
 
 He goes on in the same scientific spirit to declare 
 that his search for truth will be absolutely fearless, 
 his life shall be a challenge, not a truce! Under the 
 divisions "Worship" and "Manhood," are meditations 
 upon the nature of God. He shows, as a Spencer or a 
 Fiske might, the differing conceptions of God which 
 have been held by mankind, except that his thought 
 is instinct with the passion of the poet. He does not 
 spare to express his scorn for the crude conceptions 
 of the past, especially when they are those of his 
 ancestors, near enough at hand to bring home fully 
 the horrors of their cruelty, — ^horrors 
 
328 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 "That blot the blue of heaven and shame the earth 
 As would the saurians of the age of slime, 
 Awaking from their stony sepulchres 
 And wallowing hateful in the eye of day." 
 
 The triumph of man to-day is that he is himself a 
 god, — conscious that no conception of God is final, 
 but that it must ever become higher and purer as 
 man's developing spirit reveals to him loftier ranges 
 of moral and spiritual beauty: 
 
 "Ye are as gods ! Nay, makers of your gods, — 
 Each day ye break an image in your shrine 
 And plant a fairer image where it stood." 
 
 As the poet works out his own conception of the 
 nature of the divine mind, he argues that mankind 
 and even the brutes have rights as well as God. A 
 God who, like the artist-potter, fashions the clay upon 
 his wheel, to be broken or preserved, according to his 
 will, can demand only such love as the dead clay might 
 feel to the hand that shapes it. By endowing man- 
 kind and the brute creation with life, God has given 
 them rights. He cannot believe that God has left the 
 human soul entirely a prey to its own weakness. He 
 must believe that God, — 
 
 "Is better than our fears, and will not wrong 
 The least, the meanest of created things." 
 
 Somewhat sad are the moods in which the poet 
 speaks of the ephemeralness of truths, and the per- 
 sistence of a need for idols to symbolize divine truth. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 329 
 
 He is overwhelmed for the time with a sense of human 
 limitations. 
 
 This feeling, however, gives place to one of belief 
 in humanity through the power of love, — a love so 
 great that it would long to leave the bliss of heaven 
 to give a little water to one beloved on earth who had 
 yet missed eternal bliss, and in this realization of the 
 power of human love lies the assurance of a divine 
 love as tender and compassionate as woman's love, 
 long-suffering, gentle, ready to meet the wanderer 
 ere he reach the door he seeks, forgetful of his sin. 
 
 Holmes was not a believer in the suffrage for 
 women, yet in his highest conception of God he 
 included a love such as belongs only to a woman's 
 heart: 
 
 "Not from the sad-eyed hermit's lonely cell. 
 Not from the conclave where the holy men 
 Glare on each other, as with angry eyes 
 They battle for God's glory and their own. 
 Till, sick of wordy strife, a show of hands 
 Fixes the faith of ages yet unborn, — 
 Ah, not from these the listening soul can hear 
 The Father's voice that speaks itself divine! 
 Love must be still our Master ; till we learn 
 What he can teach us of a woman's heart. 
 We know not His Whose love embraces all." 
 
 The course of reasoning followed in this poem is 
 sufficient to prove that, of the group of poets under 
 consideration. Holmes was the only one possessing 
 the modern scientific temper. Fearlessly, in the light 
 of all scientific knowledge, he seeks truth and arrives, 
 not at the materialism, which has been the portion of 
 
330 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 men less endowed with emotional perception and a 
 sense of justice than he, — but at a clarified conception 
 of God and religion. 
 
 When we place together such poems as "Grand- 
 mother's Story of Bunker Hill," showing his dra- 
 matic power, "The Living Temple," showing his 
 power of transmuting accurate scientific knowledge 
 into genuine poetry, and "Wind-Clouds and Star- 
 Drifts," showing not only the scientific sweep of his 
 mind, but his power of philosophical meditation, we 
 are fairly startled by the versatility displayed, and can 
 but regret that he was not more loyal to his serious 
 muse. With such power, as is shown in these poems, 
 at command, he might have made himself as unique 
 and as great a poet as Robert Browning. He was, im- 
 fortunately, too close to the Calvinism he detested. 
 His new-won freedom of conscience gave to a social 
 life which he might enjoy without fear of damnation, 
 too great a fascination, hence he will be known as a 
 poet of clever dinner-verses, instead of as one who 
 could think great thoughts, portray life with dramatic 
 power, and draw, through his scientific knowledge, 
 upon a new source of metaphor and allusion with 
 consummate power. 
 
 Lowell, like Longfellow, was farther removed from 
 Calvinism than Holmes, and, probably for that 
 reason, does not express any such rooted aversion 
 to the creed of his forefathers as Holmes does. 
 Neither, on the other hand, does he like churchly man- 
 ifestations of religion. His poem, "The Cathedral," 
 may very fittingly be compared with "Wind-Clouds 
 and Star-Drifts," with a view to discovering what 
 shades of difference there were in the religious atti- 
 
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 o 
 
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 o 
 o 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 331 
 
 tude of the two poets. Avowedly subjective, as most 
 of Lowell's poetry is, he shows himself in this poem 
 to be an intuitionalist. He believed in a faculty which 
 makes man directly cognizant of the Divine: 
 
 "This life were brutish did we not sometimes Have 
 intimations clear of wider scope, . . . yearnings 
 of unsullied desire. Fruitless, except we now and then 
 divined A mystery of Purpose, gleaming through the 
 secular confusions of the world." 
 
 He declares that though he still prays at morning 
 and at evening, he does not know which to hold worst 
 enemy, — 
 
 "Him who on speculation's windy waste 
 Would turn me loose, stript of the raiment warm 
 By Faith contrived against our nakedness, 
 Or him who, cruel-kind, would fain obscure, 
 With painted saints and paraphrase of God, 
 The soul's east-window of divine surprise. 
 Where others worship, I but look and long; 
 For, though not recreant to my fathers' faith, 
 Its forms to me are weariness, and most 
 That drony vacuum of compulsory prayer. 
 Still pumping phrase for the Ineffable, 
 Though all the valves of memory gasp and wheeze." 
 
 He perceives, hke Holmes, that each age must wor- 
 ship its own thought of God, but he does not go forth 
 upon the search for his image led by science. Where 
 Holmes expresses faith in the fearless search for the 
 truth, which he finally finds in the human heart, 
 Lowell sets up faith against science: 
 
 "Shall we treat Him as if He were a child 
 That knew not His own purpose? nor dare trust 
 
332 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 The Rock of Ages to their chemic tests, 
 Lest some day the all-sustaining base divine 
 Should fail from under us, dissolved in gas?" 
 
