Glass— Book- COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT SNOW-BOUND AND OTHER EARLY POEMS JttacmiUan*si ^ocfet American antr lEnsltsj) (ilassi A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary an Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc i6mo Cloth 25 cents each Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. Andersen's Fairy Tales. Arabian Nights' Entertainments. Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. Bacon's Essays. Eble (Memorable Passages from). Blackmore's Lorna Doone. 5rcy. ling's Shorter Poems. iro'v^ ling, Mrs., Poems (Selected). iry It's Thanatopsis, etc. ■Qi- s Last Days of Pompeii. ' ^ Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days. Irving's Life of Goldsmith. Irving's Knickerbocker. Irving's The Alhambra. Irving's Sketch Book. Keary's Heroes of Asgard. Jttacmillau's ^ocftct gmcricait antf lEnciUslj Classics A Series of ExNGLish Texts, edited for use in Elementary and Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. i6mo Cloth 25 cents each Kingsley's The Heroes. Lamb's The Essays of Elia. Lon^ellow's Evangeline. Longfellow's Hiawatha. Longfellow's Miles Standish. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. Macaulay's Essay on Addison. Macaulay's Essay on Hastings. Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. Macaulay's Essay on Milton. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson. Milton's Comus and Other Poems. Milton's Paradise Lost, Books L and II. Old English Ballads. Out of the Northland. Palgrave's Golden Treasury. Plutarch's Lives (Caesar, Brutus, and Mark Antony). Poe's Poems. Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from). Pope's Homer's Iliad. Pope's The Rape of the Lock. Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. Scott's Ivanhoe. Scott's Kenilworth. Scott's Lady of the Lake. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. Scott's Marmion. Scott's Quentin Durward. Scott's The Talisman. Shakespeare's As You Like It. Shakespeare's Hamlet. Shakespeare's Henry V. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, jj, Shakespeare's King Lear. Shakespeare's Macbeth. Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. Shakespeare's Merchant ^ ' "" - ^ ic3. Shakespeare's Richard H. Shakespeare's The Te ^sst. Shakespeare's Twelfth ght. Shelley and Keats : Poe... . Sheridan's The Rivals and The School for Scandal. Southern Poets : Selections. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. Stevenson's The Master of Ballantrae. Stevenson's Treasure Island. Swift's Gulliver's Travels. Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Tennyson's The Princess. Tennyson's Shorter Poems. Thackeray's Henry Esmond. Washington's Farewell Address, and Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. Whittier's Snow-bound and Other Early Poems. Woolman's Journal. Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. •Tl he^)<^o THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO JOHN GREEXLEAF WHITTIER SNOAV-BOUND AND OTHER EARLY POEMS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ;Ei;)ITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY AKCHIBALD L. BOUTON, M.A. PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN NEW YORK UNIVERSITY Weto gork THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1908 All rights reserved UBRARY of OdNGRESS I wo Gopies Kecezvee AUG 25 )y08 (XaI^ wuvj"'ftii* ciivy r^. Copyright, 1908, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1908. J. 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co, Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION : pace Whittier's Life and Work xi Bibliography xxv POEMS : Proem 1 Snow-bound ......... 3 Songs of Labor : 1. Dedication 28 2. The Shipbuilders 30 3. The Shoemakers 32 4. The Drovers 35 5. The Fishermen 39 6. The Huskers 42 7. The Corn-song 45 8. The Lumbermen 47 BALLADS AND NAPvRATIVE POEMS: Cassandra South wick ....... 52 Funeral Tree of the Sokokis 61 Pentucket 65 The Exiles 68 The Angels of Buena Vista 77 Barclay of Ury 81 The Legend of St. Mark 86 vii Vlll CONTENTS PAGE Kathleen 89 Tauler 93 Maud Muller 96 The Ranger 100 Proem to Home Ballads 106 The Witch's Daughter 106 The Garrison of Cape Ann 114 Skipper Ireson's Ride 120 Telling the Bees 124 The Sycamores 126 The Double-headed Snake of Newbury .... 131 The Swan Song of Parson Avery 134 The Truce of Piscataqua 138 My Playmate . 145 The Gift of Tritemius 148 The Pipes at Lucknow 149 The Red River Voyageur . . . . . . . 152 Barbara Frietchie 154 Cobbler Keezar's Vision 156 Amy Wentworth ........ 163 The Countess 169 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: The Frost Spirit 175 Randolph of Roanoke 176 The Norsemen 180 Forgiveness 184 What the Voice Said 185 Extract from "A New England Legend" . . . . 188 Hampton Beach . . . . . . . . .190 The Hill-top 198 Memories 196 CONTENTS IX PAOE Ichabod 198 All's Well 200 Seed-time and Harvest 200 To A. K 201 Moloch in State Street 204 April 207 The Poor Voter on Election Day 208 To My Old Schoolmaster 209 Burns ........... 215 The Voices 220 The Hero 223 The Barefoot Boy 227 The Kansas Emigrants . . . ... . . 230 Song of Slaves in the Desert 231 The Last Walk in Autumn 233 The Mayflowers 242 The Eve of Election 243 My Psalm 247 Thy Will be Done 249 The Battle Autumn of 1862 251 Our Kiver 252 Laus Deo 255 NOTES 259 INTRODUCTION WHITTIER'S LIFE AND WORK Early Life. Literary Beginnings, 1807-1833. — John Greenleaf Whittier, the Quaker poet of New England, who shares with Longfellow the distinction of being in a national sense, the most widely accepted and beloved of American poets, was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, on December 17, 1807. He was de- scended through several generations of Quaker ances- tors on both his father's side and his mother's. Thomas Whittier, his first American ancestor, himself not a Quaker though in strong sympathy with them, came to America in 1638. In 1647 he moved to the farm, three miles from Haverhill, which has ever since been known as the Whittier homestead. Here he built in 1688, it is supposed, the house, still standing, which is com- memorated in Snow-Bound. In it the poet was born, the second of four children, to John and Abigail Whit- tier. Life upon the Whittier farm was of great simplicity. Not over thirty books, mostly religious, constituted the family library; but chief among them was the Bible. Of social life outside the little that lay within the walls of the home, the church, and the country school, there was almost none. Of spelling -schools zi xii INTRODUCTION and singing-schools, of debating societies and lyceums, the usual diversions of New England rural life, at least at a slightly later period, we find few beginnings in the life of the Whittier family. Hard work upon a reluc- tant soil, with few comforts and no luxuries, were abiding characteristics; but animating all was the inspiration of a profound, if sectarian, religious faith; underlying it was the Quaker love of freedom and the Puritan belief in the equality of all men before the law; while from the pages of Snow-Bound we know that there was no lack of zest in such simple pleasures as life in the Whittier homestead made possible. With one important exception, Whittier's formal education was summed up in a few winters in the district school. When he was fourteen the teacher brought to Whittier's home one evening a book of Burns's poems and read them to the family. It was the awakening of the boy's soul. Later a Scotch pedlar introduced him to the charm of the true Scotch ver- nacular. Soon he began to compose verses of his own. His older sister, Mary, by stealth and without the boy's knowledge, sent one of his poems to Newburyport, near by, to a weekly newspaper, which was then edited by William Lloyd Garrison, soon to become famous as leader of the Abolitionist movement against slavery. The poem was published in the issue of June 8, 1826, and Whittier in a daze of astonishment saw his work in print for the first time when the mail carrier threw a copy of the paper to him as he worked by the roadside helping his father repair a stone wall. In a few days Garrison himself, struck with the promise of the poem, came to the house to see young Whittier. It was the turning-point in the boy's career. INTRODUCTION Xlll The next winter he attended the Haverhill Academy, and, while he lived in the home of the editor of the Haverhill Gazette, earned his way by making slippers at eight cents a pair ; ending the six months in Haverhill Academy with twenty-five cents in his pocket, precisely as at the beginning of the winter he had planned to do. His contact with Garrison and with the editor of the Haverhill Gazette gave him the opportunity to write for the press. Through Garrison's intercession he obtained a staff position on the American Manufac- turer, published in Boston. This was the first of a series of editorial positions which he occupied with slight intermission during the ten years from 1830 to 1840, until failing health caused him permanently to resign all regular work of a routine sort and retire to a home at Amesbury, where he dwelt in quiet but not in idleness for the remainder of his days. Whittier, early in the period of his editorial activities, developed much political talent, and nourished high political ambitions. It is probable that he would at an early period have been elected to Congress had he not chosen to ally himself with the Abolitionists in their antagonism to slavery. The Antislavery Period, 1833-1861. — This act of choice and renunciation, crucially determined by the deliberate publication, in 1833, of a prose pamphlet, entitled Justice and Expediency, or Slavery consid- ered with a View to its Abolition, constituted the sec- ond great turning-point in Whittier's career. In com- mon with many leading men of Massachusetts he had, before then, not without vigor, opposed slavery as an institution. As early as 1831 he had contributed to Garrison's paper, The Liberator. But before 1833 he had opposed slavery in more or less an extra-political XIV INTRODUCTION way. Men at that time were, in general throughout the country, extremely anxious to keep slavery out of politics. Abolitionism was, even in New England, vio- lently unpopular. To oppose slavery was very well as a matter of moral principle; to exalt abolition into a principle of political action was a very different thing. It genuinely threatened the national safety — as the subsequent Civil War sufficiently proves. So long as Whittier did not propose political action against slav- ery, his immediate party associates acquiesced in such principles as he held. But Whittier was a Quaker; and that meant, in this period of his life, not so much love of peace and quiet as it did hatred of all that con- tradicted the right of anybody to liberty,— hatred of slavery. All the stored-up memories of the persecu- tion and tyranny and martyrdom to which Quakers had been subjected in the seventeenth century in both the Old and New England were, it would seem, inherited by Whittier, and the second great period of his life com- mencing with the publication of the pamphlet men- tioned, and the adoption of abolition as a principle of political action, began with the deliberate renunciation of a bright political future and the adoption of an un- popular propaganda. But he never regretted the act. When he was an old man he gave this advice to a boy of fifteen, " My lad, if thou wouldst win success, join thyself to some unpopular but noble cause." In 1836 he went to Philadelphia and continued there until 1840, being after 1837 editor of the Pennsylvania Freeman. During much of the same period he was sec- retary of the American Antislavery Society, and began then to contribute lyrics against slavery to The National Era, of Washington, D.C. It was in this paper that INTRODUCTION XV Mrs. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin first appeared. In 1838 his editorial offices were raided and burned by a mob; but Whittier, disguised in a wig and long coat, entered his own office, along with the mob that would, upon recognizing him, probably have taken his life, and was able thereby to save many of his papers. Nor was this his only experience with mob peril. In New Eng- land, later, he narrowly escaped being tarred and feathered, and was often in danger of assault. Brave and determined as an agitator, and bitter as was the great controversy in which he was engaged, Whittier never lost a certain magnanimity which enabled him to yield sympathy and admiration to fine qualities in his opponents. To Calhoun he paid the tribute of deep respect, and his commemorative poem, John Randolph of Roanoke, is conceived in a finely generous spirit. Agi- tator as he was, he possessed, moreover, a certain poise, a breadth of vision in which Garrison and Phillips and his other Abolitionist partisans were generally lacking. So at length it came to pass that in spite of his affilia- tion with the Abolitionists his influence as a political counsellor of some of the leading statesmen of the day was very great — immensely greater than his actual posi- tion as a partisan would seem to indicate. Properly to estimate his political services, however, one other factor needs consideration. Whittier's poetic talent was by no means rusting. From 1829 to 1832 he had published one hundred poems. In 1831 most of them with a few prose sketches were gathered into a pamphlet under the title, Legends of New England in Prose and Verse, and published. Five years later he published his first book, Mogg Megone, a long narrative poem somewhat in the style xvi INTRODUCTION of Scott. In his later years the poet wished to suppress these earher writings, and few lovers of Whittier now read them. All this work was merely a training for better things which he was already beginning to do. For twenty years, and in considerable measure for thirty, Whittier's poetic power was at the service of his great political and moral aim, the abolition of slavery. The human sympathy, the sincerity, the arousing force of these antislavery lyrics, these Voices of Freedom, made them political weapons, better than arguments, and per- haps second only to Uncle Torn's Cabin in actual influ- ence in swaying popular opinion against slavery. James Russell Lowell, certainly no mean judge, sums up Whit- tier's political work in these words: "Whenever occa- sion offered, some burning lyric flew across the country, like the fiery cross, to warn and rally. Never mingling in active politics (unless filling the office of presidential elector [in 1860 and 186 J/] may be called so), he probably did more than anybody in preparing the material out of which the Republican party was made." Whittier's retirement from routine life in 1840 had several important results; but chiefly, while cutting off any prospects of political advancement, it gave lei- sure for the broader development of his artistic nature. It brought time for reading, whereby he broadened his culture; and it gave quiet moments in which his imagi- nation could build its fabric out of legend and memory, dream and faith — materials truer and more flexible to the poet's hand than the elements of political controversy. After the appearance of Voices of Freedom in 1846, and its rendition in 1849, a 'distinct change gradually ap- pears in the subject-matter of Whittier's poetry. By the outbreak of Civil War he had almost ceased writing INTRODUCTION XVll with reference to its great cause. Yet during the years from 1850 to 1861 he pubhshed some of his most popu- lar and a little of his best work: in 1850, the Songs of Labor, in which many deem him most truly a national poet; later, a group of ballads of New England life, of which Maud Muller and Skipper Ireson's Ride are familiar and typical examples; and besides these a con- siderable quantity of miscellaneous poems, a few of which, like The Barefoot Boy and The Pipes of Luck- 710W, are included in the strictly limited group of poems that "every schoolboy knows." The Last Period, 1861-1892. — The Civil War once begun, Whittier seemed to feel that the struggle against slavery had passed into other hands. Quaker as he was, he did not however oppose the w^ar. His occasional patriotic lyrics were exhortations to faith in the na- tional destiny, or expressions of rejoicing in triumph of the Union armies — expressions that found their mag- nificent culmination in Laus Deo, written in 1865, when the unity of the nation was secure. Save for these flashes of the old fire of conflict, Whittier's spirit passed into the calm of contemplation and reflection. Of ex- ternal episode the long, serene afternoon of his life con- tained but little. His younger sister, Elizabeth, wdth whom he made his home at Amesbury, died in 1864. It was the breaking of a peculiarly tender tie. After the stress of antislavery conflict, and thus bereft of his dearest companionship, he found rest and restoration in nature, in religion, and in literature; the love of nature and religious faith are the deepening notes of the poetry of this final and best period which in duration included more than one-third of his long lifetime. A wider familiarity with literature manifested itself in a broaden- xvill INTRODUCTION ing range of subjects, and a greater command of allu- sion. A growing attention to problems of poetic tech- nique improved the artistic quality of his verse, and widened somewhat his command of poetic forms. Yet he continued to the end essentially a poet of the simple ideals of the common life he knew best, and expressed them in simple ways. In The Last W alk in Autumn, a poem written in 1857, occurs this stanza, which em- bodies a sort of prophetic interpretation: — " Yet, on life's current, he who drifts Is one with him who rows or sails; And he who wanders widest lifts No more of beauty's jealous veils Than he who from his doorway sees The miracle of flowers and trees, Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer." Snow -Bound, written in 1865, is the most successful of his more elaborate works. The Tent on the Beach (1867) was a group of associated poems strung together, much as Longfellow composed his Tales of a Wayside Inn. Among the Hills (1869) began in the thought of composing a summer idyl to correspond with Snow- Bound as a winter idyl, but as its composition progressed Whittier found his material intractable, and the poem, pleasing as it is, will not bear the suggested comparison. In 1866 Whittier's prose works, of which there is a con- siderable body consisting mainly of criticisms of men and books, and discussions of slavery, and of various political and social reforms, were for the first time gath- ered into an edition of two volumes. Three years later the first edition of his collected works was completed by the addition to his prose works of three volumes of INTRODUCTION xix poems. But afterward between 1869 and 1892 Whit- jtier published not less than eleven volumes of poems, 'mostly slender books, but in their total adding much to the final complete edition of his works. Besides his original work, Whittier at various times in his life did much as an editor of the writings of others. A bibli- ography of his labors in this field is added to the general list of his publications given at the end of this Introduction. In his later years, and especially after Longfellow's death in 1883, Whittier became in some sense the Poet Laureate of America. In 1876 he was invited to write the Centennial Hymn for use at the opening of the Philadelphia Exposition. And from that time on he entered more and more deeply into the affections of his countrymen. His seventieth birthday was marked by a special gathering of eminent fellow-citizens to do him honor. His eightieth was observed by exercises in the public schools far and wide throughout the coun- try, and by the presentation to him of many tributes of appreciation and affection. A few years before his death he removed from Amesbury to Danvers, Massa- chusetts, which continued to be his home until the end. He died at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, on Sep- tember 7, 1892, and was interred at Amesbury. His last poem, written but a few weeks before, was com- posed in honor of the eighty-third birthday of Oliver Wendell Holmes. His lifetime covered eighty-five years. It included the most stirring portion of our national history, a truly great part in which Whittier played. Great as was his service to political history, it is the gentle Quaker poet of the later years, the lover of nature, of XX INTRODUCTION his own New England, the man of serene faith, who is secure in the abiding remembrance of his countrymen. The contemporary of Lowell and Longfellow, of Holmes, Poe, and Emerson, of Bryant and Whitman and Lanier, of all the poets that, till now, have best served our national literature, excelled by m.any of them in some distinctive power or charm, he yet seems in a certain simplicity of character and nobility of moral and spiritual stature to surpass them all. Whittier's Poetry. — As a poetic artist, Whittier, it will be seen from the story of his life, underwent a long evolution. Many poets do their best writing in early life. Few men have the kind of vitality which goes on unfolding and perfecting itself far into advancing age. Whittier, like Tennyson, was of the number. His ear- liest work was imitative and crude, — imitative chiefly of Scott, and crude to the point where Whittier would gladly have excluded almost all of it from his later edi- tions. His antislavery poems hold a higher place, and yet few even of them are familiar to the present genera- tion. They were animated by intense hatred of a living national wrong, against which Whittier, like a Hebrew prophet, hurled blazing lyrical invectives. They were direct, simple, and impassioned in their earnestness. Directness, earnestness, fire, were native to him, and these qualities chiefly he embodied in the antislavery lyrics. But poetry at its best is the product of the imagi- nation; and the imagination weaves its best in hours of quietness, and in scenes aloof from the stress of prac- tical affairs. Seldom are political crises, however acute, however awakening of the highest powers of mankind, immediately productive of much of what, in the re- stricted sense of the term, we call literature. Though INTRODUCTION xxi i surely inspiration was not wanting, the stimulus of our I Civil War to creative literature was remarkably slight. The struggle was too desperately practical, too much a matter of national life and death. Poetry written at , white heat, to serve the interests of principle in the hour of conflict, may flame from soul to soul, and wonderfully influence the result of the hour; but when the heat of the ' hour has passed, such poetry is seldom found to possess that timeless, enduring vitality which insures its per- manence in the hearts of the people, after the circum- stances which gave it birth have been forgotten. Whit- tier's antislavery lyrics, inspiring as they were and important historically as they are, stand to-day, in spite of many stirring passages, in danger of being forgotten because they are too closely connected with an issue which has passed out of mind. Artistically the period in which they were written is one of transition. In the heat of conflict, Whittier schooled his art and acquired his technique. But it was not a school in which to gain breadth of view, or variety of resource, or subtlety of magic, or perfection of phrase. However, in the period after 1850, and yet more after 1861, there was, as already noted, aside from the waning of political lyric, a considerable widening of poetic range. So far did this extension of his choice of subject-matter continue that in the collected edition of 1889, containing Whittier's last revision of his whole work, he classified his poems, according to their con- tent, into eight general groups: poems narrative and legendary; poems of nature; poems subjective and reminiscent; religious poems; antislavery poems ; songs of labor and reform; personal poems; and occasional poems. This classification, no doubt, possesses a cer- xxu INTRODUCTION tain validity; yet it must be admitted that a few char- acteristic elements, especially the poetry of nature and of religion, are so pervasive of all his work that his as- signment of a poem to a given group often seems rather arbitrary. In general, the choice of subject-matter and the method of treatment are not sharply discrimi- nated into more than three or four of the eight groups which he has employed. In the field of narrative, by far his best poems are ballads, like Skipper Ireson's Ride and Barbara Frietchie. In many of his narrative poems want of compression often seriously diminishes their dra- matic force. The religious motive is everywhere present in Whittier's poetry, as it was in his life. In the anti- slavery days it was the soul of his poetry for freedom; in his bereft age his unclouded faith gave cheer and serenity to his declining strength; it inspired Our Mas- ter and The Eternal Goodness, than which no poems hold a higher place in the religious poetry of America. From them have been taken several of our finest hymns. ''The Bible," says Mr. Stedman, ''is rarely absent from his verse, and its spirit never." As much, almost, may be said for the love of nature in the poetry of the later period. Snow- B ound SiSSitypicsd instance, while essen- tially a reminiscent poem, and deeply religious, ex- presses as well Whittier's inmost feeling for nature. And just as his later poetry expresses religious faith in its serenity, so the moods of nature which affect him most deeply are those of his own New England valleys and hills, its rivers and its ocean shore in their hours of quiet beauty. It would be natural to attribute certain obvious de- fects and limitations in Whittier's verse to his scant educational training — a training that, in spite of the INTRODUCriON xxiii broad reading of his later years, was never perfected. Of his methods of work, he himself says: '' I never had any methods. When I felt like it, I wrote, and I had neither the health nor the patience to work over it afterward. It usually went as it was originally com- pleted." His verse is far from technical perfection, even in his best period. His rhymes are often seriously at fault. He never wrote blank verse well, nor did he ever stray very far from three or four metrical forms in which he had acquired freedom and confidence. He never learned to concentrate his effects in the small- est number of lines; and oftentimes the undue length of a poem serves effectually to bury from the casual reader exquisite lines and stanzas. Much interest in respect of the technical qualities of their verse will attach to comparison of Whittier's work with Long- fellow's, when the two have chosen a similar subject; as Whittier's The Shipbuilders with Longfellow's The Building of the Ship. Though it would be natural to explain defects of the sort mentioned by the limita- tions of Whittier's early training, the real explanation probably lies deeper. Burns, probably, had no better educational opportunities than Whittier. The posses- sion of a powerful intellect, and of a strong creative imagination, are requisite to the greatest poetry. Most lovers of his poems will probably admit that Whittier's real shortcomings lay here, and also in his lack of humor. But great poetry and great poets are not very common, in America or elsewhere; and in the im- passioned moral regret of Ichabod, it is possible that Whittier touched a single pinnacle of real poetic great- ness. Whittier's place in the Hall of poetic Fame is secure. xxi V IN TROD UCTION Better far, so too is his place in the hearts of the people. Like Longfellow he is a poet of the people, a poet of the ideals of common life. To its turmoil and strain he brings a message of simplicity and calm. From a world of material aims his verse recalls us to a pure and beau- tiful life of the spirit. He speaks with a manly vigor and directness, and persuades by his deep sincerity and simple charm. In his poetry are no subtleties of argu- ment, no obscurities of remote meaning. He troubles us with no melancholy doubts, and seeks to force upon us no mere reasonings of an abstract philosophy. Yet by his simple and true standard of life, his love of nature and humanity, his hatred of wrong, he makes an appeal to all who love righteousness and the joys of peaceful living that should never in America be overlooked, and cannot be forgotten. We can believe that Whittier would have cared but little for criticisms of himself merely as a poetic artist. More than artist in letters he was above all a poet with a conscious message — a message not to New England only, but for America, and, we may believe, for all who speak the English lan- guage. That message, grounded in the simple but endur- ing essential faiths of a universal humanity, he sang worthily and honestly, without thought of reward, and with a potency that makes him one of our two most- loved poets. Because of his manly and effective grap- pling with the great peril and curse of his time, and by reason of the native elevation of his character, his is perhaps the most noble personality among American men of letters. WHITTIEE'S WORKS. A BIBLIOGRAPHY VERSE 1831. Legends of New England. (Prose and Verse.) 