 In other words, to Holmes it seems rational to 
 believe in God. Justice and love demand it. For 
 Lowell, no logical argument against the existence of 
 God could shake his faith. By sympathy of nature 
 he declares, I 
 
 "Have evidence of Thee so far above, 
 Yet in and of me." 
 
 This is good Unitarian doctrine, and proves that 
 Lowell was not at all beyond his time in thought, 
 while Holmes, in making science the handmaid of 
 religion, was fully abreast if not ahead of his time. 
 
 Akin to Longfellow in his unadventurous, religious 
 thought, Lowell was more akin to Whittier in his 
 moral fervor, expressed in his love of the ideal of 
 freedom and of the ideal of country. From this last 
 feehng was developed his especial meaning for his 
 age, which was not like Whittier's, to be the evangel 
 of democracy in its farthest-reaching aspects, but to 
 be the critic of that country which he loved; to hold 
 up to scorn and satire the meannesses, the low ideals, 
 the underhanded policies which have endangered the 
 social and political fabric, and to long with intense 
 longing that his country might have a future made 
 noble by integrity of character and beautiful by 
 sincerity in art, without which, it may be added, 
 Whittier's most golden dreams of democracy and 
 Emerson's most spiritual visions of freedom will ac- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 333 
 
 complish no more for humanity than the autocracies 
 of the past. 
 
 In Emerson we have the final blossom of the spir- 
 itual development of New England. Descended 
 from a line of Unitarian ministers, himself a Unita- 
 rian minister, his strongly individualistic mind could 
 not remain within the folds of a flock even so little 
 penned in as that of this liberal church. In his search 
 for knowledge, the thought of all idealistic thinkers 
 became his. Plato and Brahma were his familiar 
 spirits, his daemons, — while German and French phi- 
 losophers were the attendants upon the car of his 
 Muse, From all of these he took just the nutriment 
 best suited for the development of his own genius, 
 with the result that in him is most completely mani- 
 fested the truth that out of ethics, philosophy and 
 science may be fashioned an art which will express 
 beauty in forms of the most lofty inspiration. 
 
 Fully to understand what meaning Emerson's 
 poetry has, not only for his own land, but for all 
 time, it will be instructive to consider for a moment 
 some aspects of the war which has been waged for 
 many centuries between the disciples of beauty, based 
 upon emotion, as the sole element necessary to poetry, 
 and the defenders of ethics, philosophy and latterly 
 science, as legitimate ores from which poetry may be 
 minted. 
 
 Plato, no doubt, thought he had said the last word 
 on the subject over two thousand years ago, when 
 he, in a certain sense, combined the opposing elements 
 by declaring that poetry should deal only with en- 
 nobling subjects, in order that the youths should be 
 taught heroism and other Greek virtues. He would 
 
334. THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 have turned Beauty herself into a bespectacled mis- 
 tress of ethics, and who would dare to say that in 
 this character she might not bewitch all who gazed 
 upon her? 
 
 Dreary recollections of long-drawn arguments on 
 this or kindred subjects haimt the waking hours of 
 those unnamed brave who have had the courage to 
 explore the Sahara which so conspicuously fills up the 
 greater part of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen- 
 turies in German literature. 
 
 One might have thought that Goethe, combining 
 in his own intellectual personahty as he did, both the 
 poetic and the scientific insight, might, like a Colossus, 
 have placed one foot on the head of each faction 
 and crushed them out forever. But not a million 
 Goethes could stamp out this perennially interesting 
 subject of discussion; the wise and the foolish of all 
 lands still continue to hurl their weapons of wisdom 
 into the thick of the milee, and from time to time the 
 true poet comes in, like the third dog in the nursery 
 tale, and carries off the bone. 
 
 No harmonizing solution is proposed, but there re- 
 mains an unexplained residuum, which will send men 
 off forever on fresh phases of the discussion; just as 
 no system of metaphysics ever has or ever will be 
 proposed which will not leave some end hanging to 
 give man for ages hence opportimities to formulate 
 new theories. 
 
 To the onlooker, however, this battle between 
 Beauty and, metaphorically speaking, the Beast, ap- 
 pears rather as a skirmish of light infantry, than as 
 a foe-annihilating cannonade of heavy artillery; and 
 if only the magic spell which the wicked fairy, Prej- 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 335 
 
 udice, has cast upon the Beast, could be dispelled, 
 Beauty might recognize him as her own most worthy 
 spouse. 
 
 Those, perhaps, come nearest to expressing a fun- 
 damental truth who hold that beauty should be the 
 aim of poetry, though they do not, it is to be feared, 
 always see the far-reaching grasp of their own state- 
 ment; for is not beauty the most inclusive of all ab- 
 stractions? Truth may be foul, body and soul; good- 
 ness is not necessarily beautiful in body; but beauty 
 must be beautiful, body and soul, or it is not entirely 
 itself. But, though truth is often relatively ugly, 
 within it lie latent the possibilities of goodness, and, 
 ultimately, of beauty — the exquisite, pearly tints of 
 the orchid, the perfect form, are immanent in the un- 
 sightly root. 
 
 Instead of declaring, with Keats, that truth is 
 beauty, it is more in harmony with the conception of 
 a developing vmiverse to say that truth is everywhere 
 in process of becoming beauty, and finally will merge 
 in its "ultimate prime" into the full noontide splen- 
 dor of perfect beauty whose soul is love. 
 
 Goodness shall also find its completest blossoming 
 in beauty. He is a wise thinker who says that a good 
 action is not perfectly moral until it is perfectly nat- 
 ural, perfectly spontaneous; and consequently, when 
 a purely ideal moral stage is reached, ethics, with its 
 rules leading to the production of goodness, will dis- 
 appear. Beauty is indeed like the "Nunpholeptos" 
 of Browning's poem, the white light of the manifesta- 
 tion of the absolute, in which converge the prismatic 
 rays of all other less complete abstractions. 
 
 But since the limited human mind in its strivings 
 
336 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 must be debarred from attaining the white light of 
 beauty, how shall the poet decide where lie the im- 
 bedded seeds of beauty, which he, with his mdividual 
 apportionment of imaginative power, is to develop? 
 This is a point around which the forces on both sides 
 rally with renewed vigor. 
 
 To refer again to Plato, in the "Laws," he com- 
 mends the Egyptians for establishing laws of beauty 
 which for thousands of years were religiously fol- 
 lowed, and suggests that it would be a good thing 
 for the Athenians to do likewise; but who will not be 
 thankful that the Egyptian standards were not ac- 
 cepted for all time, or that Greek standards were not 
 conclusive? Had the Egyptian standards reigned 
 supreme we should never have had the wondrous de- 
 velopments of Greek art ; and had the Greeks reigned 
 supreme, where would have been the marvels of the 
 Gothic age? In short, beauty, in the words of 
 George Eliot's Guildenstern, is "not a seedless, root- 
 less flower; it has grown with human growth, which 
 means the rising sun of human struggle, order, knowl- 
 edge — sense trained to a fuller record, more exact 
 — to truer guidance of each passionate force." 
 
 It would be foolish to declare that there is 
 any subject in which an anointed poet may not 
 find and draw forth into blossom the latent seed of 
 beauty. 
 
 The great world-artist has put beauty into myriads 
 of forms of inconceivable variety. Here blooms the 
 modest quaker-lady, making spring fields bright 
 with its delicate hue caught from morning skies. It 
 has no perfume, no use, — only a dainty form and 
 color; but hard by, the violet, with a deeper passion 
 
o 
 
 iZ! 
 O 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 337 
 
 lent it by the purple glow of less cloudless skies, 
 freights the air with its sweet scent. Form, color, 
 perfume, — all lend their aid in the production of this 
 image of beauty. And far above extend the shelter- 
 ing trees with sturdy trunks and knotty branches, 
 with bark so rough that quaker-ladies and violets 
 well might shudder could they look upon it; and 
 doubtless they would never realize that the strength 
 and grandeur of the trees would not be possible 
 with stems as soft and green as theirs. They might 
 even doubt the beauty of the tree, for, with 
 their tiny vision, how could they grasp it in its 
 entirety? 
 
 The himian artist, following the bent of his God- 
 father, and in spite of quaker-lady and violet opinion, 
 also puts beauty into many and varying forms. With 
 his magic wand, he transforms mere words into lyr- 
 ical forms as delicate, as useless — shall I say? — as al- 
 together lovely — and therefore not useless — as the 
 quaker-lady. 
 
 Another sweep of the wand and there appears a 
 sonnet laden with the perfume of the deepest, most 
 sacred passions of the human heart. Another, and lo ! 
 a mighty tree, a "Prometheus Unbound," whose 
 spreading branches are supported on the stout stem 
 of philosophical thought, or a "Ring and the Book," 
 where the play of mind on mind, soul on soul, is the 
 sublimated soil from which the blossom of beauty 
 springs. 
 
 With none of these manifestations of beauty are 
 we willing to part, nor are disparaging comparisons 
 between them possible. Behold in each and every case 
 a mystery not to be fathomed. Wherever beauty is. 
 
338 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 there has a spark of Infinity been given visible sem- 
 blance. 
 
 The real soul of a work of art is not dependent 
 on the thought, the goodness, the truth, the metaphys- 
 ics, the ethics, or the lack of aU these which the poet 
 puts into it, any more than the beauty of a statue de- 
 pends upon the raw material of which it is made. The 
 materials, whatever they are, are but means to an 
 end; and aU materials supplied by Nature, whether 
 of the emotions, the intellect or the mind, may con- 
 tribute to artistic expression, the end of which is 
 beauty. 
 
 The only test of whether the poet has succeeded in 
 combining those materials with which he has chosen 
 to body forth his conception into an image of beauty, 
 is the recognition of an intangible something which, 
 when the reader reads, makes his blood flow quickly 
 and the inexplicable sensation, which is called delight, 
 suffuse his being. To some, doubtless, only the 
 quaker-ladies and violets of poetry give pleasure, — 
 that is all of beauty to which they respond; but there 
 are others whose emotions thrill upon the perusal of 
 a consciously philosophical poem, like, for example, 
 "The Sun," in "Ferishtah's Fancies," — ^not because 
 of the beauty of the truth contained in it, but because 
 out of the materials chosen the poet has moulded 
 images of beauty. As Emerson says, "The laws of 
 this translation we do not know, or why one feature 
 or gesture enchants, why one word or syllable intoxi- 
 cates ; but the fact is familiar that the fine touch of the 
 eye, or a grace of manners, or a phrase of poetry, 
 plants wings at our shoulders; as if Divinity, in his 
 approaches, lifts away mountains of obstruction, and 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 339 
 
 deigns to draw a truer line, which the mind knows and 
 owns." 
 
 No more interesting example could be found as an 
 illustration of the truth of the foregoing suggestions 
 than the poetry of Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was 
 a passionate lover of beauty, which he called the 
 "most enduring quality and the most ascending qual- 
 ity .. . the pilot of the yoimg soul": 
 
 "Whom the Infinite One 
 Has granted His throne." 
 
 Though he attempts no definition of beauty, 
 warned, as he says, by the ill-fate of many philoso- 
 phers who had essayed its definition, his conception 
 of beauty is deep and far-reaching. It must be or- 
 ganic, not external ; the form which beauty takes must 
 be the natural result of a beautiful conception, and 
 the measure of beauty depends upon its suggestion 
 of brotherhood with the universal, for "all beauty 
 points at identity. . . . Into every beautiful ob- 
 ject there enters somewhat immeasurable and divine, 
 and just as much into form bounded by outlines, like 
 mountains on the horizon, as into tones of music or 
 depths of space." 
 
 Upon this view the poet becomes not so much a 
 conscious fashioner as an inspired singer, in whose 
 ear "God whispers," and the result is a poem which 
 unfolds itself as naturally as a flower into its appro- 
 priate form of beauty. 
 
 The office of the poet is, in Emerson's opinion, the 
 most exalted among those in the gift of the Muses. 
 "He is the healthy, the wise, the fundamental, the 
 
340 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 manly man, seer of the secret; against all the ap- 
 pearance, he sees and reports the truth, namely, that 
 the soul generates matter." Not only then must the 
 poet be a philosopher in the vague, general sense in 
 which the term is used, he must be an idealistic phi- 
 losopher; the "ineffable mysteries of the intellect," 
 wherein is reached the loftiest pinnacle to which 
 beauty may attain, must be his exalted theme. 
 
 It must be admitted that this is a noble conception 
 of the poet's oflEice ; yet one cannot but see that it is, in 
 a certain sense, limited by Emerson's own vision. 
 Poets are no longer members of a struggling himian- 
 ity who catch occasional glimpses of celestial splen- 
 dor; indeed, his poet is an image of Divinity itself. 
 There seems to be little room in his mind for the poet 
 whose function has been to polish but a facet of the 
 rough truth in the infinite gem of beauty; thus he 
 can find it in his heart to complain that, "Homer, 
 Milton, Shakespeare do not fully content us. How 
 rarely they offer us the heavenly bread! The most 
 they have done is to intoxicate us again and again 
 with its taste." 
 