1832. Moll Pitcher. 1836. Mogg Megone. 1837. Poems written during the Progress of the Abolition Question in the United States, between the years 1830 and 1838. 1838. Poems. Published by Joseph Healy, Philadelphia. 1843. Lays of My Home, and Other Poems. 1844. Miscellaneous Poems. 1846. Voices of Freedom. 1849. Poems. (A collection of Whittier's poems against Slavery.) 1850. Songs of Labor, and Other Poems. 1853. The Chapel of the Hermits, and Other Poems. A Sabbath Scene : A Sketch of Slavery in Verse. 1856. The Panorama, and Other Poems. 1857. The Sycamores. 1860. Home Ballads, Poems and Lyrics. 1863. In War Time, and Other Poems. 1865. Snow-bound. 1867. National Lyrics. The Tent on the Beach, and Other Poems. 1869. Among the Hills, and Other Poems. 1870. Ballads of New England. 1871. Miriam, and Other Poems. 1872. The Pennsylvania Pilgrim, and Other Poems. 1874. Mabel Martin, and Other Poems. 1875. Hazel Blossoms. 1878. Vision of Echard, and Other Poems. 1880. Complete Poetical Works. Republished in London. 1881. The King's Missive, and Other Poems. 1883. The Bay of Seven Islands, and Other Poems. XXV XXVI BIBLIOGRAPHY 1886. Poems of Nature. Saint Gregory's Guest, and Recent Poems. 1892. At Sundown. (Privately printed, 1890.) Complete editions of Whittier's poems were published during the poet's lifetime, in 1857, 1869, 1874, 1876, 1880, 1881, 1885, 1889. PROSE 1833. Justice and Expediency : or, Slavery considered with a View to its Rightful and Effectual Remedy. Abo- lition. 1845. The Stranger in Lowell. 1847. The Supernaturalism of New England. 1849. Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal. 1850. Old Portraits and Modern Sketches. 1854. Literary Recreations and Miscellanies. 1866. Prose Works, collected in two volumes. 1870. Two Letters on the Present Aspect of the Society of Friends. (London.) WORKS EDITED BY WHITTIER 1832. Literary Remains of T. G. C. Brainerd. Biographical Sketch by Whittier. 1837. Views of Slavery and Emancipation : selected from Harriet Martineau's Society in America. 1837. Letters from John Quincy Adams to his Constituents. With Preface and two anti-slavery poems by Whittier. 1840. The North Star; the Poetry of Freedom, by her Friends. 1841. Joseph Sturge's "A Visit to the United States in 1841." 1836. The Patience of Hope. By Dora Greenwell. Edited, with an Introduction, by Whittier. 1871. Child Life, a Collection of Poems. Edited by Whittier. 1872. The Journal of John Woolman. Introduction by Whittier. 1874. Child Life in Prose. Edited by Whittier. 1876. Songs of Three Centuries : an Anthology. 1880. William Lloyd Garrison and his Times. Introduction by Whittier, BIBLIOGRAPHY XXV 11 1883. Letters of Lydia Maria Child. Introduction by Whittier. 1887. American Literature and Other Papers, by E. P. Whipple. With Introductory Note by Whittier. Complete editions of Whittier' s works in prose and poetry were published during his lifetime, in 1886-1869 and 1888-1889. BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM Biography : Life and Letters of John Greenleaf Whittier (2 vols.), by Samuel T. Pickard; Life, by G. R. Carpenter (American Men of Letters Series); Life, by W. J. Linton (Great Writers Series). Criticism: Poets of America, by E. C. Stedman; A Literary History of America, by Barrett Wendell; A Fable for Critics, by James Russell Lowell. Abundant references to criticisms of Whittier in periodical literature may be found in Poole's Index of Periodical Litera- ture, especially for the year 1892. PKOEM^ I LOVE the old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, I The songs of Spenser's ° golden days, ^ Arcadian Sidney's ° silvery phrase, Sprinkhng our noon of time with freshest morning dew. 5 Yet, vainly in my quiet hours To breathe their marvellous notes I try ; I feel them, as the leaves and flowers In silence feel the dewy showers. And drink with glad still lips the blessing of the sky. 10 The rigor of a frozen clime. The harshness of an untaught ear. The jarring words of one whose rhyme Beat often Labor's hurried time, Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife, are here. 15 Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, No rounded art the lack supplies; Unskilled the subtle lines to trace, Or softer shades of Nature's face, I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. 20 B 1 2 PROEM Nor mine the seer-like power to show The secrets of the heart and mind ; To drop the plummet-hne below Om' common world of joy and woe, A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 Yet here at least an earnest sense Of human right and weal is shown; A hate of tyranny intense, And hearty in its vehemence, ,^ As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 30 Freedom, if to me belong Nor mighty Milton's gift divine. Nor Marveirs° wit and graceful song, Still with a love as deep and strong As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 35 Amesbury, Wth mo., 1847. SNOW-BOUND A WINTER IDYL TO THE MEMORY OF THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES This Poem is Dedicated by the Author " As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Ught of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." — Cor, Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, Book I., ch. v. " Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the house-mates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm," — Emerson. The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky 5 Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout, 3 4 SNOW-BOUND Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, lo A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east ; we heard the roar e i^' Of Ocean on his wintry shore. And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — Brought in the wood from out of doors, 20 Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd's grass for the cows: Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; And, sharply clashing horn on horn. Impatient down the stanchion rows 25 The cattle shake their walnut bows : While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold's pole of birch. The cock his crested helmet bent And down his querulous challenge sent. 30 Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro 35 Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : And ere the early bed-time came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in Uke tall and sheeted ghosts. 40 SNOW-BOUND 50 all night long the storm roared on: irhe morning broke without a sun; [n tiny spherule traced with lines 3f Nature's geometric signs, in starry flake, and peUicle, 45 * W day the hoary meteor fell ; \nd, when the second morning shone, vVe looked upon a world unknown, 3n nothing we could call our own. \round the glistening wonder bent 50 The blue walls of the firmament, ^o cloud above, no earth below, — i^ A universe of sky and snow ! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 55 !lose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 3r garden wall, or belt of wood; V smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, \ fenceless drift what once was road ; The bridle -post an old man sat 60 kVith loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; |Vnd even the long sweep, high aloof, I'n its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. ° 65 W prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted : " Boys, a path ! " v¥ell pleased (for when did farmer boy 'Jount such a summons less than joy ?) i )ur buskins on our ieet we drew ; 70 With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, To guard our necks and ears from snow. 6 SNOW-BOUND We cut the solid whiteness through. And, where the drift was deepest, made A tunnel walled and overlaid With dazzling crystal : we had read Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave,° And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours To test his lamp's supernal powers. We reached the barn with merry din And roused the prisoned brutes within. The old horse thrust his long head out, And grave with wonder gazed about; The cock his lusty greeting said. And forth his speckled harem led ; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, And mild reproach of hunger looked ; The horned patriarch of the sheep. Like Egypt's Amun° roused from sleep. Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot. All day the gusty north-wind bore The loosening drift its breath before ; Low circling round its southern zone. The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. A solitude made more intense By dreary-voiced elements, The shrieking of the mindless wind. The moaning tree-boughs s waving blind. And on the grass the unmeaning beat SNOW-BOUND 7 Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 105 Beyond the circle of our hearth No welcome sound of toil or mirth Unbound the spell, and testified Of human life and thought outside. We minded that the sharpest ear no The buried brooklet could not hear, The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship, And, in our lonely life, had grown To have an almost human tone. 115 As night drew on, and, from the crest Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank From sight beneath the smothering bank, We piled, with care, our nightly stack 120 Of wood against the chimney-back, — The oaken log, green, huge, and thick. And on its top the stout back-stick; The knotty forestick laid apart, And filled between with curious art 125 The ragged brush ; then, hovering near. We watched the first red blaze appear. Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam. Until the old, rude-furnished room 130 Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; While radiant with a mimic flame Outside the sparkling drift became. And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 135 The crane and pendent trammels showed, 8 SNOW-BOUND The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; While childish fancy, prompt to tell The meaning of the miracle, Whispered the old rhyme : '^ Under the tree, 140 When fire outdoors hums merrily, There the witches are making tea." The moon above the eastern wood Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood Transfigured in the silver flood, 145 Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, Dead white, save where some sharp ravine Took shadow, or the sombre green Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black Against the whiteness at their back. 150 For such a world and such a night Most fitting that unwarming light, Which only seemed where'er it fell To make the coldness visible. Shut in from all the world without, 155 We sat the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north-wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door. While the red logs before us beat The frost-line back with tropic heat; 160 And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed; The house-dog on his paws outspread, 165 Laid to the fire his drowsy head. The cat's dark silhouette on the wall SNOW-BOUND 9 A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons' straddling feet, 170 The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. What matter how the night behaved ? 17s What matter how the north-wdnd raved ? Blow high, blow low, not all its snow Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. Time and Change ! — with hair as gray As was my sire's that winter day, 180 How strange it seems, with so much gone Of life and love, to still live on ! Ah, brother ! only I and thou Are left of all that circle now, — The dear home faces whereupon 185 That fitful firelight paled and shone. Henceforward, listen as we will, The voices of that hearth are still ; Look where we may, the wdde earth o^er, Those lighted faces smile no more. 190 We tread the paths their feet have worn, We sit beneath their orchard trees, We hear, like them, the hum of bees And rustle of the bladed corn ; We turn the pages that they read, 19S Their written words w^e linger o'er, But in the sun they cast no shade. No voice is heard, no sign is made. No step is on the conscious floor ! 10 SNOW-BOUND Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust 200 (Since He who knows our need is just), That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 205 Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, 210 And Love can never lose its own ! We sped the time with stories old, Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, Or stammered from our school-book lore "The Chief of Gambia's^ golden shore." 215 How often since, when all the land Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, As if a trumpet called, I've heard Dame Mercy Warren's rousing word : '^ Does not the voice of reason cry, 220 Claim the first right which Nature gave, From the red scourge of bondage fly, Nor deign to live a burdened slave!" Our father rode again his ride On Memphremagog's° wooded side; ' 225 Sat down again to moose and samp In trapper's hut and Indian camp; Lived o'er the old idyllic ease Beneath St. Frangois' hemlock trees°; Again for him the moonlight shone 230 On Norman cap° and bodiced zone* SNOW-BOUND 11 Again he heard the violin play I Which led the village dance away, And mingled in its merry whirl The grandam and the laughing girl. 235 Or, nearer home, our steps he led Where Salisbury 's° level marshes spread Mile- wide as flies the laden bee ; ' Where merry mowers, hale and strong. Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along 240 The low green prairies of the sea. We shared the fishing off Boar's Head,° And round the rocky Isles of Shoals® The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; The chowder on the sand-beach made, 245 Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. We heard the tales of witchcraft old. And dream and sign and marvel told To sleepy listeners as they lay 250 Stretched idly on the salted hay, I Adrift along the winding shores, j When favoring breezes deigned to blow I The square sail of the gundelow, I And idle lay the useless oars, 255 I Our mother, while she turned her wheel I Or run the new-knit stocking-heel. Told how the Indian hordes came down At midnight on Cochecho° town, And how her own great-uncle bore 260 His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. Recalling, in her fitting phrase, So rich and picturesque and free, 12 SNOW-BOUND (The common um^hymed poetry Of simple life and country ways), 265 The story of her early days, — She made us welcome to her home; Old hearths grew wide to give us room; We stole with her a frightened look At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 270 The fame whereof went far and wide Through all the simple country-side; We heard the hawks at twilight play, The boat-horn on Piscataqua,° The loon's weird laughter far away; 275 We fished her little trout-brook, knew What flowers in wood and meadow grew, What sunny hillsides autumn-brown She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 280 The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, And heard the wild-geese calling loud Beneath the gray November cloud. Then, haply, with a look more grave. And soberer tone, some tale she gave 285 From painful Sewell's ancient tome,° Beloved in every Quaker home. Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, Or Chalkley's Journal, ° old and quaint, — Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! — 290 Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, And water-butt and bread-cask failed, And cruel, hungry eyes pursued His portly presence mad for food. With dark hints muttered under breath 295 Of casting lots for life or death, &NOW-BOUND 13 Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, To be himself the sacrifice. Then, suddenly, as if to save The good man from his living grave, 300 A ripple on the water gjew, A school of porpoise dashed in view. ''Take, eat," he said, ''and be content; These fishes in my stead are sent By Him who gave the tangled ram° 305 To spare the child of Abraham." Our uncle, innocent of books, Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, The ancient teachers never dumb Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. 310 In moons and tides ancl weather wise, He read the clouds as prophecies. And foul or fair could well divine, By many an occult hint and sign. Holding the cunning-warded keys 315 To all the woodcraft mysteries; Himself to Nature's heart so near That all her voices in his ear Of beast or bird had meanings clear, Like Apollonius° of old, 320 Who knew the tales the sparrows told, Or Hermes, ° who interpreted What the sage cranes of Nilus said; A simple, guileless, childlike man. Content to live where life began; 325 Strong only on his native grounds. The little world of sights and sounds Whose girdle was the parish bounds, 14 SNOW-BOUND Whereof his fondly partial pride The common features magnified, 330 As Surrey hills to mountains grew In White of Selborne's° loving view, — He told how teal and loon he shot, And how the eagle's eggs he got, The feats on pond and river done, 335 The prodigies of rod and gun; Till, warming with the tales he told, Forgotten was the outside cold. The bitter wind unheeded blew, From ripening corn the pigeons flew, 340 The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink Went fishing down the river-brink. In fields with bean or clover gay. The woodchuck, like a hermit gray. Peered from the doorway of his cell ; 345 The muskrat plied the mason's trade, And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; And from the shagbark overhead The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer 350 And voice in dreams I see and hear, — The sweetest woman ever Fate Perverse denied a household mate. Who, lonely, homeless, not the less Found peace in love's unselfishness, 355 And welcome wheresoe'er she went, A calm and gracious element, Whose presence seemed the sweet income And womanly atmosphere of home, — Called up her girlhood memories, 360 SNOW-BOUND 15 The huskings and the apple-bees, The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, Weaving through all the poor details And homespun warp of circumstance A golden woof-thread of romance. 365 For well she kept her genial mood And simple faith of maidenhood; Before her still a cloud-land lay, The mirage loomed across her way; The morning dew, that dries so soon 370 With others, glistened at her noon; Through years of toil and soil and care, From glossy tress to thin gray hair, All unprofaned she held apart The virgin fancies of the heart. 375 Be shame to him of woman born Who hath for such but thought of scorn. There, too, our elder sister plied Her evening task the stand beside ; A full, rich nature, free to trust, 380 Truthful and almost sternly just, Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act. And make her generous thought a fact, Keeping with many a light disguise The secret of self-sacrifice. 385 O heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest, Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! How many a poor one's blessing went With thee beneath the low green tent 390 Whose curtain never outward swings ! 16 SNOW-BOUND As one who held herself a part Of all she saw, and let her heart Against the household bosom lean, Upon the motley-braided mat 395 Our youngest and our dearest sat, Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, Now bathed within the fadeless green° And holy peace of Paradise. Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 Or from the shade of saintly palms, Or silver reach of river calms, Do those large eyes behold me still ? With me one little year ago : — The chill weight of the winter snow 405 For months upon her grave has lain; And now, when summer south-winds blow And brier and harebell bloom again, I tread the pleasant paths we trod, I see the violet-sprinkled sod 410 Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak The hillside flowers she loved to seek, Yet following me where'er I went With dark eyes full of love's content. The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 415 The air with sweetness; all the hills Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; But still I wait with ear and eye For something gone which should be nigh, A loss in all familiar things, 420 In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee. Am I not richer than of old? Safe in thy immortality, SNOW-BOUND 17 What change can reach the wealth I hold? 425 What chance can mar the pearl and gold Thy love hath left in trust with me ? And while in life's late afternoon, Where cool and long the shadows grow, I walk to meet the night that soon 430 Shall shape and shadow overflow. I cannot feel that thou art far, Since near at need the angels are; And when the sunset gates unbar, Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 43s And, white against the evening star, The welcome of thy beckoning hand? Brisk wielder of the birch and rule. The master of the district school ° Held at the fire his favored place, 440 Its warm glow lit a laughing face Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared The uncertain prophecy of beard. He teased the mitten-blinded cat, Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, 44S Sang songs, and told us what befalls In classic Dartmouth's college halls. Born the wild Northern hills among, From whence his yeoman father wrung By patient toil subsistence scant, 45© Not competence and yet not want. He early gained the power to pay His cheerful, self-reliant way; Could doff at ease his scholar's gown To peddle wares from town to town; 455 Or through the long vacation's reach 18 SNOW-BOUND In lonely lowland districts teach, Where all the droll experience found At stranger hearths in boarding round, The moonlit skater's keen delight, 460 The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, The rustic party, with its rough Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff. And whirling plate, and forfeits paid. His winter task a pastime made. 465 Happy the snow-locked homes wherein He tuned his merry violin, Or played the athlete in the barn. Or held the good dame's winding yarn, Or mirth-provoking versions told 47° Of classic legends rare and old, Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome Had all the commonplace of home. And little seemed at best the odds 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; 475 Where Pindus-born Araxes° took The guise of any grist-mill brook, And dread Olympus at his will Became a huckleberry hill. A careless boy that night he seemed; 480 But at his desk he had the look And air of one who wisely schemed, And hostage from the future took In trained thought and lore of book. Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he 485 Shall Freedom's young apostles be. Who, following in War's bloody trail, Shall every lingering wrong assail ; SNOW-BOUND 19 All chains from limb and spirit strike, Uplift the black and white alike; 490 Scatter before their swift advance The darkness and the ignorance, The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, Made murder pastime, and the hell 495 Of prison-torture possible ; The cruel lie of caste refute, Old forms remould, and substitute For Slavery's lash the freeman's will. For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; 500 A school-house plant on every hill, Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence The quick wires of intelligence ; Till North and South together brought Shall own the same electric thought, 505 In peace a common flag salute, And, side by side in labor's free And unresentful rivalry, Harvest the fields wherein they fought. Another guest ° that winter night 510 Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. Unmarked by time, and yet not young, The honeyed music of her tongue And words of meekness scarcely told A nature passionate and bold, 515 Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide. Its milder features dwarfed beside Her unbent will's majestic pride. She sat among us, at the best, A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, 520 20 SNOW-BOUND Rebuking with her cultured phrase Our homeUness of words and ways. A certain pard-Uke, treacherous grace Swayed the Hthe limbs and drooped the lash, Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; 525 And under low brows, black with night, Rayed out at times a dangerous light; The sharp heat-lightnings of her face Presaging ill to him whom Fate Condemned to share her love or hate. 530 A woman tropical, intense In thought and act, in soul and sense, She blended in a like degree The vixen and the devotee. Revealing with each freak or feint 535 The temper of Petruchio's Kate,° The raptures of Siena's saint. ° Her tapering hand and rounded wrist Had facile power to form a fist; The warm, dark languish of her eyes 540 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. 545 Since then what old cathedral town Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown. What convent-gate has held its lock Against the challenge of her knock ! Through Smyrna's° plague-hushed thoroughfares, 550 Up sea-set Malta's" rocky stairs, Gray olive slopes of hills that hem Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, SNOW-BOUND 21 Or startling on her desert throne The crazy Queen of Lebanon° sss With claims fantastic as her own, Her tireless feet have held their way; And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, She watches under Eastern skies. With hope each day renewed and fresh, 560 The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! Where'er her troubled path may be. The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! The outward wayward life we see, s^s The hidden springs we may not know. Nor is it given us to discern What threads the fatal sisters spun. Through what ancestral years has run The sorrow with the woman born, 57° What forged her cruel chain of moods, What set her feet in solitudes. And held the love within her mute, What mingled madness in the blood, A life-long discord and annoy, 57S Water of tears with oil of joy, And hid within the folded bud Perversities of flower and fruit. It is not ours to separate The tangled skein of will and fate, 580 To show what metes and bounds should stand Upon the soul's debatable land. And between choice and Providence Divide the circle of events ; But He who knows our frame is just, 58s M<3rciful, and compassionate, 22 SNOW-BOUND And full of sweet assurances And hope for all the language is, That He remembereth we are dust ! At last the great logs, crumbling low, 590 Sent out a dull and duller glow. The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, Ticking its weary circuit through. Pointed with mutely-warning sign Its black hand to the hour of nine. 595 That sign the pleasant circle broke : My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke. Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray And laid it tenderly away. Then roused himself to safely cover 600 The dull red brands with ashes over. And while, with care, our mother laid The work aside, her steps she stayed One moment, seeking to express Her grateful sense of happiness 605 For food and shelter, warmth and health, And love's contentment more than wealth. With simple wishes (not the weak, Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, But such as warm the generous heart, 610 O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) That none might lack, that bitter night. For bread and clothing, warmth and light. Within our beds awhile we heard The wind that round the gables roared, 615 With now and then a ruder shock. Which made our very bedsteads rock, SNOW-BOUND 23 We heard the loosened clapboards tost, The board-nails snapping in the frost; And on us, through the unplastered wall, 620 Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. But sleep stole on, as sleep will do When hearts are light and life is new; Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, Till in the summer-land of dreams 625 They softened to the sound of streams. Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, And lapsing waves on quiet shores. Next morn we wakened with the shout Of merry voices high and clear; 630 And saw the teamsters drawing near To break the drifted highways out. Down the long hillside treading slow We saw the half-buried oxen go. Shaking the snow from heads uptost, 635 Their straining nostrils white with frost. Before our door the straggling train Drew up, an added team to gain. The elders threshed their hands a-cold, Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes 640 From lip to lip; the younger folks Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, Then toiled again the cavalcade O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine. And woodland paths that wound between 645 Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. From every barn a team afoot, At every house a new recruit. Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, 24 SNOW-BOUND Haply the watchful young men saw 650 Sweet doorway pictures of the curls And curious eyes of merry girls, Lifting their hands in mock defence Against the snow-ball's compliments, And reading in each missive tost 655 The charm with Eden never lost. We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; And, following where the teamsters led, The wise old Doctor went his round, Just pausing at our door to say, 660 In the brief autocratic way Of one who, prompt at Duty's call. Was free to urge her claim on all. That some poor neighbor sick abed At night our mother's aid would need. 665 For, one in generous thought and deed. What mattered in the sufferer's sight The Quaker matron's inward light, The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed°? All hearts confess the saints elect 670 Who, twain in faith, in love agree. And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity ! So days went on : a week had passed Since the great world was heard from last. 675 The Almanac we studied o'er, Read and reread our little store Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; One harmless novel, mostly hid From younger eyes, a book forbid, , 680 And poetry, (or good or bad, SNOW-BOUND 25 A single book was all we had,) Where Ell wood's ° meek, drab-skh'ted Muse, A stranger to the heathen Nine, Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, 685 The wars of David and the Jews. At last the floundering carrier bore The village paper to our door. Lo ! broadening outward as we read, To warmer zones the horizon spread; 690 In panoramic length unrolled We saw the marvels that it told. Before us passed the painted Creeks, ° And daft M'Gregor° on his raids In Costa Rica's everglades. 695 And up Taygetos° winding slow Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, A Turk's head at each saddle bow ! Welcome to us its week-old news, Its corner for the rustic Muse, 700 Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, Its record, mingling in a breath The wedding knell and dirge of death : Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, The latest culprit sent to jail ; 705 Its hue and cry of stolen and lost. Its vendue sales and goods at cost. And traffic calling loud for gain. We felt the stir of hall and street. The pulse of life that round us beat; 710 The chill embargo of the snow Was melted in the genial glow; Wide swung again our ice-locked door. And all the world was ours once more ! 26 SNOW-BOUND Clasp, Angel of the backward look 715 And folded wings of ashen gray And voice of echoes far away, The brazen covers of thy book; The weird palimpsest old and vast, Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; 720 Where, closely mingling, pale and glow The characters of joy and woe; The monographs of outlived years, Or smile-illumed or dim with tears. Green hills of life that slope to death, 725 And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees Shade off to mournful cypresses With the white amaranths underneath. Even while I look, I can but heed The restless sands' incessant fall, 730 Importunate hours that hours succeed. Each clamorous with its own sharp need, ^ And duty keeping pace with all. Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; I hear again the voice that bids 735 The dreamer leave his dream midway For larger hopes and graver fears : Life greatens in these later years. The century's aloe flowers to-day ! Yet, haply, in some lull of life, 740 Some Truce of God° which breaks its strife. The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, Dreaming in throngful city ways Of winter joys his boyhood knew; And dear and early friends — the few 745 Who yet remain — shall pause to view SNOW-BOUND 27 These Flemish pictures ° of old daj^s; Sit with me by the homestead hearth, And stretch the hands of memory forth To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! 750 And thanks untraced to lips unknown Shall greet me like the odors blown From unseen meadows newly mown, Or lilies floating in some pond, Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; 755 The traveller owns the grateful sense Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, And, pausing, takes with forehead bare The benediction of the air. SONGS OF LABOR [1850] DEDICATION I WOULD the gift I offer here Might graces from thy favor take, And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, On softened lines and coloring, wear The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. 5 Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain : But what I have I give to thee, — The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, And paler flowers, the latter rain Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. 10 Above the fallen groves of green, Where youth's enchanted forest stood, Dry root and mossed trunk between, A sober after-growth is seen. As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood ! 15 Yet birds will sing, and breezes play Their leaf -harps in the sombre tree; 28 DEDICATION 29 And through the bleak and wintry day It keeps its steady green alway, 19 So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. Art's perfect forms no moral need — And beauty is its own excuse °; But for the dull and fiowerless weed Some healing virtue still must plead, And the rough ore must find its honors in its use. 25 So haply these, my simple lays Of homely toil, may serve to show The orchard bloom and tasselled maize That skirt and gladden duty's ways, The unsung beauty hid life's common things below. 30 Haply from them the toiler, bent Above his forge or plough, may gain A manlier spirit of content. And feel that life is wisest spent Where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain. 35 The doom which to the guilty pair Without the walls of Eden came, Transforming sinless ease to care And rugged toil, no more shall bear The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. 40 A blessing now, — a curse no more ; Since He, whose name we breathe with awe. The coarse mechanic vesture wore, — A poor man toiling with the poor. In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. 4$ 30 SONGS OF LABOR THE SHIPBUILDERS^ The sky is ruddy in the east, The earth is gray below, And, spectral in the river-mist, The ship's white timbers show. Then let the sounds of measured stroke 5 And grating saw begin; The broad axe to the gnarled oak, The mallet to the pin ! Hark ! — roars the bellows, blast on blast, The sooty smithy jars, 10 And fire-sparks, rising far and fast. Are fading with the stars. All day for us the smith shall stand Beside that flashing forge; All day for us his heavy hand 15 The groaning anvil scourge. From far-off hills the panting team For us is toiling near; For us the raftsmen down the stream Their island barges steer. 20 Rings out for us the axe -man's stroke In forests old and still, — For us the century-circled oak Falls crashing down his hill. Up ! — up ! — in nobler toil than ours 25 No craftsmen bear a part : We make of Nature's giant powers The slaves of human Art. THE SHIPBUILDERS 31 Lay rib to rib and beam to beam, And drive the treenails free ; 30 Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam Shall tempt the searching sea ! Where'er the keel of our good ship The sea's rough field shall plough, — Where'er her tossing spars shall drip 35 With salt-spray caught below, — That ship must heed her master's beck, Her helm obey his hand, And seamen tread her reeling deck As if they trod the land. 40 Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak Of Northern ice may peel ; The sunken rock and coral peak May grate along her keel ; And know we well the painted shell 45 We give to wind and wave. Must float, the sailor's citadel, Or, sink, the sailor's grave ! Ho ! — strike away the bars and blocks, And set the good ship free ! 5° Why lingers on these dusty rocks The young bride of the sea ? Look ! how she moves adown the grooves, In graceful beauty now ! How lowly on the breast she loves 55 Sinks down her virgin prow ! God bless her ! wheresoe'er the breeze Her snowy wing shall fan, 32 SOJ^GS OF LAB OB Aside, the frozen Hebrides, ° Or sultry Hindostan ! 60 Where'er, in mart or on the main, With peaceful flag unfurled. She helps to wind the silken chain Of commerce round the world ! Speed on the ship ! — But let her bear 65 No merchandise of sin, No groaning cargo of despair Her roomy hold within; No Lethean drug° for Eastern lands, Nor poison-draught for ours; 70 But honest fruits of toiling hands And Nature's sun and showers. Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, The Desert's golden sand, The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, 75 The spice of Morning-land ! Her pathway on the open main May blessings follow free. And glad hearts welcome back again Her white sails from the sea ! 80 THE SHOEMAKERS Ho ! workers of the old time styled The Gentle Craft of Leather°! Young brothers of the ancient guild, Stand forth once more together ! C^U out again your long array. THE SHOEMAKERS 33 In the olden merry manner ! Once more, on gay St. Crispin's ° day, Fling out your blazoned banner ! Rap, rap ! upon the well-worn stone How falls the polished hammer ! lo Rap, rap ! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor. Now shape the sole ! now deftly curl The glossy vamp around it. And bless the while the bright-eyed girl 15 Whose gentle fingers bound it ! For you, along the Spanish main° A hundred keels are ploughing; For you, the Indian on the plain His lasso-coil is throwing ; 20 For you, deep glens with hemlock dark The woodman's fire is lighting ; For you, upon the oak's gray bark, The woodman's axe is smiting. For you, from Carolina's pine 25 The rosin-gum is stealing ; For you, the dark-eyed Florentine "^ Her silken skein is reeling; For you, the dizzy goatherd roams His rugged Alpine ledges ; 30 For you, round all her shepherd homes. Bloom England's thorny hedges. The foremost still, by day or night, On moated mound or heather. 34 SONGS OF LABOR Where'er the need of trampled right 35 Brought toiling men together; Where the free burghers from the wall Defied the mail-clad master, Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, No craftsman rallied faster. ' 40 Let foplings sneer, let fools deride, — Ye heed no idle scorner; Free hands and hearts are still your pride, And duty done, your honor. Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, 45 The jury Time empanels. And leave to truth each noble name Which glorifies your annals. Thy songs, Han Sachs, ° are living yet. In strong and hearty German; 50 And Bloomfield's ° lay, and Gifford's wit,° And patriot fame of Sherman °; Still from his book, a mystic seer, The soul of Behmen° teaches, And England's priestcraft shakes to hear 55 Of Fox's ° leathern breeches. The foot is yours ; where'er it falls, It treads your well-wrought leather, On earthen floor, in marble halls, On carpet, or on heather. 60 Still there the sweetest charm is found Of matron grace or vestal's. As Hebe's ° foot bore nectar round. Among the old celestials ! THE DROVERS 35 Rap, rap ! — your stout and bluff brogan, 65 With footsteps slow and weary, May wander where the sky's blue span Shuts down upon the prairie. On Beauty's foot your slippers glance, By Saratoga's ° fountains, 70 Or twinkle down the summer dance Beneath the Crystal Mountains °! The red brick to the mason's hand. The brown earth to the tiller's, The shoe in yours shall wealth command, 75 Like fairy Cinderella's ! As they who shunned the household maid Beheld the crown upon her, So all shall see your toil repaid With hearth and home and honor. 80 Then let the toast be freely quaffed, In water cool and brimming, — ''All honor to the good old Craft, Its merry men and women !" Call out again your long array, 85 In the old time's pleasant manner: Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, Fling out his blazoned banner ! THE DROVERS Through heat and cold, and shower and sun, Still onward cheerly driving ! There's life alone in duty done, And rest alone in striving. 36 SOKGS OF LABOR But see ! the day is closing cool, S The woods are dim before us ; The white fog of the wayside pool Is creeping slowly o'er us. The night is falling, comrades mine, Our footsore beasts are weary, lo And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. The landlord beckons from his door, His beechen fire is glowing; These ample barns, with feed in store, 15 Are filled to overflowing. From many a valley frowned across By brows of rugged mountains ; From hillsides where, through spongy moss. Gush out the river fountains; 20 From quiet farm-fields, green and low, And bright with blooming clover; From vales of corn the wandering crow No richer hovers over; Day after day our way has been, 25 O'er many a hill and hollow ; By lake and stream, by wood and glen, Our stately drove we follow. Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, As smoke of battle o'er us, 30 Their white horns glisten in the sun. Like plumes and crests before us. We see them slowly climb the hill. As slow behind it sinking ; Or, thronging close, from roadside rill, 35 Or sunny lakelet, drinking. THE DROVERS 37 Now crowding in the narrow road, In thick and struggling masses, They glare upon the teamster's load, Or rattling coach that passes; 40 Anon, with toss of horn and tail, And paw of hoof, and bellow, They leap some farmer's broken pale. O'er meadow-close or fallow. Forth comes the startled goodman; forth 45 Wife, children, house-dog, sally; Till once more on their dusty path The baffled truants rally. We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony, 50 Like those who grind their noses down On pastures bare and stony, — Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, And cows too lean for shadows, Disputing feebly with the frogs 55 The crop of saw-grass meadows ! In our good drove, so sleek and fair. No bones of leanness rattle; No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. ° 60 Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand That fed him unrepining ; The fatness of a goodly land In each dun hide is shining. We've sought them where, in warmest nooks, 65 The freshest feed is growing, 88 SONGS OF LABOR By sweetest springs and clearest brooks Through honeysuckle flowing; Wherever hillsides, sloping south, Are bright with early grasses, 70 Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth, The mountain streamlet passes. But now the day is closing cool, The woods are dim before us. The white fog of the wayside pool 75 Is creeping slowly o'er us. The cricket to the frog's bassoon His shrillest time is keeping ; The sickle of yon setting moon The meadow-mist is reaping. 80 The night is falling, comrades mine, Our footsore beasts are weary. And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. To-morrow, eastward with our charge 85 We'll go to meet the dawning. Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge Have seen the sun of morning. When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, Instead of birds, are flitting; 90 When children throng the glowing hearth, And quiet wives are knitting; While in the fire-light strong and clear Young eyes of pleasure glisten. To tales of all we see and hear 95 The ears of home shall listen. THE FISHERMEN 39 By many a Northern lake and hill, From many a mountain pastm'e, Shall Fancy play the Drover still, And speed the long night faster. loo Then let us on, through shower and sun, And heat and cold, be driving; There's life alone in duty done. And rest alone in striving. THE FISHERMEN Hurrah ! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! Run up the sail again ! Leave to the lubber landsmen S The rail-car and the steed; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed. From the hill-top looks the steeple. And the lighthouse from the sand; lo And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us. For the homes we leave one sigh, Ere we take the change and chances 15 Of the ocean and the sky. Now, brothers, for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador, Floating spectral in the moonshine, Along, the low, black shore ! 20 40 SONGS OF LABOR Where like snow the gannet's feathers On Brador's° rocks are shed, And the noisy murr are flying, Like black scuds, overhead; Where in mist the rock is hiding, 25 And the sharp reef lurks below. And the white squall smites in summer, And the autumn tempests blow ; Where, through gray and rolling vapor, From evening unto morn, 30 A thousand boats are hailing, Horn answering unto horn. Hurrah ! for the Red Island, ° With the white cross on its crown ! Hurrah! for Meccatina,° 35 And its mountains bare and brown ! Where the caribou's tall antlers O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, And the footstep of the Mickmack° Has no sound upon the moss. 40 There we'll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean's treasures in. Where'er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark fin. The sea's our field of harvest, 45 Its scaly tribes our grain; We'll reap the teeming waters As at home they reap the plain ! Our wet hands spread the carpet, And fight the hearth of home; 50 THE FISHERMEI^ 41 From our fish, as in the old time, The silver coin shall come. As the demon fled the chamber Where the fish of Tobit° lay, So ours from all our dwellings 55 Shall frighten Want away. Though the mist upon our jackets In the bitter air congeals, And our lines wind stiff and slowly From off the frozen reels ; 60 Though the fog be dark around us, And the storm blow high and loud, We will w^histle down the wild wind. And laugh beneath the cloud ! In the darkness as in daylight, 65 On the water as on land, God's eye is looking on us, And l3eneath us is His hand ! Death will find us soon or later, On the deck or in the cot ; 70 And we cannot meet him better Than in working out our lot. Hurrah I — hurrah ! — the west-wind Comes freshening down the bay, The rising sails are filling, — 75 Give way, my lads, give way ! Leave the coward landsman clinging To the dull earth, like a weed, — The stars of heaven shall guide us. The breath of heaven shall speed ! 80 42 SONGS OF LABOR THE HUSKERS It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again ; The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the wood- lands gay With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- flowers of May. Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red, 5 At first a rayless disk of fire he brightened as he sped; Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued. On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood. And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light ; 10 Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill; And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why; And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks, 15 Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks. THE HUSKERS 43 From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks ; But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. 20 The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sear, 25 Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear; Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain; 30 Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last; 44 SONGS OF LABOR And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed. And lo ! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond, Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, 35 And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one! As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away. And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay; From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet with- out name, Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came. 40 Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow. Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below; The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before. And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, 45 Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade. At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played. THE CORN-SONG 45 Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, Lifting to Ught her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair, 50 The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue. To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking- ballad sung. THE CORN-SONG Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean S The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green. The cluster from the vine ; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, 10 To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made. While on the hills the sun and showers 15 Of changeful April played. We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, 46 SONGS OF LABOR And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. 20 All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, 25 Its harvest-time has come, We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There, richer than the fabled gift Apollo showered of old, 30 Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 35 By homespun beauty poured ! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls, Who will not thank the kindly earth. And bless our farmer girls ? 40 Then shame on all the proud and vain, Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn ! THE LUMBERMEN 47 Let earth withhold her goodly root, 45 Let mildew blight the rye, Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat-field to the fly : But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; so Still let us, for His golden corn, Send up our thanks to God ! THE LUMBERMEN Wildly round our woodland quarters, Sad- voiced Autumn grieves; Thickly down these swelling waters Float his fallen leaves. Through the tall and naked timber, Column-like and old, Gleam the sunsets of November, From their skies of gold. O'er us, to the southland heading. Screams the gray wild-goose; On the night-frost sounds the treading Of the brindled moose. Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping Frost his task-work plies; Soon, his icy bridges heaping, Shall our log-piles rise. When, with sounds of smothered thunder. On some night of rain. Lake and river break asunder 48 SONGS OF LABOR Winter's weakened chain, 20 Down the wild March flood shall bear them To the saw-mill's wheel, Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them With his teeth of steel. Be it starlight, be it moonlight, 25 In these vales below, When the earliest beams of sunlight Streak the mountain's snow, Crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early, To our hurrying feet, 30 And the forest echoes clearly All our blows repeat. Where the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear. And Millnoket's pine-black ridges 35 Hide the browsing deer : Where, through lakes and wide morasses, Or through rocky walls. Swift and strong, Penobscot passes White with foamy falls ; 40 Where, through clouds, are glimpses given Of Katahdin's sides, ° — Rock and forest piled to heaven. Torn and ploughed by slides ! Far below, the Indian trapping, 4S In the sunshine warm; Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping Half the peak in storm ! THE LUMBERMEN 49 Where are mossy carpets better Than the Persian weaves, 50 And than Eastern perfumes sweeter Seem the fading leaves ; And a music wild and solemn, From the pine-tree's height, Rolls its vast and sea-like volume 55 On the wind of night ; Make we here our camp of winter; And, through sleet and snow. Pitchy knot and beechen splinter On our hearth shall glow, 60 Here, with mirth to lighten duty, We shall lack alone Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, Childhood's lisping tone. But their hearth is brighter burning 65 For our toil to-day; And the welcome of returning Shall our loss repay. When, like seamen from the waters, From the woods we come, 70 Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, Angels of our home ! Not for us the measured ringing From the village spire. Not for us the Sabbath singing 75 Of the sweet-voiced choir : Ours the old, majestic temple, Where God's brightness shines 50 SONGS OF LAB OB Down the dome so grand and ample, Propped by lofty pines ! 80 Through each branch-enwoven skylight Speaks He in the breeze, As of old beneath the twilight Of lost Eden's trees ! For His ear, the inward feeling 85 Needs no outward tongue : He can see the spirit kneeling While the axe is swung. Heeding truth alone, and turning From the false and dim, 90 Lamp of toil or altar burning Are alike to Him. Strike, then, comrades ! — Trade is waiting On our rugged toil ; Far ships waiting for the freighting 95 Of our woodland spoil ! Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, Bleak and cold, of ours, With the citron-planted islands Of a clime of flowers ; 100 To our frosts the tribute bringing Of eternal heats ; In our lap of winter flinging Tropic fruits and sweets. Cheerly, on the axe of labor, 105 Let the sunbeams dance. Better than the flash of sabre Or the gleam of lance ! THE LUMBERMEN 51 Strike ! — With every blow is given Freer sun and sky, no And the long-hid earth to heaven Looks, with wondering eye ! Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come; Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, ns Bearing harvest home ! Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill ; Waving wheat and golden maize-ears Crown each beechen hill. 120 Keep who will the city's alleys. Take the smooth-shorn plain, — Give to us the cedar valleys, Rocks, and hills of Maine ! In our North-land, wild and woody, 125 Let us still have part : Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, Hold us to thy heart ! Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer For thy breath of snow ; 130 And our tread is all the firmer For thy rocks below. Freedom, hand in hand with Labor, Walketh strong and brave; On the forehead of his neighbor 135 No man writeth Slave ! Lo, the day breaks ! old Katahdin's Pine-trees show its fires, 52 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS While from these dim forest gardens Rise their blackened spires. 140 Up, my comrades ! up and doing ! Manhood's rugged play Still renewing, bravely hewing Through the world our way ! BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK° 1658 To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to- day. From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked the spoil away, — Yea, He who cooled the furnace around the faithful three, And tamed the Chaldean lions, ° hath set His handmaid free ! Last night I saw the sunset melt through my prison bars, 5 Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the pale gleam of stars ; In the coldness and the darkness all through the long night-time. My grated casement whitened with autumn's early rime. CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 63 Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour crept by; Star after star looked palely in and sank adown the sky; ^ lo No sound amid night's stillness, save that which seemed to be The dull and heavy beating of the pulses of the sea; All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on the morrow The ruler and the cruel priest would mock me in my sorrow. Dragged to their place of market, and bargained for and sold, 15 Like a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer from the fold! Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there, — the shrinking and the shame; And the low voice of the Tempter like whispers to me came: '' Why sit'st thou thus forlornly !" the wicked murmur said, '^ Damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thy maiden bed ? 