 The poetry of Emerson naturally reflects his con- 
 victions in regard to the poet. His idealistic philos- 
 ophy is the very body of it. Consciously he sets out 
 to translate "God's whispers" into messages, audible 
 to the rest of mankind, and according to the followers 
 of Milton's wornout saying, that poetry should be 
 simple, sensuous, and passionate, one should be pre- 
 pared to find this philosophical poetry dull stuff. Yet, 
 those who find it otherwise may also claim Milton on 
 their side, for in one of the loveliest of his own poems, 
 "Comus," he declares: 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 341 
 
 "How charming- is divine philosophy ; 
 Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute." 
 
 If this had been an a priori statement of Milton's, 
 awaiting proof, no more convincing proof could have 
 arisen than the poetry of Emerson. It matters not 
 whether his philosophy was intuitional or the result of 
 slowly acquired knowledge (probably he did not 
 know himself how much of it could be explained by 
 natural mental processes), the fact remains, that it 
 ought to silence all carpers against philosophy in 
 poetry, — that Emerson took it for his main theme, 
 and draped it in such imagery as has fallen to the lot 
 of few themes in poetry. 
 
 That a beautiful conception finds its appropriate 
 expression not only in the spontaneity of its imagery, 
 but in that of its rhyme and rhythm, was Emerson's 
 belief. He says, speaking of melody, rhyme and 
 form, "The difference between poetry and stock 
 poetry is this, that in the latter the rhythm is given 
 and the sense adapted to it; while in the former the 
 sense dictates the rhythm; I might even say that the 
 rhyme is there in the theme, thought, and image them- 
 selves. . . . The verse must be alive and in- 
 separable from its contents, as the soul of man in- 
 spires and directs the body." 
 
 Upon this theory Emerson wrote his poetry; and, 
 while in many cases the result is satisfactory, there are 
 others where, in spite of poetical figures, the expres- 
 sion is sadly marred through awkward rhyming and 
 clumsy rhythm. Emerson himself would most likely 
 have laid the blame upon the thought; for, with his 
 
342 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 supreme reliance upon intuition, he seems, like most 
 idealists, to be blind to the opposite aspects of things. 
 Doubtless a beautiful conception must be in the mind 
 of a painter before he can produce a beautiful picture, 
 but what would become of his picture if he were not 
 acquainted with the laws of perspective? "God's 
 whispers" may be His supreme marks of favor to His 
 chosen few; but He has given an inheritance of intel- 
 lect to mankind which even the favored should not 
 overlook in the light of His higher gifts. A poet 
 should surely fashion his intuitions in the sunlight of 
 his knowledge. The Divine gift is given that the 
 Divine inheritance may exert its functions to the ut- 
 termost, never as master, but as faithful servant. 
 
 Though we may doubt that a fine thought always 
 naturally finds its most appropriate expression with- 
 out any conscious manipulation on the part of the 
 poet, Emerson certainly possessed the knack, to an 
 uncommon degree, of presenting his thought in won- 
 derfully beautiful and appropriate language. 
 
 In the closing passage of "Wood-Notes," part of 
 which has already been quoted, is a superb example 
 of the characteristic intensity with which he makes 
 a great thought flash into being. Here he describes 
 the march of evolution, not from the standpoint of 
 the scientist, who sees only the blind, inevitable forces 
 of nature, but from the secret chamber of the idealist, 
 who sees it as the constant, changing aspect of the 
 eternal mind: 
 
 "From form to form he maketh haste; 
 This vault which glows immense with light 
 Is the inn where he lodges for the night. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 343 
 
 What recks such Traveller if the bowers 
 
 Which bloom and fade like meadow flowers 
 
 A bunch of fragrant lilies be, 
 
 Or the stars of eternity? 
 
 Alike to him the better the worse, — 
 
 The glowing angel, the outcast corse. 
 
 Thou metest him by centuries. 
 
 And lo! he passes like the breeze; 
 
 Thou seekest in globe and galaxy, 
 
 He hides in pure transparency ; 
 
 Thou askest in fountains and in fires, 
 
 He is the essence that inquires." 
 
 The beauty of this passage is irresistible. We seem 
 to feel the rush of the world-spirit through our own 
 being in its inexorable flight into Eternity. If there 
 is any criticism to be made, one would not pick on 
 faulty rhymes, or halting lines, for any such are lost 
 in the cumulative effect, which is striking; one would 
 rather find some lack of warmth in the conception. 
 After all, the world-spirit as represented by Emer- 
 son, is strikingly like the scientist's persistent energy. 
 It recks not whether stars be stars, or flowers, flowers ; 
 alike to him the "glowing angel and the outcast 
 corse." There is no hint that love is the ruling im- 
 pulse of this mind. Its conditions are but appear- 
 ances; in its essence, it is unconditioned, — a being 
 which it makes the mind ache to think of. Just the 
 touch lacking in this poem is added by Browning, 
 when he speaks in "Paracelsus": 
 
 "How God tastes an infinite joy 
 In infinite ways — one everlasting 
 
 bliss 
 
344 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 From whom all being emanates, all power 
 Proceeds : in whom is life forevermore !" 
 
 But warmth is not an attribute of Emerson's 
 poetry. It sparkles, rather, with the beauty of stars 
 on a winter night. 
 
 Love is lifted by him into this same rarefied at- 
 mosphere; where, though the flame is pure and clear, 
 it has not much tenderness : 
 
 ''Higher far into the pure realm 
 Over sun and star. 
 Over the flickering Daemon film, 
 Thou must mount for love." 
 
 If his failures in rhyme, and his sometimes monot- 
 onous metre, seem to militate against Emerson's own 
 theory in regard to verse, when he essayed blank verse 
 the organity of his thought with that form of ex- 
 pression receives justification. Then his high, pure 
 thoughts flow forth without let or hindrance, his won- 
 drous tropes are not marred by the exigencies of 
 Unes upon which the rhyming axe comes down with 
 fatal regularity. "The Sea Shore" has already been 
 instanced as a fine example of Emerson's blank verse, 
 and was there ever a more exquisite bit than the little 
 poem called "Days"! "Musketaquid" is another of 
 his perfect poems. What exquisite turns of expres- 
 sion, and dainty alliteration in the opening lines of 
 this poem. Take these, for instance: 
 
 "For me, in showers, in sweeping showers, the Spring 
 Visits the valley; — break away the clouds, — 
 I bathe in the morn's soft and silvered air, 
 And loiter willing by yon loitering stream. 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 345 
 
 Sparrows far off, and nearer April's bird, 
 Blue-coated, — flying from tree to tree, 
 Courageous sing a delicate overture 
 To lead the tardy concert of the year." 
 
 The simplest commonplaces of Nature were turned 
 by Emerson's heavenly alchemy into beauteous pic- 
 tures; for, let him go where'er he would, he heard 
 "a sky-born music still," like the poet he describes : 
 
 "The free winds told him what they knew, 
 Discoursed of fortune as they blew; 
 Omens and signs that fill the air 
 To him, authentic witness bare." 
 
 As hinted before, the very loftiness of Emerson's 
 conception of poetry limits his range. It is the uni- 
 versal, all-embracing truths that the poet is to sing. 
 But to give the most vivid impressions of great uni- 
 versal truths, grand generalizations alone will not 
 suffice; it is necessary to have clear pictures of in- 
 numerable, distinct phases of human experience, such 
 as the dramatic poet offers. Universality is made 
 most apparent through the contrasting of many in- 
 dividualities. Unlike Whitman, who was overmas- 
 tered by the idea of the equal and exalted importance 
 of every individual manifestation, Emerson was so 
 overmastered by the general, universal relations ex- 
 isting among all phenomena of mind and matter that 
 the particular or special relations between groups of 
 phenomena and the importance of the individual are 
 passed over. He sits on high like the Hindoo Bfah- 
 ma, the tide of the downward flow of Nature from 
 the Godhead, with all its various and intricate mani- 
 
346 THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 
 
 festations, has turned, and all Nature is again being 
 absorbed into the Divine spirit. 
 
 The human struggles and aspirations of men and 
 women do not interest him; all Nature is lovely, — 
 
 "But man crouches and blushes, 
 
 Absconds and conceals ; 
 He creepeth and peepeth. 
 
 He palters and steals ; 
 Infirm, melancholy. 
 
 Jealous, glancing around. 
 An oaf, an accomplice, 
 
 He poisons the ground." 
 
 Though the poet knows that "Deep love lieth under 
 these pictures of time," and that "They fade in the 
 light of their meaning sublime," he is better contented 
 not to dwell upon man in his oaf-hke aspect. Though 
 he finds that in the "mud and scum of things there 
 alway, alway something sings," he prefers to contem- 
 plate beauty in perfection, rather than in the half- 
 tints of beauty he could find among the haunts of men. 
 
 He bids farewell to the proud world, with its love 
 and pride of man, the sophist schools, the learned 
 clans, — 
 
 "For what are they all in their high conceit. 
 When man in the bush with God may meet.'"' 
 
 So he returns ever to Nature. The ineffable mys- 
 teries of the intellect he does not seem to find among 
 his f eUow men ; he looks forward to them in the man 
 of whom Nature sings to him in her song, — a man 
 "the sunburnt world" shall breed "Of all the zones 
 and countless days." 
 
THE POETS' NEW ENGLAND 347 
 
 We find that the realm of beauty over which Em- 
 erson holds sway, like those of his brother poets, has 
 boundaries, yet within those boundaries is a magic 
 garden, where leaf and twig are instinct with auroral 
 light. He casts his mystic glamor on land and sea, 
 and we feel ourselves touched for brief, sweet mo- 
 ments with the poet's own imaginative vision; we, 
 too, can exclaim with him, "My books and chair 
 and candlestick are fairies in disguise, meteors and 
 constellations." 
 
 THE END 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Acadia in Maine, 127, 129. 
 Agamenticus, 6, 63, 81. 
 Agassiz, 286, 287. 
 Agioochoofc, 63. 
 Algonquins, 79, 80, 81. 
 Amesbury, 6, 8, 9, 257. 
 Annexation of Texas, 185. 
 Anti-Slavery agitation, Tlie, 169- 
 
 205. 
 Appledore, 62. 
 
 Basin of Minas, 127. 
 
 Beacon Street, 36, 38. 
 
 Berkshire County, 21. 
 
 Berksliire Hills, 23, 53. 
 
 Block Island, 112, 113. 
 
 Boar's Head, 57. 
 
 Boston, 36, 41, 120, 121, 129, 147, 
 148, 171, 220, 222. 
 
 Boston Common, 157. 
 
 Boston mob, 172. 
 
 Brattle Street, 48. 
 
 Bryant and the American Rev- 
 olution, 149-50; and the Civil 
 War, 216, 217, 219; and Lowell: 
 criticalness in regard to each 
 other, 250-252; and the sea, 
 60-2; belief in future life, 298; 
 conception of freedom, 301; 
 consciousness of the atmos- 
 phere in, 27; effect of Puri- 
 tanic inheritance on his 
 thought, 295; flowers in, 29, 
 30 ; generalizing descriptions, 
 22-26; influence of upon Long- 
 fellow, 248-250; interest in 
 death tempered by his joy in 
 the life of Nature, 296, 298; 
 joyousness in, 28; pantheistic 
 conception of Nature, 20, 27; 
 poems mentioned or quoted — 
 "Castles in the Air," 299; 
 "Crowded Street, The," 300; 
 "Cummington Revisited," 23, 
 24 ; " Death of the Flowers, " 30 ; 
 "Death of Slavery, The," 216; 
 "Forest Hymn, A," 297; "Fu- 
 ture Life, The," 298, 301; 
 "Green River," 21; "Hymn to 
 Death," 297, 298; "Hymn to the 
 Sea," 61; "Life That Is, The," 
 
 351 
 
 301; "Lines to a Waterfowl," 
 31; "Little People of the Snow," 
 92, 300; "Monument Moun- 
 tain," 21, 22; "Nature Song," 
 24, 25; "October," 301; "Our 
 Country's Call," 216; "Prairies, 
 The," 35; "Return of the 
 Birds," 32; "Sella," 92, 299; 
 "Seventy-Six," 149, 150; "Song 
 of the Stars," 28; "Song Spar- 
 row, The," 32, 33; "Tale of 
 Cloudland, A," 299; "Tides, 
 The," 62; "Thanatopsis," 296; 
 sentiency of Nature in, 24-27; 
 seventieth birthday, 253, 254; 
 stars and clouds the-4nBpifa- 
 tion of his most delicate fan- 
 cies, 299, 300; thought in, 295- 
 302; use of Indian lore, 77, 90- 
 92; vagueness of his Nature 
 descriptions, 18. 
 Bunker Hill, 146, 150. 
 
 Caleb Gushing, 199. 
 