20 '^ Where be the smiling faces, and voices soft and sweet, Seen in thy father's dwelling, heard in the pleasant street ? Where be the youths whose glances, the summer Sab- bath through. Turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew ? '' Why sit'st thou here^ Cassandra ? — Bethink thee with what mirth 25 54 BALLADS AND NAREATIVE POEMS Thy happy schoolmates gather around the warm bright hearth ; How the crimson shadows tremble on foreheads white and fair, On eyes of merry girlhood, half hid in golden hair. " Not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, not for thee kind words are spoken, Not for thee the nuts of Wenham° woods by laughing boys are broken, 30 No first-fruits of the orchard within thy lap are laid. For thee no flowers of autumn the youthful hunters braid. '' Oh, weak, deluded maiden ! — by crazy fancies led, With wild and raving railers an evil path to tread ; To leave a wholesome worship, and teaching pure and sound ; 35 And mate with maniac women, loose-haired and sack- cloth bound. "Mad scoffers of the priesthood, who mock at things divine. Who rail against the pulpit, and holy bread and wine; Sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from the pillory lame, Rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorying in their shame. 40 "And what a fate awaits thee? — a sadly toiling slave, Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondage to the grave ! Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in hopeless thrall, The easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of all { '' CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 55 Oh, ever as the Tempter spoke, and feeble Nature's fears 45 Wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of unavailing tears, I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove in silent prayer, To feel, O Helper of the weak ! that Thou indeed wert there ! I thought of Paul and Silas, within Philippi's cell,° And how from Peter's sleeping limbs° the prison-shackles fell, 50 Till I seemed to hear the trailing of an angel's robe of white. And to feel a blessed presence invisible to sight. Bless the Lord for all His mercies ! — for the peace and love I felt, Like dew of Hermon's holy hill,° upon my spirit melt; When ''Get behind me, Satan!" was the language of my heart, 55 And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his doubts depart. Slow broke the gray cold morning; again the sunshine fell, Flecked with the shade of bar and grate within my lonely cell; The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward from the street Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of passing feet. 60 At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open cast, B6 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long street I passed; I heard the murmur round me, and felt, but dared not see. How, from every door and window, the people gazed on me. And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burned upon my cheek, 65 Swam earth and sky around me, my trembling limbs grew weak : ''O Lord! support Thy handmaid; and from her soul cast out The fear of man, which brings a snare, — the weakness and the doubt." Then the dreary shadows scattered, like a cloud in morning's breeze, And a low deep voice within me seemed whispering words like these: 70 ''Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heaven a brazen wall, Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is over all." We paused at length, where at my feet the sunlit waters broke On glaring reach of shining beach, and shingly wall of rock; The merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard clear lines on high, 75 Tracing with rope and slender spar their network on the sky. And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped and grave and cold. CASSANDRA SOUTH WICK 57 And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and old, And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk at hand, Sat dark and haughty Endicott,° the ruler of the land. 80 And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's ready ear, The priest leaned o'er his saddle, with laugh and scoff and jeer; It stirred my soul, and from my lips the seal of silence broke. As if through woman's weakness a warning spirit spoke. I cried, ''The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek, 85 Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak ! Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones, — go turn the prison lock Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock!" Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with a deeper red O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush of anger spread ; 90 "Good people," quoth the white-lipped priest, ''heed not her words so wild, Her master speaks within her, — the Devil owns his child!" But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the while the sheriff read That law the wicked rulers against the poor have made, 58 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Who to their house of Rimmon° and idol priesthood bring _ 95 No bended knee of worship, nor gainful offering. Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, said, — ''Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid? In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's shore. You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor." loo Grim and silent stood the captains ; and when again he cried, "Speak out, my worthy seamen!" — no voice, no sign replied ; But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind words met my ear, — " God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle girl and dear!" A weight seemed lifted from my heart, — a pitying friend was nigh, 105 I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his eye; And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so kind to me. Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the sea, — "Pile my ship with bars of silver, — pack with coins of Spanish gold. From keel-piece up to deck-plant, the roomage of her hold, no CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 59 By the living God who made me ! — I would sooner in your bay Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child away!" ^'Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their cruel laws !" Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people's just applause. "Like the herdsman of Tekoa,° in Israel of old, 115 Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold?" I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon halfway drawn. Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn; Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence back. And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track. 120 Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul ; Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment roll. ''Good friends," he said, ''since both have fled, the ruler and the priest, Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well re- leased." Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay, 125 As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my way; 60 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen, And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men. Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath my eye, A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls of the sky, 130 A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and wood- land lay, And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the bay. Thanksgiving to the Lord of life ! — to Him all praises be, Who from the hands of evil men hath set His handmaid free; All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are afraid, 135 Who takes the crafty in the snare which for the poor is laid! Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's twilight calm Uplift the loud thanksgiving, — pour forth the grateful ' psalm; Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the saints of old, When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Peter told. 140 And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of wrong, FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 61 The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand upon the strong. Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour ! Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven and devour ! But let the humble ones arise, — the poor in heart be glad, ^ _ ^ 145 And let the mourning ones again with robes of praise be clad, For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the stormy wave, And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to save ! FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 1756 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 gray rocks o'er, 5 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, 10 Wild winds have bared some splintering peak. Or snow-slide left its dusky streak. 62 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Yet green are Saco's banks below And belts of spruce and cedar show Dark, fringing round those cones of snow. 15 The earth hath felt the breath of spring, Though yet on her deliverer's wing The lingering frosts of winter cling. > Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks And mildly from its sunny nooks 20 The blue eye of the violet looks. And odors from the springing grass, The sweet birch and the sassafras. Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. Her tokens of renewing care 25 Hath Nature scattered everywhere, In bud and flower, and warmer air. But in their hour of bitterness. What reck the broken Sokokis, Beside their slaughtered chief, of this? 30 The turf's red stain is yet undried, — Scarce have the death-shot echoes died Along Sebago's wooded side: And silent now the hunters stand, Grouped darkly, where a swell of land 35 Slopes upward from the lake's white sand. Fire and the axe have swept it bare, Save one lone beech, unclosing there Its light leaves in the vernal air. FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 63 With grave, cold looks, all sternly mute, 40 They break the damp turf at its foot, And bare its coiled and twisted root. They heave the stubborn trunk aside. The firm roots from the earth divide, — The rent beneath yawns dark and wide. 45 And there the fallen chief is laid, In tasselled garbs of skins arrayed, And girded with its wampum-braid. The silver cross he loved is pressed Beneath the heavy arms, which rest 50 Upon his scarred and naked breast. 'Tis done: the roots are backward sent. The beechen-tree stands up unbent, — The Indian's fitting monument ! When of that sleeper's broken race 55 Their green and pleasant dw^elling-place. Which knew them once, retains no trace; Oh, long may sunset's light be shed As now upon that beech's head, — A green memorial of the dead ! 60 There shall his fitting requiem be, In northern winds, that, cold and free. Howl nightly in that funeral tree. To their wild wail the waves which break For ever round that lonely lake 65 A solemn undertone shall make ! 64 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And who shall deem the spot unblest. Where Nature's younger children rest, Lulled on their sorrowing mother's breast? Deem ye that mother loveth less 70 These bronzed forms of the wilderness She foldeth in her long caress? As sweet o'er them her wild-flowers blow As if with fairer hair and brow The blue-eyed Saxon slept below. 75 What though the places of their rest No priestly knee hath ever pressed, — No funeral rite nor prayer hath blessed? What though the bigot's ban be there, And thoughts of wailing and despair, 80 And cursing in the place of prayer ! Yet Heaven hath angels watching round The Indian's lowliest forest-mound, — And they have made it holy ground. There ceases man's frail judgment; all 85 His powerless bolts of cursing fall Unheeded on that grassy pall. Oh, peeled, and hunted, and reviled. Sleep on, dark tenant of the wild ! Great Nature owns her simple child ; 90 And Nature's God, to whom alone The secret of the heart is known, — The hidden language traced thereon • PENTUCKET 65 Who from its many cumberings Of form and creed, and outward things, 95 To Hght the naked spirit brings ; Not with our partial eye shall scan, Not with our pride and scorn shall ban The spirit of our brother man ! PENTUCKET 1708 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 s 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 ! 10 Beside the river's tranquil flood The dark and low-walled dwelUngs stood, Where many a rood of open land Stretched up and down on either hand. With corn-leaves waving freshly green 15 The thick and blackened stumps between. Behind, unbroken, deep and dread. The wild, untravelled forest spread. Back to those mountains, white and cold, F BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Of which the Indian trapper told, 20 Upon whose summits never yet Was mortal foot in safety set. Quiet and calm, without a fear Of danger darkly lurking near, The weary laborer left his plough, — 25 The milkmaid carolled by her cow, — From cottage door and household hearth Rose songs of praise, or tones of mirth. At length the murmur died away. And silence on that village lay, — 30 So slept Pompeii, ° tower and hall. Ere the quick earthquake swallowed all. Undreaming of the fiery fate Which made its dwellings desolate ! Hours passed away. By moonlight sped 35 The Merrimack along his bed. Bathed in the pallid lustre, stood Dark cottage-wall and rock and wood, Silent, beneath that tranquil beam. As the hushed grouping of a dream. 40 Yet on the still air crept a sound, — No bark of fox, nor rabbit's bound. Nor stir of wings, nor waters flowing. Nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing. Was that the tread of many feet, 45 Which downward from the hillside beat? What forms were those which darkly stood Just on the margin of the wood ? — Charred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim. Or paling rude, or leafless limb? 50 PENTUCKET 67 No, — through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed, Dark human forms in moonshine showed, Wild from their native wilderness, With painted limbs and battle-dress ! A yell the dead might wake to hear 55 Swelled on the night air, far and clear, — Then smote the Indian tomahawk On crashing door and shattering lock, — Then rang the rifle-shot, — and then The shrill death-scream of stricken men, — 60 Sank the red axe in woman's brain. And childhood's cry arose in vain, — Bursting through roof and window came, Red, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame; And blended fire and moonlight glared 65 On still dead men and weapons bared. The morning sun looked brightly through The river willows, wet with dew. No sound of combat filled the air, — No shout was heard, — nor gunshot there : 70 Yet still the thick and sullen smoke From smouldering ruins slowly broke; And on the greensward many a stain. And, here and there, the mangled slain, Told how that midnight bolt had sped, 75 Pentucket, on thy fated head ! Even now the villager can tell Where Rolfe beside his hearthstone fell, Still show the door of wasting oak. Through which the fatal death-shot broke. 80 68 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And point the curious stranger where De Rouville's° corse lay grim and bare, — Whose hideous head, in death still feared, Bore not a trace of hair or beard, — And still, within the churchyard ground, 85 Heaves darkly up the ancient mound, Whose grass-grown surface overlies The victims of that sacrifice. THE EXILES^ 1660 The goodman sat beside his door One sultry afternoon. With his young wife singing at his side An old and goodly tune. A glimmer of heat was in the air; The dark green woods were still ; And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud Hung over the western hill. Black, thick, and vast arose that cloud Above the wilderness. As some dark world from upper air Were stooping over this. At times the solemn thunder pealed, And all was still again, THE EXILES CO Save a low murmur in the air 15 Of coming wind and rain. Just as the first big rain-drop fell, A weary stranger came, And stood before the farmer's door, With travel soiled and lame. 20 Sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope Was in his quiet glance, And peace, like autumn's moonlight, clothed His tranquil countenance. A look, like that his Master wore 25 In Pilate's council hall : It told of wrongs, — but of a love Meekly forgiving all. "Friend! wilt thou give me shelter here?" The stranger meekly said; 30 And, leaning on his oaken staff, The goodman's features read. *' My hfe is hunted, — evil men Are following in my track; The traces of the torturer's whip 35 Are on my aged back. "And much, I fear, 'twill peril thee Within thy doors to take A hunted seeker of the Truth, Oppressed for conscience' sake." 40 70 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Oh, kindly spoke the goodman's wife, — ''Come in, old man !'' quoth she, — *' We will not leave thee to the storm, Whoever thou mayst be.'' Then came the aged wanderer in, 45 And silent sat him down; While all within grew dark as night Beneath the storm-cloud's frown. But while the sudden lightning's blaze Filled every cottage nook, 50 And with the jarring thunder-roll The loosened casements shook, A heavy tramp of horses' feet Came sounding up the lane. And half a score of horse, or more, 55 Came plunging through the rain. " Now, Goodman Macey, ope thy door, — We would not be house-breakers; A rueful deed thou'st done this day, In harboring banished Quakers." 60 Out looked the cautious goodman then With much of fear and awe. For there, with broad wig drenched with rain, The parish priest he saw. ''Open thy door, thou wicked man, 65 And let thy pastor in, And give God thanks, if forty stripes Repay thy deadly sin." THE EXILES 71 "What seek ye?" quoth the goodman, — '' The stranger is my guest : 70 He is worn with toil and grievous wrong, — Pray let the old man rest." ''Now, out upon thee, canting knave!" And strong hands shook the door. '' BeUeve me, Macey," quoth the priest, — 75 ''Thou'lt rue thy conduct sore." Then kindled Macey's eye of fire : '' No priest who walks the earth Shall pluck away the stranger-guest Made welcome to my hearth." 80 Down from his cottage wall he caught The matchlock, hotly tried At Preston23ans° and Marston moor, By fiery Ireton's° side; Where Puritan, ° and Cavalier, 85 With shout and psalm contended ; And Rupert's ° oath, and Cromwell's prayer, With battle-thunder blended. Up rose the ancient stranger then : '' My spirit is not free 90 To bring the wrath and violence Of evil men on thee : " And for thyself, I pray forbear, — Bethink thee of thy Lord, Who healed again the smitten ear,° 95 And sheathed His follower's sword. 72 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS " I go, as to the slaughter led : Friends of the poor, farewell !" Beneath his hand the oaken door Back on its hinges fell. loo '' Come forth, old graybeard yea and nay," The reckless scoffers cried, As to a horseman's saddle-bow The old man's arms were tied. And of his bondage hard and long 105 In Boston's crowded jail, Where suffering woman's prayer was heard, With sickening childhood's wail, It suits not with our tale to tell : Those scenes have passed away, — no Let the dim shadows of the past Brood o'er that evil day. "Ho, sheriff !" quoth the ardent priest, — ''Take Goodman Macey too; The sin of this day's heresy 115 His back or purse shall rue." ''Now, goodwife, haste thee!" Macey cried, She caught his manly arm : — Behind, the parson urged pursuit, With outcry and alarm. 120 Ho ! speed the Maceys, neck or naught, — The river course was near : — The plashing on its pebbled shore Was music to their ear. THE EXILES 73 A gray rock, tasselled o'er with birch, 125 Above the waters hung, And at its base, with every wave, A small light wherry swung. A leap — they gain the boat — and there The goodman wields his oar : 130 ''111 luck betide them all," he cried, — '' The laggards upon the shore." Down through the crashing underwood. The burly sheriff came : — ''Stand, Goodman Macey, — yield thyself; 135 Yield in the King's own name." "Now out upon thy hangman's face!" Bold Macey answered then, — "Whip women, on the village green. But meddle not with men.'' 140 The priest came panting to the shore, — His grave cocked hat was gone; Behind him, like some owl's nest, hung His wig upon a thorn. "Come back, — come back !" the parson cried, 145 "The Church's curse beware." "Curse, an' thou wilt," said Macey, "but Thy blessing prithee spare." " Vile scoffer ! " cried the baffled priest, — "Thou'lt yet the gallows see." 15c "Who's born to be hanged will not be drowned," Quoth Macey, merrily; 74 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS "And so, sir sheriff and priest, good-by!" He bent him to his oar. And the small boat glided quietly 155 From the twain upon the shore. Now in the west, the heavy clouds Scattered and fell asunder. While feebler came the rush of rain, And fainter growled the thunder. 160 And through the broken clouds, the sun Looked out serene and warm. Painting its holy symbol-light Upon the passing storm. Oh, beautiful ! that rainbow span, 165 O'er dim Crane-neck ° was bended; — One bright foot touched the eastern hills, And one with ocean blended. By green Pentucket's southern slope The small boat glided fast, — 170 The watchers of ''the Block-house" saw The strangers as they passed. That night a stalwart garrison Sat shaking in their shoes. To hear the dip of Indian oars, — 175 The glide of birch canoes. The fisher-wives of Salisbury (The men were all away) Looked out to see the stranger oar Upon their waters play. 180 THE EXILES 75 Deer Island's rocks and fir-trees threw Their sunset-shadows o'er them, And Newbury's spire and weather-cock Peered o'er the pines before them. Around the Black Rocks, on their left, 185 The marsh lay broad and green; And on their right, with dwarf shrubs crowned, Plum Island's hills were seen. With skilful hand and wary eye The harbour-bar was crossed ; — 190 A plaything of the restless wave, The boat on ocean tossed. The glory of the sunset heaven On land and water lay, — On the steep hills of Agawam, 195 On cape, and bluff, and bay. They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann,° And Gloucester's° harbor-bar; The watch-fire of the garrison Shone like a setting star. 200 How brightly broke the morning On Massachusetts Bay ! Blue wave, and bright green island, Rejoicing in the day. On passed the bark in safety 205 Round isle and headland steep, — No tempest broke above them. No fog-cloud veiled the deep. 76 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Far round the bleak and stormy Cape° The vent'rous Macey passed, 210 And on Nantucket's° naked isle Drew up his boat at last. And how, in log-built cabin, They braved the rough sea-weather; And there, in peace and quietness, 215 Went down life's vale together: How others drew around them, And how their fishing sped. Until to every wind of heaven Nantucket's sails were spread; 220 How pale Want alternated With Plenty's golden smile; Behold, is it not written In the annals of the isle ? And yet that isle remaineth 225 A refuge of the free. As when true-hearted Macey Beheld it from the sea. Free as the winds that winnow Her shrubless hills of sand, — 230 Free as the waves that batter Along her yielding land. Than hers, at duty's summons, No loftier spirit stirs, — Nor falls o'er human suffering 235 A readier tear than hers. THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA 77 God bless the sea-beat island ! — And grant for evermore, That charity and freedom dwell As now upon her shore ! , 240 THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA° Speak and tell us, our Ximena,° looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, wdiither rolls the storm we hear. '' Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls ; ^ 5 Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls !" Who is losing? who is winning? — ''Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the moun- tain rain." Holy Mother ! keep our brothers ! Look, Ximena, look once more. "Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, 10 Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse. Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course." 78 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Look forth once more, Ximena ! '' Ah ! the smoke has rolled away; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark ! that sudden blast of bugles ! there the troop of Minon wheels ; 15 There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels. ''Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance ! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance ! Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall ; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball." 20 Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on : Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won ? "Alas ! alas ! I know not; friend and foe together fall. O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all ! " Lo ! the wind the smoke is lifting : Blessed Mother, save my brain ! 25 I can see the wounded crawling slow^ly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes ! THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA 79 " my heart's love ! my dear one ! lay thy poor head on my knee : Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me ? canst thou see ? 30 O my husband, brave and gentle ! O my Bernal, look once more On the blessed cross before thee ! Mercy ! mercy ! all is o'er!'' Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena ; lay thy dear one down to rest; Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast ; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said : ^ 2,s To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away; But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt. 40 With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead ; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his strug- gling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. 80 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled .45 Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied; With her kiss upon his forehead, '' Mother !" murmured he, and died ! "A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth. From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North!" _ 5° Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead. And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena ! '' Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind ; Ah ! they plead in vain for mercy ; in the dust the wounded strive; S5 Hide your faces, holy angels ! oh thou Christ of God, forgive!" Sink, O Night, among thy mountains ! let the cool, gray shadows fall ; Dying l3rothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all ! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled. BARCLAY OF URY 81 In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's hps grew cold. 60 But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pur- sued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint and lacking food; Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung, And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father ! is this evil world of ours; 65 Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flow^ers; From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer. And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air! BARCLAY OF URY.° Up the streets of Aberdeen, ° By the kirk and college green, Rode the Laird of Ury; Close behind him, close beside, Foul of mouth and evil-eyed. Pressed the mob in fury. Flouted him the drunken churl, Jeered at him the serving-girl. Prompt to please her master; Gr 82 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And the begging carlin, late lo Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, Cursed him as he passed her. Yet, with calm and stately mien, Up the streets of Aberdeen Came he slowly riding; 15 And, to all he saw and heard. Answering not with bitter word, Turning not for chiding. Came a troop with broadswords swinging. Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 20 Loose and free and fro ward ; Quoth the foremost, ''Ride him down! Push him ! prick him ! through the town Drive the Quaker coward!'' But from out the thickening crowd 25 Cried a sudden voice and loud : ''Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" And the old man at his side Saw a comrade, battle-tried. Scarred and sun-burned darkly; 30 Who with ready weapon bare. Fronting to the troopers there. Cried aloud : " God save us, Call ye coward him who stood Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood, 35 With the brave Gustavus?" " Nay, I do not need thy sword, Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; BARCLAY OF URY 83 '^ Put it up, I pray thee : Passive to his holy will, 40 Trust I in my Master still. Even though he slay me. *' Pledges of thy love and faith, Proved on many a field of death, Not by me are needed." 45 Marvelled much that henchman bold, That his laird, so stout of old. Now so meekly pleaded. ''Woe's the day!" he sadly said, With a slowly-shaking head, 5° And a look of pity; " Ury's honest lord reviled. Mock of knave and sport of child, In his own good city ! '' Speak the word, and, master mine, 55 As we charged on Tilly's° line, And his Walloon lancers, Smiting through their midst we'll teach Civil look and decent speech To these boyish prancers !" 60 ''Marvel not, mine ancient friend, Like beginning, like the end:" Quoth the Laird of Ury, " Is the sinful servant more Than his gracious Lord who bore 65 Bonds and stripes in Jewry? " Give me joy that in his name I can bear, with patient frame, 84 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS All these vain ones offer; While for them He suffereth long, 70 Shall I answer wrong with wrong, Scoffing with the scoffer? " Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, With few friends to greet me, 75 Than when reeve and squire were seen. Riding out from Aberdeen, With bared heads to meet me. '' When each goodwife, o'er and o'er. Blessed me as I passed her door; 80 And the snooded daughter, ° Through her casement glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter. " Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, 85 Hard the old friend's falling off. Hard to learn forgiving : But the Lord his own rewards, And his love with theirs accords. Warm and fresh and living. 90 "Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest 95 For the full day-breaking!" So the Laird of Ury said, Turning slow his horse's head BARCLAY OF URY 85 Towards the Tolbooth° prison, Where, through iron gates, he heard loo Poor disciples of the Word Preach of Christ arisen ! Not in vain, Confessor old, Unto us the tale is told Of thy day of trial ; 105 Every age on him, who strays From its broad and beaten ways, Pours its sevenfold vial. Happy he whose inward ear Angel comfortings can hear, no O'er the rabble's laughter; And, while Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern Of the good hereafter. Knowing this, that never yet 115 Share of Truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvests yellow. 120 Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer From the Future borrow : Clothe the waste with dreams of grain. And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 Paint the golden morrow ! 86 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK° The day is closing dark and cold, With roaring blast and sleety showers; And through the dusk the lilacs wear The bloom of snow, instead of flowers. I turn me from the gloom without, 5 To ponder o'er a tale of old, A legend of the age of Faith, By dreaming monk or abbess told. On Tintoretto's ° canvas lives That fancy of a loving heart, lo In graceful lines and shapes of power, And hues immortal as his art. In Provence ° (so the story runs) There lived a lord, to whom, as slave, A peasant boy of tender years 15 The chance of trade or conquest gave. Forth-looking from the castle tower, Beyond the hills with almonds dark, The straining eye could scarce discern The chapel of the good St. Mark. 20 And there, when bitter word or fare The service of the youth repaid. By stealth, before that holy shrine. For grace to bear his wrong, he prayed. The steed stamped at the castle gate, 25 The boar-hunt sounded on the hill; THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK 87 Why stayed the Baron from the chase, With looks so stern, and words so ill ? " Go, bind yon slave ! and let him learn, By scath of fire and strain of cord, 30 How ill they speed who give dead saints The homage due their living lord !" They bound him on the fearful rack. When, through the dungeon's vaulted dark, He saw the light of shining robes, 35 And knew the face of good St. Mark. Then sank the iron rack apart, The cords released their cruel clasp, The pincers, Avith their teeth of fire. Fell broken from the torturer's grasp. 40 And lo ! before the Youth and Saint, Barred door and wall of stone gave way ; And up from bondage and the night They passed to freedom and the day ! O dreaming monk ! thy tale is true ; — 45 O painter ! true thy pencil's art; In tones of hope and prophecy. Ye whisper to my listening heart ! Unheard no burdened heart's appeal Moans up to God's inclining ear; 5° Unheeded by His tender eye, Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. For still the Lord alone is God ! The pomp and power of tyrant man 88 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Are scattered at His lightest breath, 55 Like chaff before the winnower's fan. Not always shall the slave uplift His heavy hands to Heaven in vain, God's angel, like the good St. Mark, Comes shining down to break his chain ! 60 O weary ones ! ye may not see Yom^ helpers in their downward flight; Nor hear the sound of silver wings Slow beating through the hush of night ! But not the less gray Dothan° shone, 65 With sunbright watchers bending low, That Fear's dim eye beheld alone The spear-heads of the Syrian foe. There are, who, like the Seer of old, Can see the helpers God has sent, 70 And how life's rugged mountain-side Is white with many an angel tent ! They hear the heralds whom our Lord Sends down His pathway to prepare; And light, from others hidden, shines 75 On their high place of faith and prayer. Let such, for earth's despairing ones. Hopeless, yet longing to be free. Breathe once again the Prophet's prayer: '' Lord, ope their eyes, that they may see !'' 80 KATHLEEN 89 KATHLEEN '^ O NoRAH, lay your basket down, And rest your weary hand, And come and hear me sing a song Of our old Ireland. There was a lord of Gal away, ° 5 A mighty lord was he ; And he did wed a second wife, A maid of low degree. But he was old, and she was young, And so, in evil spite, lo She baked the black bread for his kin, And fed her own with white. She whipped the maids and starved the kern,° And drove away the poor ; " Ah, woe is me ! " the old lord said, 15 " I rue my bargain sore !" This lord he had a daughter fair. Beloved of old and young. And nightly round the shealing-fires° Of her the gleeman sung. 20 " As sweet and good is young Kathleen As Eve before her fall;" So sang the harper at the fair, So harped he in the hall. " Oh come to me, my daughter dear ! 25 Come sit upon my knee. 90 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS For looking in your face, Kathleen, Your mother's own I see !" He smoothed and smoothed her hair away, He kissed her forehead fair; 3° " It is my darling Mary's brow, It is my darling's hair !" Oh, then spake up the angry dame, "Get up, get up," quoth she; " I'll sell ye over Ireland, 35 I'll sell ye o'er the sea !" She clipped her glossy hair away, That none her rank might know, She took away her gown of silk, And gave her one of tow, 4© And sent her down to Limerick° town. And to a seaman sold This daughter of an Irish lord For ten good pounds in gold. The lord he smote upon his breast, 45 And tore his beard so gray; But he was old, and she was young, And so she had her way. Sure that same night the Banshee ° howled To fright the evil dame, 5° And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen, With funeral torches came. She watched them glancing through the trees, And glimmering down the hill ; KATHLEEN 91 They crept before the dead-vault door, 55 And there they all stood still ! "Get up, old man ! the wake-lights shine !" " Ye murthering witch/' quoth he, " So I'm rid of your tongue, I little care If they shine for you or me." 60 '* Oh, whoso brings my daughter back, My gold and land shall have !" Oh, then spake up his handsome page, '' No gold nor land I crave ! " But give to me your daughter dear, 65 Give sweet Kathleen to me ; Be she on sea or be she on land, I'll bring her back to thee." ^' My daughter is a lady born, And you of low degree, 70 But she shall be your bride the day You bring her back to me." He sailed east, he sailed west, And far and long sailed he. Until he came to Boston town, 75 Across the great salt sea. " Oh, have ye seen the young Kathleen, The flower of Ireland? Ye'll know her by her eyes so blue, And by her snow-white hand !" 80 Out spake an ancient man, " I know The maiden whom ye mean; 92 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS I bought her of a Limerick man, And she is called Kathleen. '' No skill hath she in household work, 85 Her hands are soft and white, Yet well by loving looks and ways She doth her cost requite." So up they walked through Boston town, And met a maiden fair, 90 A Uttle basket on her arm So snowy-white and bare. ''Come hither, child, and say hast thou This young man ever seen?"" They wept within each other's arms, 95 The page and young Kathleen. " Oh give to me this darling child. And take my purse of gold." "Nay, not by me," her master said, "Shall sweet Kathleen be sold. 100 " We loved her in the place of one The Lord hath early ta'en; But, since her heart's in Ireland, We give her back again !" Oh, for that same the saints in heaven 105 For his poor soul shall pray. And Mary Mother wash with tears His heresies away. Sure now they dwell in Ireland, As you go up Claremore no TAULER 93 Ye'll see their castle looking down The pleasant Galway shore. And the old lord's wife is dead and gone, And a happy man is he, For he sits beside his own Kathleen, 115 With her darling on his knee. TAULER° Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine, Pondering the solemn Miracle of Life; As one who, wandering in a starless night. Feels, momently, the jar of unseen waves, 5 And hears the thunder of an unknown sea. Breaking along an unimagined shore. And as he walked he prayed. Even the same Old prayer with which, for half a score of years, Morning, and noon, and evening, lip and heart 10 Had groaned: ^'Have pity upon me, Lord! Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind. Send me a man who can direct my steps !" Then, as he mused, he heard along his path A sound as of an old man's staff among 15 The dry, dead linden-leaves ; and, looking up. He saw a stranger, weak, and poor, and old. "Peace be unto thee, father!" Tauler said, "God give thee a good day!" The old man raised Slowly his calm blue eyes. " I thank thee, son; 20 But all my days are good, and none are ill." 94 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again, ''God give thee happy hfe.'' The old man smiled, " I never am unhappy." Tauler laid His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve : 25 ''Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean. Surely man's days are evil, and his life Sad as the grave it leads to." " Nay, my son, Our times are in God's hands, and all our days Are as our needs : for shadow as for sun, 30 For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike Our thanks are due, since that is best which is; And that which is not, sharing not his life. Is evil only as devoid of good. And for the happiness of which I spake, 35 I find it in submission to his will, And calm trust in the holy Trinity Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty Power." Silently wondering, for a little space. Stood the great preacher; then he spake as one 40 Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought Which long has followed, whispering through the dark Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into light : "What if God's will consign thee hence to Hell?" "Then," said the stranger, cheerily, "be it so. 45 What Hell may be I know not ; this I know, — I cannot lose the presence of the Lord : One arm. Humility, takes hold upon His dear Humanity; the other, Love, Clasps his Divinity. So where I go 50 TAULER 95 He goes ; and better fire-walled Hell with Him Than golden-gated Paradise without." Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sudden light, Like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove Apart the shadow wherein he had walked 55 Darkly at noon. And, as the strange old man Went his slow way, until his silver hair Set like the white moon where the hills of vine Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and said : ''My prayer is answered. God hath sent the man 60 Long sought, to teach me, by his simple trust, Wisdom the weary schoolmen^ never knew." So, entering with a changed and cheerful step The city gates, he saw, far down the street, A mighty shadow break the light of noon, 65 While tracing backward till its airy lines Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes O'er broad fagade and lofty pediment. O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche, Up the stone lace-work chiselled by the wise 70 Erwin of Steinbach,° dizzily up to w^here In the noon-brightness the great Minster's tower, Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown, Rose like a visible prayer. '' Behold !" he said, '' The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes. 75 As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top. So, darkness in the pathway of Man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence, 80 By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon; And what is dark below is light in Heaven." 96 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS MAUD MULLER Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee $ The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But when she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast, — lo A wish, that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade 15 Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, 20 And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare^ and her tattered gown. MAUD MULLER 97 ''Thanks!" said the Judge; ''a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 25 Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown; 30 And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! 35 That I the Judge's bride might be ! " He would dress me up in silks so fine. And praise and toast me at his wine. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. 40 " I'd dress my mother so grand and gay. And the baby should have a new toy each day. '' And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door." The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 45 And saw Maud Muller standing still. H 98 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS ^' A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. 50 '' Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay : " No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, " But low of cattle and song of birds, 55 And health and quiet and loving words." But he thought of his sisters proud and cold. And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart the Judge rode on. And Maud was left in the field alone. 60 But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in Court an old love tune ; And the young girl mused beside the well Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower, 65 Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go; And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. 70 MAUD MULLER 99 Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead ; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 75 " Ah, that 1 were free again ! '' Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor, And many children played round her door. 80 But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. And she heard the little spring brook fall 85 Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein. And, gazing down with timid grace. She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 90 Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls ; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, 100 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 95 Dozing and grumbhng o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw. And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, "It might have been." loo Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pity them both ! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 105 The saddest are these : "It might have been !" Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope Hes Deeply buried from human eyes ; And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away ! no THE RANGERS Robert Rawltn ! — Frosts were falling When the ranger's horn was calling Through the woods to Canada. Gone the winter's sleet and snowing. Gone the spring-time's bud and blowing, Gone the summer's harvest mowing, THE RANGER 101 And again the fields are gray. Yet away, he's away ! Faint and fainter hope is growing In the hearts that mourn his stay. lo Where the Hon, crouching high on Abraham's rock° with teeth of iron, Glares o'er w^ood and wave away, Faintly thence, as pines far sighing. Or as thunder spent and dying, 15 Come the challenge and replying. Come the sounds of flight and fray, Well-a-day ! Hope and pray ! Some are living, some are lying In their red graves far away. 20 StraggUng rangers, w^orn with dangers, Homeward faring, weary strangers Pass the farm-gate on their way ; Tidings of the dead and living, Forest march and ambush, giving, 25 Till the maidens leave their weaving. And the lads forget their play. " Still away, still away ! " Sighs a sad one, sick with grieving, '' Why does Robert still delay !" 3° Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer. Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer Through his painted woodlands stray, Than where hillside oaks and beeches Overlook the long, blue reaches, 35 Silver coves and pebbled beaches, 102 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And green isles of Casco Bay°; Nowhere day, for delay, With a tenderer look beseeches, ^' Let me with my charmed earth stay." 40 On the grain-lands of the mainlands Stands the serried corn like trainbands, Plume and pennon rustling gay; Out at sea, the islands wooded. Silver birches, golden-hooded, 45 Set with maples, crimson-blooded. White sea-foam and sand-hills gray, Stretch away, far away. Dim and dreamy, over-brooded By the hazy autumn day. > 50 Gayly chattering to the clattering Of the brown nuts downward pattering Leap the squirrels, red and gray. On the grass-land, on the fallow, Drop the apples, red and yellow; 55 Drop the russet pears and mellow. Drop the red leaves all the day. And away, swift away, Sun and cloud, o'er hill and hollow Chasing, weave their web of play. 60 " Martha Mason, Martha Mason, Prithee tell us of the reason Why you mope at home to-day : Surely smiling is not sinning; Leave your quilling, leave your spinning; 65 What is all your store of hnen. THE RANGER 103 If your heart is never gay ? Come away, come away ! Never yet did sad beginning Make the task of hfe a play." 70 Overbending, till she's blending With the flaxen skein she's tending Pale brown tresses smoothed away From her face of patient sorrow, Sits she, seeking but to borrow, 75 From the trembling hope of morrow, Solace for the weary day. ''Go your way, laugh and play; Unto Him who heeds the sparrow And the lily, let me pray." 80 " With our rally, rings the valley, — Join us!" cried the blue-eyed Nelly; ''Join us !" cried the laughing May, " To the beach we all are going, And, to save the task of rowing, 85 West by north the wind is blowing, Blowing briskly down the bay ! Come away, come away ! Time and tide are swiftly flowing, Let us take them while we may ! 90 " Never tell us that you'll fail us, Where the purple beach-plum mellows On the bluffs so wild and gray. Hasten, for the oars are falhng; Hark, our merry mates are calling; 95 Time it is that we were all in, 104 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Singing tideward down the bay!" ''Nay, nay, let me stay; Sore and sad for Robert Rawlin Is my heart/' she said, '' to-day." loo '' Vain your caUing for Rob RawUn ! Some red squaw his moose-meat's broihng Or some French lass, singing gay; Just forget as he's forgetting ; What avails a life of fretting ? 105 If some stars must needs be setting, Others rise as good as they." '' Cease, I pray ; go your way !" Martha cries, her eyelids wetting ; '' Foul and false the words you say !" no '' Martha Mason, hear to reason ! Prithee, put a kinder face on ! " ''Cease to vex me," did she say; " Better at his side be lying, With the mournful pine-trees sighing, 115 And the wild birds o'er us crying, Than to doubt Uke mine a prey ; While away, far away. Turns my heart, for ever trying Some new hope for each new day. 120 " When the shadows veil the meadows. And the sunset's golden ladders Sink from twilight's walls of gray, — From the window of my dreaming, I can see his sickle gleaming, 125 Cheery-voiced, can hear him teaming THE RANGER 105 Down the locust-shaded way ; But away, swift away, Fades the fond, delusive seeming, And I kneel again to pray. 130 '' When the growing dawn is showing, And the barn-yard cock is crowing. And the horned moon pales away : From a dream of him awaking. Every sound my heart is making 135 Seeftis a footstep of his taking; Then I hush the thought, and say, 'Nay, nay, he's away!' Ah ! my heart, my heart is breaking For the dear one far away." 140 Look up, Martha ! worn and swarthy, Glows a face of manhood worthy : '' Robert ! " '' Martha ! " all they say. O'er went wheel and reel together. Little cared the owner whither; 145 Heart of lead is heart of feather. Noon of night is noo-n of day ! Come away, come away ! When such lovers meet each other, Why should prying idlers stay ? 150 Quench the timber's fallen embers. Quench the red leaves in December's Hoary rime and chilly spray. But the hearth shall kindle clearer. Household welcomes sound sincerer, 155 Heart to loving heart grow nearer, 106 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS When the bridal bells shall say : ''Hope and pray, trust alway; Life is sweeter, love is dearer, For the trial and delay !" i6o PROEM TO HOME BALLADS I CALL the old time back : I bring these lays To thee, in memory of the summer days When, by our native streams and forest ways, We dreamed them over; while the rivulets made Songs of their own, and the great pine-trees laid 5 On warm noon-lights the masses of their shade. And she was with us, living o'er again Her life in ours, despite of years and pain, — The autumn's brightness after latter rain. Beautiful in her holy peace as one 10 Who stands, at evening, when the work is done, Glorified in the setting of the sun ! Her memory makes our common landscape seem Fairer than any of which painters dream, Lights the brown hills and sings in every stream ; 15 For she whose speech was always truth's pure gold Heard, not unpleased, its simple legends told, And loved with us the beautiful and old. THE WITCH'S DAUGHTERS It was the pleasant harvest time. When cellar-bins are closely stowed. And garrets bend beneath their load. THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER 107 And the old swallow-haunted bams — Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams 5 Through wdiich the moted sunlight streams, And winds blow freshly in, to shake The red plumes of the roosted cocks. And the loose hay-mow's scented locks — Are filled with summer's ripened stores, lo Its odorous grass and barley sheaves. From their low scaftolds to their eaves. On Esek Harden's oaken floor, With many an autumn threshing worn, Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn. 15 And thither came young men and maids, Beneath a moon that, large and low Lit that sweet eve of long ago. They took their places ; some by chance. And others by a merry voice 20 Or sweet smile guided to their choice. How pleasantly the rising moon, Between the shadow of the mows, Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! — On sturdy boyhood sun-embrowned, 25 On girlhood with its solid curves Of healthful strength and painless nerves ! And jest went round, and laughs that made The house-dog answer with his howl. And kept astir the barn-yard fowl ; 30 108 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And quaint old songs their fathers sung, In Derby dales and Yorkshire ° moors, Ere Norman William ° trod their shores ; And tales, whose merry license shook The fat sides of the Saxon thane, ° 35 Forgetful of the hovering Dane°! But still the sweetest voice was mute That river valley ever heard From lip of maid or throat of bird ; For Mabel Martin sat apart, 40 And let the hay-mow's shadow fall Upon the loveliest face of all. She sat apart, as one forbid. Who knew that none would condescend To own the Witch-wife's child a friend. 45 The seasons scarce had gone their round. Since curious thousands thronged to see Her mother on the gallows-tree; And mocked the palsied limbs of age, That faltered on the fatal stairs, 50 And wan lip trembling with its prayers ! Few questioned of the sorrowing child, Or, when they saw the mother die. Dreamed of the daughter's agony. They went up to their homes that day, 55 As men and Christians justified: God willed it, and the wretch had died ! THE WITCHES DAUGHTER 109 Dear God and Father of us all, Forgive our faith in cruel lies, — Forgive the blindness that denies ! 60 Forgive Thy creature when he takes For the all-perfect love Thou art, Some grim creation of his heart. Cast down our idols, overturn Our bloody altars ; let us see 65 Thyself in Thy humanity ! Poor Mabel from her mother's grave Crept to her desolate hearth-stone, And wrestled with her fate alone ; With love, and anger, and despair, 70 The phantoms of disordered sense. The awful doubts of Providence ! The schoolboys jeered her as they passed, And, when she sought the house of prayer, Her mother's curse pursued her there. 75 And still o'er many a neighboring door She saw the horseshoe's curved charm, To guard against her mother's harm ; — That mother, poor, and sick, and lame, Who daily, by the old armchair, 80 Folded her withered hands in prayer ; — Who turned, in Salem's dreary jail,® Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er, When her dim eyes could read no more ! 110 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept 85 Her faith, and trusted that her way. So dark, would somewhere meet the day. And still her weary wheel went round Day after day, with no rehef ; Small leisure have the poor for grief. 90 So in the shadow Mabel sits; Untouched by mirth she sees and hears. Her smile is sadder than her tears. But cruel eyes have found her out, And cruel hps repeat her name, 95 And taunt her with her mother's shame. She answered not with railing words, But drew her apron o'er her face. And, sobbing, glided from the place. And only pausing at the door, 100 Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze Of one who, in her better days. Had been her warm and steady friend. Ere yet her mother's doom had made Even Esek Harden half afraid. 105 He felt that mute appeal of tears. And, starting, with an angry frown Hushed all the wicked murmurs down. "Good neighbors mine," he sternly said, " This passes harmless mirth or jest ; no I brook no insult to my guest. THE WITCHES DAUGHTER 111 " 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 ; 115 I never knew her harm a fly, And witch or not, God knows, — not I. "I know w^ho swore her life away; And, as God lives, I'd not condemn An Indian dog on word of them." 120 The broadest lands in all the town, The skill to guide, the power to awe. Were Harden 's ; and his word was law. None dared withstand him to his face, But one sly maiden spake aside : 125 ^^The Uttle witch is evil-eyed ! " Her mother only killed a cow, Or watched a churn or dairy-pan ; But she, forsooth, must charm a man!" Poor Mabel, in her lonely home, 130 Sat by the window's narrow pane, White in the moonlight's silver rain. The river, on its pebbled rim. Made music such as childhood knew; The door-yard tree was whispered through 135 By voices such as childhood's ear Had heard in moonhghts long ago; And through the willow-boughs below 112 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS She saw the rippled waters shine ; Beyond, in waves of shade and hght 140 The hills rolled off into the night. Sweet sounds and pictures mocking so The sadness of her human lot, She saw and heard, but heeded not. She strove to drown her sense of wrong, 145 And, in her old and simple way. To teach her bitter heart to pray. Poor child ! the prayer, begun in faith, Grew to a low, despairing cry Of utter misery : " Let me die ! 