 Cambridge, 36, 41, 46, 48, 228, 
 
 258 278 
 Cape 'Ann, 6, 60, 110, 111, 112, 
 
 118. 
 Casco Bay, 81. 
 
 Cassandia Southwick, 118, 120. 
 Celebration by the Bums Club, 
 
 236. 
 Charles, 8, 36, 41, 47, 48, 49, 54. 
 Charlestown, 152. 
 Chocorua, 6. 
 CoflSn, Joshua, described in 
 
 "Snow Bound," 312. 
 Concord, 145, 147, 149, 158, 160, 
 
 228, 279. 
 Concord mob, 173. 
 Concord River (Musketaquid), 
 
 161. 
 Conway, 138. 
 Cotton Mather, 101, 102, 110, 112, 
 
 115, 297. 
 Craigie House, 41. 
 Cummington, 20, 21, 31, 90. 
 Cummington and western Mas- 
 sachusetts, 20-26. 
 
 Danvers, 110, 122. 
 Dover, 122. 
 
352 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Effect of childhood environment 
 on the poet's work, 53. 
 
 Eggemoggin Reach, 94. 
 
 "Elmwood," 41, 43, 45, 46, 47. 
 
 Emerson and the American Rev- 
 olution, 145, 146-149; and the 
 Civil War, 216-221; and Lin- 
 coln in conference, 220; and 
 Nature, 65; and the sea, 68; 
 appreciation of Burns, 236, 238; 
 blossom of New-England spirit- 
 ual development, 333; com- 
 pared with Browning, 343-4; 
 described by Holmes, 228-9; de- 
 scribed by Longfellow, 228; de- 
 scribed by Lowell, 236, 284; 
 aloof, yet friend of all, 278; 
 lack of warmth in his philo- 
 sophical conceptions, 218, 344; 
 love lifted by him into a rare- 
 fied atmosphere, 344; lover of 
 abstract beauty, 339; mystic 
 love of Nature, 342, 346; on 
 Webster, 243; opinion of the 
 office of poet, 339-40; poems 
 mentioned or quoted — "Adiron- 
 dacks. The," 286, 287; "Bos- 
 ton," 147, 148, 149; "Celestial 
 Love," 344; "Concord Hymn," 
 145; "Days," 285, 344; "Mo- 
 nadnoc," 66, 67; "Musketa- 
 quid," 65, 66, 344, 345; "Poet, 
 The," 345; "Seashore," 69, 70, 
 344; "Woodnotes," 65, 67, 342, 
 343; "Snowstorm, The," 308; 
 "Voluntaries, " 217, 218 ; poetry 
 reflects his artistic and philo- 
 sophical attitude, 340-345; 
 praises "The Washers of the 
 Shroud," 286; thought in, 333- 
 347; Emerson's philosophy not 
 understood by Longfellow, 229. 
 
 Everett, 22. 
 
 Garrison and Whittler, 175. 
 Garrison, Wm. Lloyd, 169. 
 Garrison, mobbed, 172. 
 Gaspereau, 127. 
 General Moulton, 115, 116. 
 Gloucester, 112. 
 Graylock, 22, 53. 
 Great Barrington, 23. 
 Green River, 23. 
 
 Hampshire County, 21. 
 Hampton, 6, 57, 106, 115, 122. 
 Hampton River, 57. 
 Harvard, 41, 64, 214, 274. 
 
 Haverhill, 6, 8, 9, 11, 114. 
 
 Haverhill and New England 
 scenery, 6-20. 
 
 Hiawatha legends and their 
 sources, 78-81. 
 
 Holmes and the American Revo- 
 lution, 150-157; and the Civil 
 War, 221, 222; and the Charles 
 River, 36; and the sea, 64; ap- 
 preciative of Emerson's verse, 
 282; Atlantic breakfast to, 246, 
 247; criticises "Vision of Sir 
 Launfal," 268; departu e from 
 the Calvinism of his ancestors, 
 323, 324; describes Longfellow, 
 273; home in Pittsfield, 53; 
 lack of sympathy with Emer- 
 son's philosophy, 281; letters to 
 Lowell, abroad, 271; in his 
 study, surrounded by remind- 
 ers of Lowell, 272; modern sci- 
 entific note in his poems, 324- 
 330; not as great a poet as he 
 was capable of being, 330; 
 poems mentioned or quoted — 
 "Ballad of the Boston Tea Par- 
 ty, A," 150, 154, 156; "At the 
 Saturday Club," 231, 232, 233, 
 287; "Cambridge," 154; "Fare- 
 well to J. R. Lowell," 239-40; 
 "For W h i 1 1 i e r's Seventieth 
 Birthday," 244, 245; "Grand- 
 mother's Story of Bunker Hill,'' 
 150, 152, 153; "Mind's Diet, 
 The," 325; "Last Leaf, The," 
 155-156; "Lexington," 154, 157; 
 "Living Temple, The," 324-5, 
 330; "Modest Request, A," 322- 
 323; "Hymn," 222; "My Avi- 
 ary," 37; "Memory of Burns, 
 The," 238; "Poet at the Break- 
 fast Table, The," 325; "Picture 
 of Boston Common," 157; 
 "Spring Has Come," 40; "To 
 H. W. Longfellow," 246; 
 "Sweet Little Man," 222; "Un- 
 der Washington's Elm," 154; 
 "Wind -Clouds and Star- 
 Drifts," 325, 326-330; praise of 
 Whittier, 262, 263; recorder of 
 the normal social and public 
 life of New England, 321-323; 
 thought, in, 321-330; use of In- 
 dian lore, 77; writes life of 
 Emerson, 281, 282; writes to 
 Norton of the stimulation he 
 had received from Lowell, 267. 
 
INDEX 
 
 353 
 
 Holyoke, 22. 
 
 Homes of Longfellow and Low- 
 ell, 41-2, 48-9. 
 Hotel Brunswick, 240. 
 
 Ipswich, 6. 
 Iroquois, 79, 80. 
 Isle au Haut, 94. 
 Isles of Shoals, 59, 62. 
 
 Kearsarge, 63. 
 
 Ladies at an Atlantic dinner, 235. 
 
 Lake Superior, 79. 
 
 Lexington, 145, 149. 
 
 Livermore, Harriet, described in 
 "Snow Bound," 312. 
 