150 " Oh ! take me from the scornful eyes. And hide me where the cruel speech And mocking finger may not reach ! " I dare not breathe my mother's name A daughter's right I dare not crave 155 To weep above her unblest grave ! " Let me not hve until my heart. With few to pity, and with none To love me, hardens into stone. " God ! have mercy on Thy child, 160 Whose faith in Thee grows weak and small, And take me ere I lose it all !" A shadow on the moonlight fell. And murmuring wind and wave became A voice whose burden was her name. 165 THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER 113 Had then God heard her ? Had He sent His angel down ? In flesh and blood, Before her Esek Harden stood ! He laid his hand upon her arm : " Dear Mabel, this no more shall be ; 170 Who scoffs at you, must scoff at me. " You know rough Esek Harden well ; And if he seems no suitor gay, 'And if his hair is touched with gray, "The maiden grown shall never find 175 His heart less warm than when she smiled, Upon his knees, a httle child !" Her tears of grief were tears of joy. As, folded in his strong embrace. She looked in Esek Harden's face. 180 "0 truest friend of all !" she said, '' God bless you for your kindly thought, And make me worthy of my lot ! " He led her through his dewy fields. To where the swinging lanterns glowed, 185 And through the doors the buskers showed. "Good friends and neighbors!" Esek said, " I'm weary of this lonely life; In Mabel see my chosen wife ! " She greets you kindly, one and all ; 190 The past is past, and all offence Falls harmless from her innocence. 114 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS "Henceforth she stands no more alone; You know what Esek Harden is : — He brooks no wrong to him or his." 195 Now let the merriest tales be told, And let the sweetest songs be sung That ever made the old heart young ! For now the lost has found a home ; And a lone hearth shall brighter burn, 200 As all the household joys return ! Oh, pleasantly the harvest moon. Between the shadow of the mows, Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! On Mabel's curls of golden hair, 205 On Esek's shaggy strength it fell; And the wind whispered, '' It is well !" THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN° From the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like span Of the sky', I see the white gleam of the headland of Cape Ann. Well I know its coves and beaches to the ebb-tide glimmering down, And the white-walled hamlet children of its ancient hshing-town. Long has passed the summer morning, and its memory waxes old, 5 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 115 When along yon breezy headlands with a pleasant friend I strolled. Ah ! the autumn sun is shining, and the ocean wind blows cool, And the golden-rod and aster bloom around thy grave, Rantoul°! With the memory of that morning by the summer sea I blend A wild and wondrous story, by the younger Mather penned, lo In that quaint Magnalia Christi° with all strange and marvellous things. Heaped up, huge and undigested, like the chaos Ovid° sings. Dear to me these far, faint glimpses of the dual life of old. Inward, grand with awe and reverence; outward, mean and coarse and cold; Gleams of mystic beauty playing over dull and vulgar clay ; 15 Golden-threaded fancies weaving in a web of hodden gray. The great eventful Present hides the Past ; but through the din Of its loud life hints and echoes from the life behind steal in; And the lore of home and fireside, and the legendary rhyme, Make the task of duty lighter which the true man owes his time, 20 116 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS So, with something of the feehng which the Covenanter ° knew, Wlien with pious chisel wandering Scotland's moor- land graveyards through, From the graves of old traditions I part the blackberry- vines. Wipe the moss from off the headstones, and retouch the faded lines. Where the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, ran, 25 The garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks of Cape Ann ; On its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade, And rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight overlaid. On his slow round walked the sentry, south and east- ward looking forth. O'er a rude and broken coast-line, white with breakers stretching north, — 30 Wood and rock and gleaming sand-drift, jagged capes, with bush and tree. Leaning inland from the smiting of the wild and gusty sea. Before the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying brands, Twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands ; On the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared, 35 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 117 And the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. Long they sat and talked together, — talked of wiz- ards Satan-sold; Of all ghostly sights and noises, — signs and wonders manifold ; Of the spectre-ship of Salem, with the dead men in her shrouds, Sailing sheer above the water in the loom of morning clouds ; 40 Of the marvellous valley hidden in the depths of Gloucester woods, Full of plants that love the summer, — blooms of warmer latitudes ; Where the Arctic birch is braided by the tropic's flowery vines, And the white magnolia-blossoms star the twilight of the pines ! But their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear, 45 As they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil near; Of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun; Never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mor- tals run ! Thrice, with plumes and flowing scalp-locks, from the midnight wood they came, — Thrice around the block-house marching, met, un- harmed, its volleyed flame; 50 118 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Then, with mocking laugh and gesture, sunk in earth or lost in air. All 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 march- ing in the moon. "Ghosts or witches," said the captain, "thus I foil the Evil One!" 55 And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his gun. Once again the spectral horror moved the guarded wall about ; Once again the levelled muskets through the palisades flashed out. With that deadly aim the squirrel on his tree-top might not shun, Nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant wing to the sun. 60 Like the idle rain of summer sped the harmless shower of lead. With a laugh of fierce derision, once again the phan- toms fled ; Once again, without a shadow on the sands the moon- light lay. And the white smoke curling through it drifted slowly down the bay ! "God preserve us!" said the captain; "never mortal foes were there : 65 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 119 They have vanished with their leader, Prince and Power of the air ! Lay aside your useless weapons; skill and prowess naught avail ; They Avho do the devil's service wear their master's coat of mail !" So the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call Roused the score of weary soldiers watching round the dusky hall : 70 And they looked to flint and priming, and they longed for break of day; But the captain closed his Bible: ''Let us cease from man, and pray !" To the men who went before us, all the unseen powers seemed near. And their steadfast strength of courage struck its roots in holy fear. Every hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed and bare, 75 Every stout knee pressed the flagstones, as the cap- tain led in prayer. Ceased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the wall. But a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of all, — Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after mortal man Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the block- house of Cape Ann. 80 120 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS So to US who walk in summer through the cool and sea- blown town, From the childhood of its people comes the solemn legend down. Not in vain the ancient fiction, in whose moral lives the youth And the fitness and the freshness of an undecaying truth. Soon or late to all our dwellings come the spectres of the mind, 85 Doubts and fears and dread forebodings, in the dark- ness undefined ; Round us throng the grim projections of the heart and of the brain, And our pride of strength is weakness, and the cun- ning hand is vain. In the dark we cry like children; and no answer from on high Breaks the crystal spheres of silence, and no white wings downward fly; 90 But the heavenly help w^e pray for comes to faith, and not to sight. And our prayers themselves drive backward all the spirits of the night ! SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE° Of all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme, — On Apuleius's Golden AsS;° SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE 121 Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,° Witch astride of a human back, 5 Islam's prophet on Al-Borc4k,° — The strangest ride that ever was sped Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart lo By the women of Marblehead ! Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, Feathered and ruffled in every part, Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15 Scores of women, old and young. Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : '' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead !" Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls in bloom of cheek and hps. Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 25 Bacchus ° round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, with ankles bare. Loose of kerchief and loose of hair. With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang. Over and over the Msenads° sang: 30 '' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!" 122 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Small pity for him ! — He sailed away From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,° — 35 Sailed away from a sinking wreck, With his own town's-people on her deck ! " Lay by ! lay by !" they called to him. Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! Brag of yom- catch of fish again !" 40 And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 45 That wreck shall lie for evermore. Mother and sister, wife and maid. Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea, — Looked for the coming that might not be ! 50 What did the winds and the sea-birds say Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? — Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! 55 Through the street, on either side. Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. Sea- worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60 Hulks of old sailors run aground. Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane. And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : " Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, SKIPPER IRES ON' S RIDE 123 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 65 By the women o' Morble'ead !" Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70 Riding there in his sorry trim, Like an Indian idol glum and grim, Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear Of voices shouting, far and near : " Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead !" ^' Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried, — *^What to me is this noisy ride? What is the shame that clothes the skin 80 To the nameless horror that lives within ! Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! Hate me and curse me, — I only dread The hand of God and the face of the dead !" 85 Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea Said, '' God has touched him ! — why should we?" 90 Said an old wife mourning her only son, "Cut the rogue's tether and let him run !" So with soft relentings and rude excuse, Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 124 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 95 And left him alone with his shame and sin. Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! TELLING THE BEES° Here is the place °; right over the hill Runs the path I took : You can see the gap in the old wall still, And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. There is the house, with the gate red-barred, 5 And the poplars tall ; And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, And the white horns tossing above the wall. There are the beehives ranged in the sun; And down by the brink 10 Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, Heavy and slow ; And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, 15 And the same brook sings of a year ago. There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze ; And the June sun warm Tangles his wings of fire in the trees. Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. 20 TELLING THE BEES 125 I mind me how with a lover's care From my Sunday coat I brushed off the burs, and smoothed my hair, And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. Since we parted, a month had passed, 25 To love, a year; Down through the beeches I looked at last On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain Of hght through the leaves, 30 The sundown's blaze on her window-pane. The bloom of her roses under the eaves. Just the same as a month before, — The house and the trees. The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — 35 Nothing changed but the hives of bees. Before them, under the garden w^all. Forward and back. Went drearily singing the chore-girl ^ small, Draping each hive with a shred of black. 40 Trembling, I listened : the summer sun Had the chill of snow ; For I knew she was telling the bees of one Gone on the journey we all must go ! Then I said to myself, '' ^ly Mary weeps 45 For the dead to-day : ^ The chore-girl is the one who does odd jobs — " chores " — about the house, the same as the EngUsh charwornan. 126 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps The fret and the pain of his age away." But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, With his cane to his chin, The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still Sung to the bees stealing out and in. 5° And the song she was singing ever since In my ears sounds on : — " Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! 55 Mistress Mary is dead and gone !" THE SYCAMORES In the outskirts of the village, On the river's winding shores, Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand the ancient sycamores. One long century hath been numbered, And another half-way told. Since the rustic Irish gleeman Broke from them the virgin mould. Deftly set to Celtic ° music. At his violin's sound they grew. Through the moonlit eves of summer, Making Amphion's° fable true. Rise again, thou poor Hugh Tallant ! ° Pass in jerkin green along, THE SYCAMORES 127 With thy eyes brimful of laughter, 15 And thy mouth as full of song. Pioneer of Erin's outcasts, With his fiddle and his pack ; Little dreamed the village Saxons Of the myriads at his back. 20 How he wrought with spade and fiddle, Delved by day and sang by night. With a hand that never wearied, And a heart forever light, — Still the gay tradition mingles 25 With a record grave and drear, Like the rolic air of Cluny, With the solemn march of Mear.° When the box-tree, white with blossoms, Made the sweet May w^oodlands glad, 30 And the Aronia by the river Lighted up the swarming shad. And the bulging nets swept shoreward. With their silver-sided haul, Midst the shouts of dripping fishers, 35 He was merriest of them all. When, among the jovial buskers, Love stole in at Labor's side With the lusty airs of England Soft his Celtic measures vied. 40 Songs of love and wailing lyke-wake, And the merry fair's carouse ; 128 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Of the wild Red Fox of Erin And the Woman of Three Cows. By the blazing hearths of winter, 4S Pleasant seemed his simple tales, Midst the grimmer Yorkshire° legends And the mountain myths of Wales. How the souls in Purgatory Scrambled up from fate forlorn, so On St. Keven's° sackcloth ladder, Slyly hitched to Satan's horn. Of the fiddler who at Tara° Played all night to ghosts of kings; Of the brown dwarfs, and the fairies 55 Dancing in their moorland rings ! Jolliest of our birds of singing, Best he loved the Bob-o-link. " Hush !" he'd say, " the tipsy fairies ! Hear the little folks in drink !" 60 Merry-faced, with spade and fiddle, Singing through the ancient town, Only this, of poor Hugh Tallant, Hath Tradition handed down. Not a stone his grave discloses; 65 But if yet his spirit walks, 'Tis beneath the trees he planted. And when Bob-o-Lincoln talks ; Green memorials of the gleeman ! Linking still the river-shores, 70 THE SYCAMOKES 129 With their shadows cast by sunset, Stand Hugh Tallant's sycamores ! When the Father of his Country Through the north-land riding came, And the roofs were starred with banners, 75 And the steeples rang acclaim, — When each war-scarred Continental, Leaving smithy, mill, and farm. Waved his rustic sword in welcome. And shot off his old king's arm, — 80 Slowly passed that august Presence Down the thronged and shouting street; Village girls as white as angels. Scattering flowers around his feet. Midway, where the plane-tree's shadow 85 Deepest fell, his rein he drew : On his stately head, uncovered. Cool and soft the west-wind blew. And he stood up in his stirrups. Looking up and looking down 90 On the hills of Gold and Silver Rimming round the little town, — On the river, full of sunshine, To the lap of greenest vales Winding down from wooded headlands, 95 Willow-skirted, white with sails. And he said, the landscape sweeping Slowly with his ungloved hand, 130 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS '' I have seen no prospect fairer In this goodly Eastern land." loo Then the bugles of his escort Stirred to life the cavalcade : And that head, so bare and stately, Vanished down the depths of shade. Ever since, in town and farm-house, 105 Life has had its ebb and flow ; Thrice hath passed the human harvest To its garner green and low. But the trees the gleeman planted. Through the changes, changeless stand; no As the marble calm of Tadmor Marks ° the desert's shifting sand. Still the level moon at rising Silvers o'er each stately shaft; Still beneath them, half in shadow, 115 Singing, glides the pleasure craft. Still beneath them, arm-enfolded, Love and Youth together stray ; While, as heart to heart beats faster, More and more their feet delay. 120 Where the ancient cobbler, Keezar,° On the open hillside wrought. Singing, as he drew his stitches, Songs his German masters taught. Singing, with his gray hair floating 125 Round his rosy ample face, — THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY 131 Now a thousand Saxon craftsmen Stitch and hammer in his place. All the pastoral lanes so grassy Now are Traffic's dusty streets ; 130 From the village, grown a city, Fast the rural grace retreats. But, still green, and tall, and stately, On the river's winding shores. Stand the Occidental plane-trees, 135 Stand Hugh Tallant's sycamores. THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE° OF NEWBURY "Concerning y^ Amphisbsena, as soon as I received your commands, I made diligent inquiry : ... he assured me y' it had really two heads, one at each end ; two mouths, two stings or tongues." — Rev. Christopher Toppan to Cotton Mather. Far away in the twilight time Of every people, in every clime. Dragons and griffins and monsters dire, Born of water, and air, and fire, Or nursed, like the Python, ° in the mud 5 And ooze of the old Deucalion ° flood, Crawl and wriggle and foam with rage, Through dusk tradition and ballad age. So from the childhood of Newbury ° town And its time of fable the tale comes down 10 Of a terror which haunted bush and brake, The Amphisbsena, the Double Snake ! Thou who makest the tale thy mirth. Consider that strip of Christian earth 132 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS On the desolate shore of a sailless sea, Full of terror and mystery, Half redeemed from the evil hold Of the wood so dreary, and dark, and old, Which drank with its lips of leaves the dew When Time was yomig, and the world was new, And wove its shadows with sun and moon. Ere the stones of Cheops ° were squared and hewn. Think of the sea's dread monotone. Of the mournful wail from the pine-wood blown, Of the strange, vast splendors that lit the North, Of the troubled throes of the quaking earth. And the dismal tales the Indian told. Till the settler's heart at his hearth grew cold, And he shrank from the tawny wizard's boasts. And the hovering shadows seemed full of ghosts, And above, below, and on every side. The fear of his creed seemed verified ; — And think, if his lot were now thine own. To grope with terrors nor named nor known. How laxer muscle and weaker nerve And a feebler faith thy need might serve; And own to thyself the wonder more That the snake had two heads, and not a score ! 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. THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY 133 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 ; 50 Pulling and twisting this way and that. Neither knew what the other was at. A snake with two heads, lurking so near ! — Judge of the wonder, guess at the fear ! Think what ancient gossips might say, 55 Shaking their heads in their dreary way, Between the meetings on Sabbath-day ! How urchins, searching at day's decline The Common Pasture ° for sheep o^' kine, The terrible double-ganger heard 60 In leafy rustle or whir of bird ! Think what a zest it gave to the sport, In berry-time, of the younger sort. As over pastures blackberry-twined, Reuben and Dorothy lagged behind, 65 And closer and closer, for fear of harm. The maiden clung to her lover's arm; And how the spark, who was forced to stay. By his sweetheart's fears, till the break of day, Thanked the snake for the fond delay ! 70 Far and wide the tale was told. Like a snowball growing while it rolled. The nurse hushed with it the baby's cry; And it served, in the worthy minister's eye, To paint the primitive serpent by. 75 Cotton Mather ° came galloping down All the way to Newbury town, 134 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS With his eyes agog and his ears set wide, And his marvellous inkhorn at his side; Stirring the while in the shallow pool 80 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 ? . 85 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, 90 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, 95 The Amphisbsena is living still!" THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children eight. Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop "Watch and Wait." Pleasantly lay the clearings in the mellow summer- morn, THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY 135 With the newly-planted orchards dropping their fruits first-born, 5 And the homesteads like green islands amid a sea of corn. Broad meadows reached out seaw^ard the tided creeks between, And hills rolled wave-like inland, with oaks and walnuts green ; — A fairer home, a goodlier land, his eyes had never seen. Yet away sailed Parson Avery, away wliere duty led, lo And the voice of God seemed calling, to break the living bread To the souls of fishers starving on the rocks of Marble- head. All day they sailed: at nightfall the pleasant land- breeze died. The blackening sky, at midnight, its starry lights denied. And far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! 15 Blotted out were all the coast-lines, gone were rock, and wood, and sand; Grimly anxious stood the skipper with the rudder in his hand, And questioned of the darkness what was sea and what was land. And the preacher heard his dear ones, nestled round him, weeping sore : " Never heed, my little children ! Christ is walking on before 20 136 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS To the pleasant land of heaven, where the sea shall be All at once the great cloud parted, like a curtain drawn aside, To let down the torch of lightning on the terror far and wide; And the thunder and the whirlwind together smote the tide. There was wailing in the shallop, woman's wail and man's despair, 25 A crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and bare. And, through it all, the murmur of Father Avery's prayer. From his struggle in the darkness with the wild waves and the blast. On a rock, where every billow broke above him as it passed. Alone, of all his household, the man of God was cast. 30 There a comrade heard him praying, in the pause of wave and wind : "All my own have gone before me, and I linger just behind ; Not for life I ask, but only for the rest Thy ransomed find! '' In this night of death I challenge the promise of Thy word ! — Let me see the great salvation of which mine ears have heard ! — 35 THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY 137 Let me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of Christ, our Lord ! '' In the baptism of these waters wash white my every sin, And let me follow up to Thee my household and my kin ! Open the sea-gate of Thy heaven, and let me enter in !" When the Christian sings his death-song, all the listen- ing heavens draw near, 4© And the angels, leaning over the walls of crystal, hear How the notes so faint and broken swell to music in God's ear. The ear of God was open to His servant's last request; As the strong waves swept him downward the sweet hymn upward pressed. And the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its rest. 45 There was waihng on the mainland, from the rocks of Marblehead ; In the stricken church of Newbury the notes of prayer were read; And long, by board and hearthstone, the living mourned the dead. And still the hshers outbound, or scudding from the squal) , With grave and reverend faces, the ancient tale re- call, 5° When they see the white waves breaking on the Rock of Avery's Fall ! 138 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA ° 1675 Raze these long blocks of brick and stone, These huge mill-monsters overgrown; Blot out the humbler piles as well, Where, moved like living shuttles, dwell The weaving genii of the bell ; 5 Tear from the wild Cocheco's° track The dams that hold its torrents back; And let the loud-rejoicing fall Plunge, roaring, down its rocky wall; And let the Indian's paddle play lo On the unbridged Piscataqua°! 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 ii shut ; 15 Each with its farm-house builded rude, By Enghsh yeoman squared and hewed. And the grim, flankered block-house bound With bristling palisades around. So, haply shall before thine eyes 20 The dusty veil of centuries rise, The old, strange scenery overlay The tamer pictures of to-day, While, like the actors in a play. Pass in their ancient guise along 25 The figures of my border song : What time beside Cocheco's flood The white man and the red man stood, THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 139 With words of peace and brotherhood ; When passed the sacred calumet 30 From hp to hp with fire-draught wet, And, puffed in scorn, the peace-pipe's smoke. Through the gray beard of Waldron broke, And Squando's voice, in suppUant plea For mercy, struck the haughty key 35 Of one who held, in any fate, His native pride inviolate ! " Let your ears be opened wide ! He who speaks has never lied. Waldron of Piscataqua, 40 Hear what Squando has to say ! "Squando shuts his eyes and sees Far off, Saco's° hemlock-trees. In his wigwam, still as stone, Sits a woman all alone, 45 " Wampum beads and birchen strands Dropping from her careless hands, Listening ever for the fleet Patter of a dead child's feet ! " When the moon a year ago 50 Told the flowers the time to blow, In that lonely wigwam smiled Menewee, our little child. '' Ere that moon grew thin and old, He was lying stiff and cold; 55 Sent before us, weak and small, When the Master did not call ! 140 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS " On his little grave I lay; Three times went and came the day; Thrice above me blazed the noon, 60 Thrice above me wept the moon. '' In the third night-watch I heard, Far and low, a spirit-bird; Very mournful, very wild, Sang the totem of my child. ° 65 '' ' 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 70 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; 75 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 80 All the things that are to be, — " Well I knew the dreadful signs In the whispers of the pines. In the river roaring loud. In the mutter of the cloud, 85 THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 141 " 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. " There is rust on Squando's knife, 90 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 ; 95 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; 100 Let the land have peace again !" As the words died on his tongue, Wide apart his warriors swung; Parted, at the sign he gave. Right and left, hke Egypt's wave.° 105 And, like Israel passing free Through the prophet-charmed sea, Captive mother, wife, and child Through the dusky terror filed. One alone, a little maid, no Middleway her steps delayed. Glancing, with quick, troubled sight. Round about from red to white. 142 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Then his hand the Indian laid On the Uttle maiden's head, us Lightly from her forehead fair Smoothing back her yellow hair. '' Gift or favor ask I none ; What I have is all my own : Never yet the birds have sung, 120 * 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 ! 125 '' Mishanock, my little star ! Come to Saco's pines afar; Where the sad one waits at home, Wequashim, my moonlight, come!" '^ What !" quoth Waldron, ''leave a child 130 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. 135 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, — 140 Turned from Squando's pleading face. THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 143 Not a word the Indian spoke, But his wampum° chain he broke, And the beaded wonder hung On that neck so fair and young. 145 Silence-shod, as phantoms seem In the marches of a dream, Single-filed, the grim array Through the pine-trees wound away. Doubting, tremlDling, sore amazed, 150 Through her tears the young child gazed. ''God preserve her!" Waldron said; ''Satan hath bewitched the maid !" Years went and came. At close of day Singing came a child from play, 155 Tossing from her loose-locked head Gold in sunshine, brown in shade. Pride was in the mother's look, But her head she gravely shook, And with lips that fondly smiled 160 Feigned to chide her truant child. Unabashed, the maid began : " Up and down the l^rook I ran, Where, beneath the bank so steep, Lie the spotted trout asleep. 165 " ' Chip ! ' went squirrel on the wall. After me I heard him call, And the cat-bird on the tree Tried his best to mimic me. 144 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS ''Where the hemlocks grew so dark 170 That I stopped to look and hark, On a log, with feather-hat, By the path, an Indian sat. "Then I cried, and ran away; But he called, and bade me stay; 175 And his voice was good and mild As my mother's to her child. ''And he took my wampum chain, Looked and looked it o'er again; Gave me berries, and, beside, 180 On my neck a plaything tied." 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. 185 Well she knew its graven sign, Squando's bird and totem pine; And, a mirage of the brain. Flowed her childhood back again. Flashed the roof the sunshine through, 190 Into space the walls outgrew ; On the Indian's wigwam-mat, Blossom-crowned, again she sat. Cool she felt the west-wind blow, In her ear the pines sang low, 195 And, like links from out a chain, Dropped the years of care and pain. MY PLAYMATE 145 From the outward toil and din, From the griefs that gnaw within, To the freedom of the woods 200 Called the birds, and winds, and floods. Well, painful minister°! Watch thy flock, but blame not her, If her ear grew sharp to hear All their voices whispering near. 205 Blame her not, as to her soul All the desert's glamour stole, That a tear for childhood's loss Dropped upon the Indian's cross. When, that night, the Book was read, 210 And she bowed her widowed head. And a prayer for each loved name Rose like incense fr-om a flame. To the listening ear of Heaven, Lo ! another name was given : 215 " Father, give the Indian rest ! Bless him ! for his love has blest !" MY PLAYMATE° The pines were dark on Ramoth hillj Their song was soft and low; The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were faUing like the snow. The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear; 146 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, lo And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She laid her hand in mine : What more could ask the bashful boy 15 Who fed her father's kine ? She left us in the bloom of May : The constant years told o'er Their seasons with as sweet May morns, But she came back no more. 20 I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Of uneventful years ; Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring And reap the autumn ears. She lives where all the golden year 25 Her summer roses blow; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and go. There haply with her jewelled hands She smooths her silken gown, — No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down. The wild grapes wait us by the brook, The brown nuts on the hill^ 30 MY PLAYMATE 147 And still the Ma3^-day flowers make sweet 35 The woods of Follymill. The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree, The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill The slow song of the sea. 40 I wonder if she thinks of them, And how the old time seems, — If ever the pin^s of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams. I see her face, I hear her voice :' 45 Does she remember mine? And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine ? What cares she that the orioles build For other eyes than ours, — 50 That other hands with nuts are filled. And other laps with flowers? O playmate in the golden time ! Our mossy seat is green. Its fringing violets blossom yet, 55 The old trees o'er it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow ; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago. 60 148 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, — The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee ! THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day, While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray, Alone with God, as was his pious choice, Heard from without a miserable voice, A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell, As of a lost soul crying out of hell. Thereat the Abbot paused ; the chain whereby His thoughts went upward broken by that cry; And, looking from the casement, saw below A wretched woman, with gray hair a-fiow. And withered hands held up to him, who cried For alms as one who might not be denied. She cried, " For the dear love of Him who gave His hfe for ours, my child from bondage save, — My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves In the Moor's galley, where the sun-smit waves Lap the white walls of Tunis° !" — '^ What I can I give," Tritemius said : " my prayers." — '' O man Of God!" she cried, for grief had made her bold, " Mock me not thus; I ask not prayers, but gold. Words will not serve me, alms alone suffice; Even while I speak perchance my first-born dies." " Woman ! " Tritemius answered, '' from our door None go unfed; hence are we always poor, THE PIPES AT LUC KNOW 149 A single soldo is our only store. 25 Thou hast our prayers ; — what can we give thee more?" ''Give me," she said, "the silver candlesticks On either side of the great crucifix. God well may spare them on His errands sped, . Or He can give you golden ones instead." 30* Then spake Tritemius, '' Even as thy word. Woman, so be it ! (Our most gracious Lord, Who loveth mercy more than sacrifice, Pardon me if a human soul I prize Above the gifts upon His altar piled !) 35 Take what thou askest, and redeem thy child." But his hand trembled as the holy alms He placed within the beggar's eager palms; And as she vanished down the linden shade He bowed his head and for forgiveness prayed. 40 So the day passed, and when the twilight came He woke to find the chapel all aflame, And, dumb with grateful wonder, to behold Upon the altar candlesticks of gold ! THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW^ Pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills; The droning of the torrents, The treble of the rills ! 150 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Not the braes of broom and heather, 5 Nor the mountains dark with rain. Nor maiden bower, nor border tower, Have heard your sweetest strain ! Dear to the Lowland reaper, ° And plaided mountaineer, — lo To the cottage and the castle The Scottish pipes ° are dear; — Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch ° O'er mountain, loch, and glade; But the sweetest of all music 15 The Pipes at Lucknow played. Day by day the Indian tiger Louder yelled, and nearer crept ; Round and round the jungle-serpent Near and nearer circles swept. 20 '' Pray for rescue, wives and mothers, — Pray to-day !" the soldier said; '' To-morrow, death's between us And the wrong and shame we dread." O, they listened, looked, and waited, 25 Till their hope became despair; And the sobs of low bewailing Filled the pauses of their prayer. Then up spake a Scottish maiden. With her ear unto the ground : 30 '' Dinna ye hear it? — dinna ye hear it? The pipes o' Havelock sound !" Hushed the wounded man his groaning; Hushed the wife her little ones; THE PIPES AT LUCK NOW 151 Alone they heard the drum-roll 35 And the roar of Sepoy ° guns. But to sounds of home and childhood The Highland ear was true ; — As her mother's cradle-crooning The mountain pipes she knew. 40 Like the march of soundless music Through the vision of the seer, More of feeUng than of hearing, Of the heart than of the ear, She knew the droning pibroch, 45 She knew the Campbell's ° call: " Hark ! hear ye no' MacGregor's,° — The grandest o' them all!" O, tjiey listened, dumb and breathless. And they caught the sound at last ; 5° Faint and far beyond the Goomtee° Rose and fell the piper's blast ! Then a burst of wild thanksgiving Mingled woman's voice and man's ; " God be praised ! — the March of Havelock ! 55 The piping of the clans !" Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance. Sharp and shrill as swords at strife, Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call, Stinging all the air to life. 60 But when the far-off dust-cloud To plaided legions grew, Full tenderly and blithesomely The pipes of rescue blew ! 152 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Round the silver domes of Lucknow, 65 Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine, Breathed the air to Britons dearest, The air of Auld Lang Syne. O'er the cruel roll of war-drums Rose that sweet and homelike strain; 70 And the tartan clove the turban, As the Goomtee cleaves the plain. Dear to the corn-land reaper And plaided mountaineer, — To the cottage and the castle 75 The piper's song is dear. Sweet sounds the Gaelic ° pibroch O'er mountain, glen, and glade; But the sweetest of all music The Pipes at Lucknow played ! , 80 THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR Out and in the river is winding The links of its long, red chain Through belts of dusky pine-land And gusty leagues of plain. Only, at times, a smoke-wreath With the drifting cloud-rack joins, — The smoke of the hunting-lodges Of the wild Assiniboins°! Drearily blows the north-wind From the land of ice and snow ; THE RED mVER VOYAGEUR 153 The eyes that look are weary, And heavy the hands that row. And with one foot on the water, And one upon the shore, The Angel of Shadow gives warning 15 That day shall be no more. Is it the clang of wild-geese ? Is it the Indian's yell. That lends to the voice of the north-wind The tones of a far-off beh ? 20 The voyageur smiles as he listens To the sound that grows apace; Well he knows the vesper ringing Of the bells of St. Boniface. ° The bells of the Roman Mission, 25 That call from their turrets twain, To the boatman on the river. To the hunter on the plain ! Even so in our mortal journey The bitter north winds blow, 30 And thus upon hfe's Red River Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. And when the Angel of Shadow Rests his feet on wave and shore, And our eyes grow dim with watching, 35 And our hearts faint at the oar, 154 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Happy is he who heareth The signal of his release In the bells of the Holy City, The chimes of eternal peace ! 4° BARBARA FRIETCHIE° Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee° marched over the mountain-wall, Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crim_son bars, Flapped in the morning wind : the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; BARBARA FRIETCHIE 155 Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; 20 In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson ° riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right 25 He glanced : the old flag met his sight. "Halt !" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire !" — out blazed the rifle blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30 Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. " Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35 But spare your country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came ; The nobler nature within him stirred To hfe at that woman's deed and word : 40 " Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies Uke a dog ! March on !" he said. 1^6 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet : All day long that free flag tost 45 Over the heads of the rebel host; Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50 Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her ! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 55 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! Peace and order and beautv draw Round thy symbol of hght and law; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 60 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION ° The beaver cut his timber With patient teeth that day, The minks were fish-wards, and the crows Surveyors of highway, — COBBLER KEEZ Alt's VISION 157 When Keezar sat on the hillside 5 Upon his cobbler's form, With a pan of coals on either hand To keep his waxed-ends warm. And there, in the golden weather. He stitched and hammered and sung; lo In the brook he moistened his leather, In the pewter mug his tongue. Well he knew the tough old Teuton Who brewed the stoutest ale, And he paid the goodwife's reckoning 15 In the coin of song and tale. The songs they still are singing Who dress the hills of vine. The tales that haunt the Brocken° And whisper down the Rhine. 20 Woodsy and wild and lonesome, The swift stream wound away. Through birches and scarlet maples Flashing in foam and spray, — Down on the sharp-horned ledges 25 Plunging in steep cascade, Tossing its white-maned waters Against the hemlock's shade. Woodsy and wild and lonesome. East and west and north and south ; 30 Only the village of fishers Down at the river's mouth ; 158 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Only here and there a clearing, With its farm-house rude and new, And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, 35 Where the scanty harvest grew. No shout of home-bound reapers, No vintage-song he heard, And on the green no dancing feet The merry violin stirred. 40 "Why should folk be glum," said Keezar, ''When Nature herself is glad. And the painted woods are laughing At the faces so sour and sad?" Small heed had the careless cobbler 45 What sorrow of heart was theirs Who travailed in pain with the births of God, And planted a State with prayers, — Hunting of witches and warlocks. Smiting the heathen horde, — 50 One hand on the mason's trowel, And one on the soldier's sword ! But give him his ale and cider. Give him his pipe and song. Little he cared for Church or State, 55 Or the balance of right and wrong. "'Tis work, work, work," he muttered, — ''And for rest a snuffle of psalms !" He smote on his leathern apron With his brown and waxen palms. 60 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION 159 '' Oh for the purple harvests Of the days when I was young ! For the merry grape-stained maidens, And the pleasant songs they sung ! '' Oh for the breath of vineyards, 65 Of apples and nuts and wine ! For an oar to row and a breeze to blow Down the grand old river Rhine !" A tear in his blue eye glistened, And dropped on his beard so gray. 70 ''Old, old am I," said Keezar, "And the Rhine flows far away!" But a cunning man was the cobbler; He could call the birds from the trees. Charm the black snake out of the ledges, 75 And bring back the swarming bees. All the virtues of herbs and metals. All the lore of the woods, he knew, ' And the arts of the Old World mingled With the marvels of the New. 80 Well he knew the tricks of magic. And the lapstone on his knee. Had the gift of the Mormon's goggles Or the stone of Doctor Dee.° For the mighty master Agrippa° 85 Wrought it with spell and rhyme From a fragment of mystic moonstone In the tower of Nettesheim. 160 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS To a cobbler Minnesinger ° The marvellous stone gave he, — 90 And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar, Who brought it over the sea. He held up that mystic lapstone, He held it up like a lens, And he counted the long years coming 95 By twenties and by tens. "One hundred years," quoth Keezar, ''And fifty have I told: Now open the new before me, And shout me out the old V 100 Like a cloud of mist, the blackness Rolled from the magic stone. And a marvellous picture mingled The unknown and the known. Still ran the stream to the river, 105 And river and ocean joined; And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-line, And cold north hills behind. But the mighty forest was broken By many a steepled town, no By many a white-walled farm-house, And many a garner brown. Turning a score of mill-wheels. The stream no more ran free; White sails on the winding river, . 115 White sails on the far-off sea. COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION IGl Below in the noisy village The flags were floating ga}^, And shone on a thousand faces The light of a holiday. 120 Swiftly the rival ploughmen Turned the brown earth from their shares ; Here were the farmer's treasures, There were the craftsman's wares. Golden the goodwife's butter, 125 Ruby her currant-wine; Grand were the strutting turkeys, Fat were the beeves and swine. Yellow and red were the apples, And the ripe pears russet-brown, 130 And the peaches had stolen blushes From the girls who shook them down. And with blooms of hill and wild-wood. That shame the toil of art, Mingled the gorgeous blossoms 135 Of the garden's tropic heart. ''What is it I see?" said Keezar: '' Am I here, or am I there ? Is it a fete at Bingen°? Do I look on Frankfort fair? 140 '' But where are the clowns and puppets. And imps with horns and tail? And where are the Rhenish flagons ? And where is the foaming ale ? 162 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS ''Strange things, I know, will happen, — 145 Strange things the Lord permits; But that droughty folk should be jolly Puzzles my poor old wits. " Here are smiling manly faces, And the maiden's step is gay; 150 Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking, Nor mopes, nor fools, are they. '' Here's pleasure without regretting, And good without abuse, The holiday and the bridal 155 Of beauty and of use. '' Here's a priest and there is a Quaker, — Do the cat and dog agree? Have they burned the stocks for oven-wood ? Have they cut down the gallows-tree ? 160 '' 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?" Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar, 165 Laughed like a school-boy gay; Tossing his arms above him. The lapstone rolled away. It rolled down the rugged hillside, It spun like a wheel bewitched, 170 It plunged through the leaning willows. And into the river pitched. AMY WENTWORTH 163 There, in the deep, dark water The magic stone Kes still, Under the leaning willows, 175 In the shadow of the hill. But oft the idle fisher Sits on the shadowy bank, And his dreams make marvellous pictures Where the wizard's lapstone sank. 180 And still, in the summer twilights, When the river seems to run Out from the inner glory, Warm with the melted sun, The weary mill-girl lingers 185 Beside the charmed stream, And the sky and the golden water Shape and color her dream. Fair wave the sunset gardens, The rosy signals fly; 190 Her homestead beckons from the cloud, And love goes sailing by. AMY WENTWORTH° TO W. B. As they who watch by sick-beds find relief Unwittingly from the great stress of grief And anxious care in fantasies out-wrought From the hearth's embers flickering low, or caught 164 BALLADS AND NARBATIVE POEMS From whispering wind, or tread of passing feet, 5 Or vagrant memory calling up some sweet Snatch of old song or romance, whence or why They scarcely know or ask, — so, thou and I, Nursed in the faith that Truth alone is strong In the endurance which outwearies Wrong, 10 With meek persistence baffling brutal force, And trusting God against the universe, — We, doomed to watch a strife we may not share With other weapons than the patriot's prayer. Yet owning, with full hearts and moistened eyes, 15 The awful beauty of self-sacrifice, And wrung by keenest sympathy for all Who give their loved ones for the living wall 'Twixt law and treason, — in this evil day May haply find, through automatic play 20 Of pen and pencil, solace to our pain. And hearten others with the strength we gain. I know it has been said our times require No play of art, nor dalliance with the lyre, No weak essay with Fancy's chloroform 25 To calm the hot, mad pulses of the storm. But the stern war-blast rather, such as sets The battle's teeth of serried bayonets; And pictures grim as Vernet's.° Yet with these Some softer tints may blend, and milder keys 30 Relieve the storm-stunned ear. Let us keep sweet If so we may, our hearts, even while we eat The bitter harvest of our own device And half a century's moral cowardice. As Niirnberg sang while Wittenberg defied, ° 35 And Kranach° painted by his Luther's side, And through the war-march of the Puritan AMY WENTWORTH 165 The silver stream of Marveirs° music ran, So let the household melodies be sung, The pleasant pictures on. the wall be hung, — 40 So let us hold against the hosts of night And slavery all our vantage-ground of light. Let Treason boast its savagery and shake From its flag-folds its symbol rattle-snake. Nurse its fine arts, lay human skins in tan, 45 And carve its pipe-bowls from the bones of man. And make the tale of Fijian° banquets dull By drinking whiskey from a loyal skull, — But let us guard, till this sad war shall cease, (God grant it soon !) the graceful arts of peace : 50 No foes are conquered who the victors teach Their vandal manners and barbaric speech. And while, with hearts of thankfulness, we bear Of the great common burden our full share. Let none upbraid us that the waves entice 55 Thy sea-dipped pencil, or some quaint device, Rhythmic and sweet, beguiles my pen away From the sharp strifes and sorrows of to-day. Thus, while the east-wind keen from Labrador Sings in the leafless elms, and from the shore 60 Of the great sea comes the monotonous roar Of the long-breaking surf, and all the sky Is gray with cloud, home-bound and dull, I try To time a simple legend to the sounds Of winds in the woods, and waves on pebbled bounds, — 65 A song for oars to chime with, such as might Be sung by tired sea-painters, who at night Look from their hemlock camps, by quiet cove Or beach, moon-hghted, on the waves they love. 166 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS (So hast thou looked, when level sunset lay 70 On the calm bosom of some Eastern bay, And all the spray-moist rocks and waves that rolled Up the white sand-slopes flashed with ruddy gold.) Something it has — a flavor of the sea, And the sea's freedom — which reminds of thee. 75 Its faded picture, dimly smiling down From the blurred fresco of the ancient town, I have not touched with warmer tints in vain. If, in this dark, sad year, it steals one thought from pain. Her fingers shame the ivory keys 80 They dance. so light along; The bloom upon her parted lips Is sweeter than the song. O perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles Her thoughts are not of thee ; 85 She better loves the salted wind, The voices of the sea. Her heart is like an outbound ship That at its anchor swings ; The murmur of the stranded shell 90 Is in the song she sings. She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise. But dreams the while of one Who watches from his sea-blown deck The icebergs in the sun. 95 AMY WENTWORTII 167 She questions all the winds that blow, And every fog-wreath dim, And bids the sea-birds flying north Bear messages to him. She speeds them with the thanks of men loo He perilled life to save, And grateful prayers, hke holy oil To smooth for him the wave. Brown Viking of the fishing-smack ! Fair toast of all the town ! — 105 The skipper's jerkin ill beseems The lady's silken gown ! But ne'er shall Amy Went worth wear For him the blush of shame Who dares to set his manly gifts no Against her ancient name. The stream is brightest at its spring, And blood is not like wine ; Nor honored less than he who heirs Is he who founds a Une. 115 Full lightly shall the prize be won. If love be Fortune's spur; And never maiden stoops to him Who lifts himself to her. Her home is brave in Jaffrey Street, 120 With stately stairways worn By feet of old Colonial knights And ladies srentle-born. 168 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Still green about its ample porch The English ivy twines, Trained back to show in English oak The herald's carven signs. And on her, from the wainscot old, Ancestral faces frown, — And this has worn the soldier's sword, And that the judge's gown. But, strong of will and proud as they, She walks the gallery floor As if she trod her sailor's deck By stormy Labrador ! The sweetbrier blooms on Kitteryside, And green are Elliot's bowers ; Her garden is the pebbled beach, The mosses are her flowers. She looks across the harbor-bar To see the white gulls fly; His greeting from the Northern sea Is in their clanging cry. She hums a song, and dreams that he, As in its romance old. Shall homeward ride with silken sails And masts of beaten gold ! Oh, rank is good, and gold is fair, And high and low mate ill ; But love has never known a law Beyond its own sweet will ! THE COUNTESS 169 THE COUNTESS TO E. W. I KNOW not, Time and Space so intervene, Whether, still waiting with a trust serene. Thou bearest up thy fourscore years and ten, Or, called at last, art now Heaven's citizen; But, here or there, a pleasant thought of thee, 5 Like an old friend, all day has been with me, The shy, still boy, for whom thy kindly hand Smoothed his hard pathway to the wonder-land Of thought and fancy, in gray manhood yet Keeps green the memory of his early debt. lo To-day, when truth and falsehood speak their words Through hot-Mpped cannon and the teeth of swords. Listening with quickened heart and ear intent To each sharp clause of that stern argument, I still can hear at times a softer note 15 Of the old pastoral music round me float. While through the hot gleam of our civil strife Looms the green mirage of a simpler life. As, at his alien post, the sentinel Drops the old bucket in the homestead well, 20 And hears old voices in the winds that toss Above his head the live-oak's beard of moss, So, in our trial-time, and under skies Shadowed by swords like Islam's paradise, I Avait and watch, and let my fancy stray 25 To milder scenes and youth's Arcadian day; And howsoe'er the pencil dipped in dreams Shades the brown woods or tints the sunset streams, 170 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS The country doctor in the foreground seems, Whose ancient sulky down the village lanes 30 Dragged, like a war-car, captive ills and pains. I could not paint the scenery of my song, Mindless of one who looked thereon so long; Who, night and day, on duty's lonely round. Made friends o' the woods and rocks, and knew the sound ^ 35 Of each small brook, and what the hillside trees Said to the winds that touched their leafy keys; Who saw so keenly and so well could paint The village-folk, with all their humors quaint, — The parson ambling on his wall-eyed roan, 40 Grave and erect, with white hair loackward blown ; The tough old boatman, half amphibious grown; The muttering witch-wife of the gossip's tale. And the loud straggler levying his blackmail, — Old customs, habits, superstitions, fears, 4S All that lies buried under fifty years. To thee, as is most fit, I bring my lay. And, grateful, own the debt I cannot pay. Over the wooded northern ridge. Between its houses brown, 50 To the dark tunnel of the bridge The street comes stragghng down. You catch a glimpse, through birch and pine, Of gable, roof, and porch. The tavern with its swinging sign 55 The sharp horn of the church. THE COUNTESS 111 The river's steel-blue crescent curves To meet, in ebb and flow, The single broken wharf that serves For sloop and gundelow. 