 Longfellow and the American 
 Revolution, 150, 151; and the 
 Charles, 36, 42; and the Civil 
 War, 221; and Lowell in the 
 Dante Club, 277; and Lowell, 
 their intimacy, 274-277; and 
 the sea, 54-5; enthusiasm for 
 Emerson's poetic faculty, 280; 
 farewell dinner to, at Field's, 
 246; feeling for art, 319; feel- 
 ing for Nature in his letters 
 and diary, 56; festival of school 
 children in his honor, 246; fre- 
 quent mentions of Lowell in his 
 diary, 276; poems mentioned 
 or quoted — "Christus: A Mys- 
 tery," 97; "Christus," 317; 
 "Courtship of Miles Standish, 
 The," 136; "Epimetheus," 320; 
 "Evangeline," 126; "Fire of 
 Driftwood," 137; "John Endi- 
 cott," 98, 121, 122; "Lady 
 Wentworth," 123-26; "Michael 
 Angelo," 320; "New England 
 Tragedies, The," 98; "Paul Re- 
 vere's Ride," 150; "Promethe- 
 us," 320; "Rhyme of St. Chris- 
 topher, The," 123, 126; "Saint 
 John Wandering Over the 
 Face of the Earth," 318, 319; 
 "Skeleton in Armor," 93, 94; 
 "Songo River," 50; "Sound of 
 the Sea, The," 55; "Summer 
 Day by the Sea, A," 55; "Tales 
 of the Wayside Inn," 123; 
 "Thanksgiving," 248; "Two 
 Angels, The," 276; "Tides, 
 The," 56; "To the River 
 Charles," 42; product of the 
 gentlest New England influ- 
 
 ences, 321; Quaker persecution 
 and witch persecution in, 97-8; 
 romances of Colonial times, 
 123-126, 136, 137, 139-41; ro- 
 mantic rather than academic, 
 316, 317; thought in, 314-321; 
 Unitarianism of, 315, 316; use 
 of Indian lore, 77, 78-81. 
 Lowell: Akin to Longfellow in 
 his unadventurous religious 
 thought, 332; akin to Whittier 
 in moral fervor, 332; amends 
 to Bryant for early criticism, 
 252-253; and the American 
 Revolution, 157-168; and the 
 Charles, 45-8; and the sea, 62- 
 4; and Emerson in Concord, 
 283; and Holmes: fondness for 
 cattle shows, 272; and Holmes, 
 friendly criticisms of each 
 other, 267-271; and Holmes in 
 their relations in the Atlam,tio 
 Monthly 266-7; and Holmes: 
 their religious attitude com- 
 pared, 331; appreciation of 
 Emerson, 236; appreciation of 
 Longfellow's verse, 277 ; appre- 
 ciation of Nature compared 
 with Longfellow's, 43-4; appre- 
 ciation of Whittier, 185-6; 
 brings forward Holmes as a 
 prose writer, 266, 267; dinner 
 In honor of seventieth birth- 
 day, 239-240; farewell dinner, 
 239; early defense of Longfel- 
 low against The Standard, 
 274; enthusiasm over Emer- 
 son's speaking, 284; failure 
 fully to appreciate Emerson's 
 poetry, 284-285; fondness for 
 trees, 50-2; good Unitarian, 
 332; high estimation of Whit- 
 tier as poet and man, 257; im- 
 pressed by Emerson's Phi Beta 
 Kappa addresses, 282, 284; 
 meaning for his age, 332-3; 
 poems mentioned or quoted — 
 "Biglow Papers," 192, 193; 
 "Birch, The," 52; "Birdofree- 
 dum Sawin" (Biglow Pa- 
 pers), 195, 196, 197, 198, 206; 
 "Cathedral, The," 330, 331. 
 332 ; conversation between 
 Concord Bridge and Bunker 
 Hill Monument (Biglow Pa- 
 pers), 207; "Fable for Critics," 
 251-2, 284, 285; "Graves of the 
 
354 
 
 INDEX 
 
 British Soldiers, The," 158; 
 Hosea's verses (Biglow Pa- 
 pers), 193, 194, 207, 208, 210, 
 215; imaginary notices of the 
 press (Biglow Papers), 204, 
 205; "Indian Summer Reverie, 
 An," 46; "Memorial Odes," 
 158-168; "Ode," 146, 149; "Ode 
 for July Fourth, 1876," 165, 
 166, 167, 168; "Ode for the 
 One Hundredth Anniversary 
 of the Concord Fight," 159, 
 160, 161, 162; "Ode for Wash- 
 ington's Birthday," 154; "On 
 Board the '76," 253, 254; "Pic- 
 tures from Appledore," 62, 63, 
 64; "Rallying Cry for New 
 England," 185, 192; "Remarks 
 of Increase D. O'Phase, Es- 
 quire" (Biglow Papers), 200; 
 "Remarks of Mr. Wilbur" 
 (Biglow Papers),202, 203, 204; 
 "Sonnet to Whittier," 257-8; 
 "To a Pine Tree on Mount 
 Katahdin," 50; "Under the Old 
 Elm," 162, 163, 164; "Under 
 the Willows," 44-8; "Voyage to 
 Vinland," 95-7; "Washers of 
 the Shroud, The," 212, 213, 
 214; "What Mr. Robinson 
 Thinks" (Biglow Papers), 199; 
 piraises Emerson's "Days," 285; 
 thought in, 330-333; unveils 
 bust of Longfellow in West- 
 minster Abbey, 277; use of In- 
 dian lore, 77, 78; visits to 
 Whittier, 256, 257; writes 
 Longfellow of his election to 
 La Real Academia Espaniola, 
 276; youthful criticism of Em- 
 erson, 283. 
 
 Lowell, Charles Russell, 211. 
 
 Lowell, James Jackson, 211. 
 
 Mad River, 49. 
 
 Marblehead, 118, 137, 138. 
 
 Marblehead and the Ireson epi- 
 sode, 137-8. 
 
 Merrimac, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 
 87, 88, 90, 93, 103, 118, 122, 
 257. 
 
 Metawampe, 22. 
 
 Mississippi, 56. 
 
 Monadnock, 67. 
 
 Morton of Merrymount, 126. 
 
 Monument Mountain, 23, 53. 
 
 Mount Auburn Cemetery, 49. 
 
 Mount Auburn Street, 48. 
 Mount Katahdin, 50, 52. 
 Musketaquld, 8, 65. 
 
 Nantucket, 119. 
 
 Newburyport, 6. 
 
 New England scenery, 3-5. 
 
 New England thought: different 
 
 elements, 293-295. 
 New Haven, 112. 
 Newport, 93, 94. 
 Norembega, 94. 
 Norse traditions, 92-7. 
 
 Origin of the robin, 77. 
 
 Orr's Island, 112, 114. 
 
 Ossipee, 63. 
 
 Other friends of the poets, 286. 
 
 "Parker's," 232, 233. 
 
 Passaconaway, 88. 
 
 Pemaquid, 6, 127, 129, 133. 
 
 Pemaquid: its relation to Aca- 
 dian history, 127-136. 
 
 Penobscot, 94. 
 
 Phantom ships, 112. 
 
 Philosophy and beauty in poetry, 
 333-339. 
 
 Piscataqua River, 82. 
 
 Pittsfield, 53. 
 
 Pleasant Valley, 103. 
 
 Plainfleld, 31. 
 
 Plymouth, 136. 
 
 Poets at the Atlantic dinners, 
 233-235. 
 
 Poets at the Saturday Club, 230- 
 234. 
 
 Portland, 54. 
 
 Portsmouth, 62, 124. 
 
 Public Garden in spring, 38-40. 
 
 Putnam, William Lowell, 211. 
 
 Quakers and Unitarians com- 
 pared, 315. 
 Quebec, 130. 
 
 Revere House, 239. 
 Rockport, 60. 
 
 Saco, 138. 
 
 "Saga of Eric the Red," 95. 
 Salem, 89, 120, 121, 126. 
 Salisbury, 10, 57, 59, 122. 
 Sandwich Notch, 14. 
 Sebago Lake, 49, 81, 82. 
 Second epoch of American his- 
 tory, 145-168. 
 
INDEX 
 
 355 
 
 Snow Hill, 122. 
 Songo River, 49. 
 Sources of New England ro- 
 mance, 75-7. 
 Squando, 82-7. 
 St. John, 130. 
 
 Thachers Island, 60. 
 Tom, 22. 
 
 Treatment of war subjects by the 
 poets compared, 222-224. 
 
 Underwood's account of an At- 
 lantic dinner, 287. 
 
 Uplifting influence of the life 
 and wort of the elder Ameri- 
 can poets, 289. 
 
 War with Mexico, 192, 193, 200. 
 
 Westfield, 21. 
 
 Whittier: Admiration of Emer- 
 son, 279; admiration of L'ong- 
 fellow's work, 260; and the 
 American Revolution, 146, 
 150; and the Anti-Slavery 
 movement, 169-191; and Bry- 
 ant compared, 20; and the 
 Civil War, 188-191; and Garri- 
 son: difference of view, 176; 
 and Holmes: special liking be- 
 tween them, 261-265; and 
 Holmes together at the last, 
 265, 266; and Longfellow 
 praise each other in letters, 
 260; and Lowell: close rela- 
 tions in the early anti-slavery 
 days, 255, 256; and Lowell: re- 
 lations in the Atlantic Month- 
 ly, 256; and the Merrimac 
 8; and the sea, 57; as a land- 
 scape painter, 5; asks Longfel- 
 low on the strength of his Anti- 
 Slavery poems to run for CJon-? 
 gross, 259; Atlantic dinner in, 
 honor of seventieth birthday, 
 240-242; attitude toward love, 
 307; belief in immortality, 306, 
 314; by inheritance and envir- 
 onment affiliated with romantic 
 aspects of New England life, 
 303; color In, 18; debt to Burns, 
 237; democracy in, 304-305; 
 glimpses of his own life, 307- 
 314; grief at Emerson's atti- 
 tude toward immortality, 280; 
 grief at Longfellow's death. 
 
 261; political influence on Bry- 
 ant, 255; homestead at Haver- 
 hill described, 310, 314; Quaker 
 influences on his thought, 302- 
 3; Longfellow and the Aca- 
 dians, 260; Longfellow and 
 Lowell : treatment of early his- 
 torical traditions, 92; mobbed, 
 173; on Webster, 243; opposed 
 to the Colonization Society, 
 170; passion for freedom, 302, 
 304; personal touch with Na- 
 ture, 16; poems mentioned or 
 quoted — "Among the Hills," 12, 
 304; "Anti-Slavery Poem s," 
 221; "Arisen at Last," 188; 
 "Birchbrook Mill," 118; "Ban- 
 ished from Massachusetts," 
 123; "Burns," 237; "Bridal of 
 P en n a CO ok," 8, 9, 12, 87; 
 "Changeling, The," 104, 105; 
 "Cobbler Keezar's Vision," 117- 
 18; "Dead Ship of Harpswell, 
 The," 114; "Double Headed 
 Snake of Newbury, The," 101-2; 
 "Exiles, The," 118, 119; "First 
 Day Thoughts," 305; "Funeral 
 Fire of the Sokokis, The," 81; 
 "Garrison of Cape Ann," 110- 
 12; "Hampton Beach," 13, 57; 
 "How the Robin Came," 78; 
 "How the Women Went from 
 Dover," 122; "Hunters of Men, 
 The," 184; "In the 'Old 
 South,' " 120-21; "King's Mis- 
 sive, The," 121; "Last Week In 
 Autumn, The," 16; "Lexing- 
 ton," 146; "Mabel Martin," 10, 
 11, 102, 103, 104; "Mar- 
 guerite," 127; "Mary Garvin," 
 138; "Maud Muller," 304; 
 "Memories," 307; "New Wife 
 and the Old, The," 116; "Nor- 
 embega," 94 ; "Norsemen, 
 The," 93; "Pageant, The," 17, 
 18; "Pastoral Letter, The," 
 177, 178. 179, 180; "Pentucket," 
 9, 10; "Poems Subjective and 
 Reminiscent," 307; "Questions 
 of Life," 305-6; "Ranger, The," 
 138, 139; "Rendition," 187, 188; 
 "Response," 242; "Skipper Ire- 
 son's Ride," 137, 138; "St. 
 John," 127, 132, 133, 134, 135; 
 "Slave Ships, The," 181, 182, 
 183, 184; "Snow Bound," 308, 
 313; "Songs of Labor," 305; 
 
356 
 
 INDEX 
 
 "Songs of Labor and Reform," 
 304; "Stanzas for the Times," 
 180, 181; "Prophecy of Samuel 
 Sewall, The," 5; "Summer by 
 the Lakeside," 14, 15; "Tent on 
 the Beach," 57-8; "To William 
 Lloyd Garrison," 175, 176; 
 "Truce of Piscataqua," 82; 
 "Vanishers, The," 306; "Wish- 
 ing Bridge, The," 118; "Witch 
 of Wenham, The," 107, 108, 
 109, 110; "Wreck of River- 
 mouth, The," 59, 60, 61, 106, 
 107; praise of Holmes, 264; re- 
 gard for Longfellow, 258; re- 
 ligion, 305-307; romances of 
 
 Colonial times, 123, 127-136, 
 137, 138, 139-41; supematural- 
 Ism in New England, 89-118; 
 tales of Quaker persecution, 
 118-123; thought in, 302-314; 
 use of Indian lore, 77, 81-90; 
 value of his poems to tie Anti- 
 Slavery movement, 177; "Jus- 
 tice and Expediency," 169; 
 mother described in "Snow 
 Bound," 311; work for the 
 cause of Anti-Slavery, 177. 
 
 White Hills, 14, 87, 88. 
 
 White Mountains, 49-82. 
 
 Windham, 81. 
 
 Winnipesaukee, 6.