60 With salt sea-scents along its shores The heavy hay-boats crawl, The long antennae of their oars In lazy rise and fall. Along the gray abutment's wall, 65 The idle shad-net dries ; The toll-man in his cobbler's stall Sits smoking with closed eyes. You hear the pier's low undertone Of waves that chafe and gnaw ; 7° You start, — a skipper's horn is blown To raise the creaking draw. At times a blacksmith's anvil sounds With slow and sluggard beat, Or stage-coach on its dusty rounds 75 Wakes up the staring street. A place for idle eyes and ears, A cob webbed nook of dreams ; Left by the stream whose waves are years The stranded village seems. 80 And there, like other moss and rust, The native dweller clings, And keeps, in uninquiring trust. The old, dull round of things. 172 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS The fisher drops his patient hnes, 85 The farmer sows his grain, Content to hear the murmuring pines Instead of railroad-train. Go where, along the tangled steep That slopes against the west, 90 The hamlet's buried idlers sleep In still profounder rest. Throw back the locust's flowery plume, The birch's pale-green scarf, And break the web of brier and bloom 95 From name and epitaph. A simple muster-roll of death, Of pomp and romance shorn. The dry, old names that common breath Has cheapened and outworn. 100 Yet pause by one low mound, and part The wild vines o'er it laced. And read the words by rustic art Upon its headstone traced. Haply yon white-haired villager 105 Of fourscore years can say What means the noble name of her Who sleeps with common clay. And exile from the Gascon land Found refuge here and rest, no And loved, of all the village band, Its fairest and its best. THE COUNTESS 173 He knelt with her on Sabbath morns, He worshipped through her eyes, And on the pride that doubts and scorns 115 Stole in her faith's surprise. Her simple daily life he saw By homeliest duties tried, In all things by an untaught law Of fitness justified. 120 For her his rank aside he laid, He took the hue and tone Of lowly life and toil, and made Her simple ways his own. Yet still, in gay and careless ease, 125 To harvest-field or dance He brought the gentle courtesies. The nameless grace of France. And she who taught him love not less From him she loved in turn 130 Caught in her sweet unconsciousness What love is quick to learn. Each grew to each in pleased accord. Nor knew the gazing town If she looked upward to her lord 135 Or he to her looked down. How sweet, when summer's day was o'er, His violin's mirth and wail, The walk on pleasant Newbury's shore. The river's moonlit sail ! 140 174 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Ah ! life is brief, though love be long ; The altar and the bier, The burial hymn and bridal song, Were both in one short year. Her rest is quiet on the hill, i4S Beneath the locust's bloom : Far off her lover sleeps as still Within his scutcheoned tomb. The Gascon lord,° the village maid, In death still clasp their hands; 150 The love that levels rank and grade Unites their severed lands. What matter whose the hillside grave, Or whose the blazoned stone ? Forever to her western wave 155 Shall whisper blue Garonne °! O Love ! — so hallowing every soil That gives thy sweet flower room, Wherever, nursed by ease or toil. The human heart takes bloom ! — 160 Plant of lost Eden, from the sod Of sinful earth unriven. White blossom of the trees of God Dropped down to us from heaven ! — This tangled waste of mound and stone 165 Is holy for thy sake ; A sweetness which is all thy own Breathes out from fern and brake. THE FROST SPIRIT 175 And while ancestral pride shall twine The Gascon's tomb with flowers, 170 Fall sweetly here, O song of mine, With summer's bloom and showers ! And let the lines that severed seem Unite again in thee. As western wave and Gallic ° stream 175 Are mingled in one sea ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS THE FROST SPIRIT ° He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth. And the winds which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down to earth. He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — from the frozen Labrador, — 5 From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er, — Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the fingering night into marble statues grow ! 176 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — on the rushing Northern blast. And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fear- ful breath went past. lo With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of Hecla° glow On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below. He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — and the quiet lake shall feel The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, 15 Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pass. He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — let us meet him as we may. And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as hii sounding wing goes by ! 20 RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE ° O Mother Earth ! upon thy lap Thy weary ones receiving. And o'er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle weaving, Fold softly in thy long embrace 5 RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE 177 That heart so worn and broken, And cool its pulse of fire beneath Thy shadows old and oaken. Shut out from him the bitter word And serpent hiss of scorning ; lo Nor let the storms of yesterday Disturb his cjuiet morning. Breathe over him forget fulness Of all save deeds of kindness, And, save to smiles of grateful ej^es, 15 Press down his lids in blindness. There, where with living ear and eye He heard Potomac's flowing, And, through his tall ancestral trees, Saw autumn's sunset glowing, 20 He sleeps, — still looking to the west, Beneath the dark wood shadow, As if he still would see the sun Sink down on wave and meadow. Bard, Sage, and Tribune ! — in himself 25 All moods of mind contrasting, — The tenderest wail of human woe, The scorn like lightning blasting; The pathos which from rival eyes Unwilling tears could sunnnon, 30 The stinging taunt, the fiery burst Of hatrecl scarcely human ! Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, From lips of Ufe-long sadness ; 178 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS Clear picturings of majestic thought 35 Upon a ground of madness; And over all Romance and Song A classic beauty throwing, And laurelled Cho° at his side Her storied pages showing. 4° All parties feared him : each in turn Beheld its schemes disjointed, As right or left his fatal glance And spectral finger pointed. Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down 45 With trenchant wit unsparing, And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand The robe Pretence was wearing. Too honest or too proud to feign A love he never cherished, 50 Beyond Virginia's border line His patriotism perished. While others hailed in distant skies Our eagle's dusky pinion. He only saw the mountain bird 55 Stoop o'er his Old Dominion ! Still through each change of fortune strange, Racked nerve, and brain all burning. His loving faith in Mother-land Knew never shade of turning ; 60 By Britain's lakes, by Neva's° wave, Whatever sky was o'er him, He heard her rivers' rushing sound. Her blue peaks rose before him. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE 179 He held his slaves, yet made withal 65 No false and vain pretences, Nor paid a lying priest to seek For Scriptural defences. His harshest words of proud rebuke. His bitterest taunt and scorning, 70 Fell fire-like on the Northern brow That bent to him in fawning. He held his slaves ; yet kept the while His reverence for the Human ; In the dark vassals of his will 75 He saw but Man and Woman ! No hunter of God's outraged poor His Roanoke valley entered ; No trader in the souls of men Across his threshold ventured. 80 And when the old and wearied man Lay down for his last sleeping. And at his side, a slave no more. His brother-man stood weeping, His latest thought, his latest breath, 85 To Freedom's duty giving. With faihng tongue and trembling hand The dying blest the Hving. Oh, never bore his ancient State A truer son or braver ! 90 None trampling with a calmer scorn On foreign hate or favor. He knew her faults, yet never stooped His proud and manly feehng 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS To poor excuses of the wrong 95 Or meanness of concealing. But none beheld with clearer eye The plague-spot o'er her spreading, None heard more sure the steps of Doom Along her future treading. loo For her as for himself he spake, When, his gaunt frame upbracing, He traced with dying hand ''Remor>se !'' And perished in the tracing. As from the grave where Henry ° sleeps, 105 From Vernon's weeping willow. And from the grassy pall which hides The Sage of Monticello,° So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone Of Randolph's lowly dwelling, no Virginia ! o'er thy land of slaves A warning voice is swelling ! And hark ! from thy deserted fields Are sadder warnings spoken. From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons 115 Their household gods have broken. The curse is on thee, — wolves for men, And briers for corn-sheaves giving ! Oh, more than all thy dead renown Were now one hero hvins; ! 120 'Jd THE NORSEMEN Gift from the €old and silent Past°! A rehc to the present cast; THE NORSEMEN 181 Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand, Which wastes beneath the steady chime 5 And beating of the waves of Time ! Who from its bed of primal rock First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block ? Whose hand, of curious skill untaught, Thy rude and savage outhne wrought? 10 The waters of my native stream Are glancing in the sun's warm beam : From sail-urged keel and flashing oar The circles widen to its shore : And cultured field and peopled town 15 Slope to its willowed margin down. Yet, while this morning breeze is bringing The home-life sound of school-bells ringing, And rolling wheel, and rapid jar Of the fire-winged and steedless car, 20 And voices from the wayside near Come quick and blended on my ear, A spell is in this old gray stone, — My thoughts are with the Past alone ! A change ! — The steepled town no more 25 Stretches along the sail-thronged shore : Like palace-domes in sunset's cloud, Fade sun-gilt spire and mansion proud : Spectrally rising where they stood, I see the old, primeval wood : 3° Dark, shadow-like, on either hand I see its solemn waste expand : It cUmbs the green and cultured hill. 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS It arches o'er the valley's rill; And leans from cliff and crag, to throw 35 Its wild arms o'er the stream below. Unchanged, alone, the same bright river Flows on, as it will flow forever ! I listen, and I hear the low Soft ripple where its waters go ; 40 I hear behind the panther's cry, The wild-bird's scream goes thrilling by, And shyly on the river's brink The deer is stooping down to drink. But hark ! — from wood and rock flung back, 45 What sound comes up the Merrimack ? 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? 50 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. Wild Jutland's^ wives and Lochlin's° daughters 55 Have watched them fading o'er the waters, Lessening through driving mist and spray, Like white- winged sea-birds on their way ! Onward they glide, — and now I view Their iron-armed and stalwart crew; 60 Joy glistens in each wild blue eye, Turned to green earth and summer sky : Each broad, seamed breast has cast aside Its cumbering vest of shaggy hide ; THE NORSEMEN 183 Bared to the sun and soft warm air, 65 Streams back the Norsemen's yellow hair. I see the gleam of axe and spear, The sound of smitten shields I hear, Keeping a harsh and fitting time To Saga's chant, and Runic rhyme°; 70 Such lays as Zetland's ° Scald has sung. His gray and naked isles among; Or muttered low at midnight hour Round Odin's° mossy stone of power. The wolf beneath the Arctic moon 75 Has answered to that startling rune ; The Gael° has heard its stormy swell. The light Frank° knows its summons well; lona's sable-stoled Culdee° Has heard it sounding o'er the sea, 80 And swept, with hoary beard and hair, His altar's foot in trembUng prayer ! Tis past, — the 'wildering vision dies In darkness on my dreaming eyes ! The forest vanishes in air, — 85 Hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare; I hear the common tread of men. And hum of work-day life again : The mystic relic seems alone A broken mass of common stone; 90 And if it be the chiselled limb Of Berserker ° or idol grim, — A fragment of Valhalla's ° Thor, The stormy Viking's god of War, Or Praga of the Runic lay, 95 Or love-awakening Siona,° 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS I know not, — for no graven line, Nor Druid ° mark, nor Runic sign, Is left me here, by which to trace Its name, or origin, or place. loo Yet, for this vision of the Past, This glance upon its darkness cast My spirit bows in gratitude Before the Giver of all good. Who fashioned so the human mind, 105 That, from the waste of Time behind A simple stone, or mound of earth Can summon the departed forth ; Quicken the Past to hfe again, — The Present lose in what hath been, no And in their primal freshness show The buried forms of long ago. As if a portion of that Thought By which the Eternal will is wrought Whose impulse fills anew with breath 115 The frozen soUtude of Death, To mortal mind were sometimes lent To mortal musings sometimes sent, To whisper — even when it seems But Memory's fantasy of dreams 120 Through the mind's waste of woe and sin, Of an immortal origin ? FORGIVENESS ° My heart was heavy, for its trust had been Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; So, turning gloomily from my fellowmen, One summer Sabbath day I strolled among WHAT THE VOICE SAID 185 The green mounds of the village burial-place ; 5 Where, pondering how all human love and hate Find one sad level ; and how, soon or late, Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, And cold hands folded over a still heart, Pass the green threshold of our common grave, 10 Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, Awed for myself, and pitying my race, Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave. Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave ! WHAT THE VOICE SAID Maddened by Earth's Avrong and evil, " Lord !" I cried in sudden ire, " From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, Shake the bolted fire ! ''Love is lost, and Faith is dying; 5 With the brute the man is sold ; And the dropping blood of Labor Hardens into gold. '' Here the dying wail of Famine, There the battle's groan of pain; 10 And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon Reaping men like grain. "'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' Thus the earth-born Titans ° say; ' God, if Thou art hving, hear us !' 15 Thus the weak ones pray." 186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS '' Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding/' Spake a solemn Voice within; " Weary of our Lord's forbearance, Art thou free from sin ? 20 '' Fearless brow to Him uplifting, Canst thou for His thunders call, Knowing that to guilt's attraction Evermore they fall ? " Know'st thou not all germs of evil 25 In thy heart await their time? Not thyself, but God's restraining. Stays their growth of crime. " Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness ! O'er the sons of wrong and strife, 30 Were their strong temptations planted In thy path of life ? ''Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing From one fountain, clear and free, But by widely varying channels 35 Searching for the sea. '' Glideth one through greenest valleys, Kissing them with lips still sweet; One, mad roaring down the mountains, Stagnates at their feet. 40 ''Is it choice whereby the Parsee° Kneels before his mother's fire? In his black tent did the Tartar ° Choose his wandering sire ? WHAT THE VOICE SAID 187 " He alone, whose hand is bounding 45 Human power and human will, Looking through each soul's surrounding, Knows its good or ill. " For thyself, while wrong and sorrow Make to thee their strong appeal, . 50 Coward wert thou not to utter What the heart must feel. '' Earnest words must needs be spoken When the warm heart bleeds or burns With its scorn of wrong, or pity 55 For the wronged, by turns. " But, by all thy nature's weakness, Hidden faults and folhes known, Be thou, in rebuking evil, Conscious of thine own. 60 " Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty To thy lips her trumpet set. But with harsher blasts shall mingle Wailings of regret." Cease not. Voice of holy speaking, 65 Teacher sent of God, be near, Whispering through the day's cool silence. Let my spirit hear ! So, when thoughts of evil-doers. Waken scorn, or hatred move, 70 Shall a mournful fellow-feeling Temper all with love. 18S MISCELLANEOUS POEMS EXTRACT FROM '^ A NEW ENGLAND LEGEND "° How has New England's romance fled, Even as a vision of the morning ! Its rites foredone, — its guardians dead, — Its priestesses, bereft of dread. Waking the veriest urchin's scorning ! 5 Gone hke the Inchan wizard's yell And fire-dance round the magic rock. Forgotten like the Druid's spell At moonrise by his holy oak ! No more along the shadowy glen, 10 Ghde the dim ghosts of murdered men ; No more the unquiet churchyard dead Glimpse upward from their turfy bed. Startling the traveller, late and lone; As, on some night of starless weather, 15 They silently commune together. Each sitting on his own head-stone ! The roofless house, decayed, deserted, Its hving tenants all departed. No longer rings with midnight revel 20 Of witch, or ghost, or goblin evil ; No pale blue flame sends out its flashes Through creviced roof and shattered sashes ! — The witch-grass round the hazel spring May sharply to the night-air sing, 25 But there no more shall withered hags Refresh at ease their broomstick nags. Or taste those hazel-shadowed waters As beverage meet for Satan's daughters ; No more their mimic tones be heard, — 30 The mew of cat, — the chirp of bird, — EXTRACT FROM "^ NEW ENGLAND LEGEND" 189 Shrill blending with the hoarser laughter Of the fell demon, following after ! The cautious goodman nails no more A horseshoe on his outer door, 35 Lest some unseemly hag should fit To his own mouth her bridle-bit, — The goodwife's churn no more refuses Its wonted culinary uses Until, with heated needle burned, 40 The witch has to her place returned ! Our witches are no longer old And wrinkled beldames, Satan-sold, But young and gay and laughing creatures. With the heart's sunshine on their features, — 45 Their sorcery — the hght which dances Where the raised lid unveils its glances; Or that low-breathed and gentle tone. The music of Love's twilight hours, Soft, dream-like, as a fairy's moan 50 Above her nightly closing flowers, Sw^eeter than that w^hich sighed of yore Along the charmed Ausonian shore ° ! Even she, our own weird heroine. Sole Pythoness of ancient Lynn, 55 Sleeps calmly where the living laid her. And the wide realm of sorcery, Left by its latest mistress free. Hath found no gray and skilled invader : So perished Albion's° "glanmiarye,"° 60 With him in j\Ielrose Abbey sleepin* His charmed torch beside his knee, o That even the dead himself might see 190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS The magic scroll within his keeping. And now our modern Yankee sees 65 Nor omens, spells, nor mysteries ; And naught above, below, around, Of life or death, of sight or sound, Whate'er its nature, form, or look, Excites his terror or surprise, — 70 All seeming to his knowing eyes Familiar as his '' catechise, "° Or '^ Webster's Spelling-Book/' ° HAMPTON BEACH^ 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. 5 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. 10 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. 15 Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow Comes this fresh breeze. HAMPTON BEACH 191 Cooling its dull and feverish glow, While through my being seems to flow The breath of a new life, — the healing of the seas ! 20 Now rest we, where this grassy mound His feet hath set In the great waters, which have bound His granite ankles greenly round With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. 25 Good-by to pain and care ! I take Mine ease to-day : Here where these sunny waters break, And ripples this keen breeze, I shake All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. 30 I draw a freer breath — I seem Like all I see — Waves in the sun — the white-winged gleam Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free. 35 So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, The soul may know No fearful change, nor sudden wonder. Nor sink the weight of mystery under. But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. 40 And all we shrink from now may seem No new revealing; 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Familiar as our childhood's stream, Or pleasant memory of a dream The loved and cherished Past upon the new life steal- ing. 45 Serene and mild the untried light May have its dawning; And, as in summer's northern night The evening and the dawn unite, The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. 50 I sit alone ; in foam and spray Wave after wave Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, Shoulder the broken tide away. Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. 55 What heed I of the dusty land And noisy town? I see the mighty deep expand From its white line of glimmering sand To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down ! 60 In listless quietude of mind, I yield to all The change of cloud and wave and wind, And passive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. 65 But look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore In shadow lie; THE HILL-TOP 193 The night-wind warns me back once more To where, my native hill-tops o'er, Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. 70 So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell ! 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. 75 THE HILL-TOP ° The burly driver at my side, We slowly climbed the hill. Whose summit, in the hot noontide, Seemed rising, rising still. At last, our short noon-shadows hid The top-stone, bare and brown. From whence, like Gizeh's pyramid, The rough mass slanted down. I felt the cool breath of the North ; Between me and the sun, O'er deep, still lake, and ridgy earth, I saw the cloud-shades run. Before me, stretched for glistening miles, Lay mountain-girdled Squam ; Like green-winged birds, the leafy isles Upon its bosom swam. And, glimmering through the sun-haze warm, Far as the e3'e could roam, Dark billows of an earthquake storm 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Beflecked with clouds like foam^ 20 Their vales in misty shadow deep, Their rugged peaks in shine, I saw the mountain ranges sweep The horizon's northern line. There towered Chocorua's peak; and west, 25 Moosehillock's woods were seen, With many a nameless slide-scarred crest And pine-dark gorge between. Beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloud, The great Notch mountains shone, 30 Watched over by the solemn-browed And awful face of stone ! '' A good look-off ! " the driver spake : "About this time, last year, I drove a party to the Lake, 35 And stopped, at evening, here. 'Twas duskish down below; but all These hills stood in the sun. Till, dipped behind yon purple wall, He left them, one by one. 40 " A lady, who, from Thornton hill, Had held her place outside. And, as a pleasant w^oman will. Had cheered the long, dull ride. Besought me, with so sweet a smile, 45 That — though I hate delays — I could not choose but rest awhile, — (These women have such ways I) " On yonder mossy ledge she sat, Her sketch upon her knees, 50 THE HILL- TOP 195 A stray brown lock beneath her hat UnrolUng in the breeze; Her sweet face, in the sunset Ught Upraised and glorified, — I never saw a prettier sight 55 In all my mountain ride. ^' As good as fair; it seemed her joy To comfort and to give; My poor, sick wife, and cripple boy, Will bless her while they live !" 60 The tremor in the driver's tone His manhood did not shame : '' I dare say, sir, you may have known " He named a well-known name. Then sank the pyramidal mounds, 65 The blue lake fled aw^ay; For mountain-scope a parlor's bounds, A lighted hearth for day ! From lonely 3^ears and weary miles The shadows fell apart ; 70 Kind voices cheered, sweet human smiles Shone warm into my heart. We journeyed on ; but earth and sky Had power to charm no more; Still dreamed my inward-turning eye 75 The dream of memory o'er. Ah ! human kindness, human love, — To few who seek denied, — Too late we learn to prize above The whole round world beside ! 80 196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS MEMORIES ° A BEAUTIFUL and happy girl, With step as hght as summer air, Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadowed by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair; 5 A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring When sinking into Summer's arms. A mind rejoicing in the light 10 Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, And stainless in its holy white, Unfolding like a morning flower : A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, 15 With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke. How thrills once more the lengthening chain Of memory, at the thought of thee ! 20 Old hopes, which long in dust have lain, Old dreams, come thronging back again, And boyhood hves again in me ; I feel its glow upon my cheek. Its fulness of the heart is mine, 25 As when I leaned to hear thee speak. Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. I hear again thy low replies, I feel thy arm within my own, MEMORIES 197 And timidly again uprise 30 The fringed lids of hazel eyes, With soft brown tresses overblown. Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves, Of moonlit wave and willowy way, Of stars and fiow^ers, and dewy leaves, 35 And smiles and tones more dear than they ! Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled My picture of thy youth to see, When, half a woman, half a child Thy very artlessness beguiled, 40 And folly's self seemed wise in thee; I too can smile, when o'er that hour The lights of memory backward stream. Yet feel the while that manhood's power Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. 45 Years have passed on, and left their trace Of graver care and deeper thought ; And unto me the calm, cold face Of manhood, and to thee the grace Of woman's pensive beauty brought. 50 More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, The schoolboy's humble name has flown; Thine, in the green and quiet ways Of unobtrusive goodness known. And wider yet in thought and deed 55 Diverge our pathways, one in youth; Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, While answers to my spirit's need The Derby dalesman's simple truth. 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, 60 And holy day, and solemn psalm; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather, slow and calm. Yet hath thy spirit left on me An impress Time has worn not out, 65 And something of myself in thee, A shadow from the past, I see, Lingering, even yet, thy way about; Not wholly can the heart unlearn That lesson of its better hours, 70 Nor yet has Time's dull footstep worn To common dust that path of flowers. Thus, while at times before our eyes The shadows melt, and fall apart, And, smiling through them, round us lies 75 The warm light of our morning skies, — The Indian Summer of the heart ! — In secret sympathies of mind. In founts of feeling which retain Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find So Our early dreams not wholly vain ! ICHABOD!° So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn Which once he wore ! The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore ! Revile him not, — the Tempter hath A snare for all; ICHABOD 199 And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall ! Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, When he who might lo Have lighted up and led his age Falls back in night. Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark A bright soul driven. Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 15 From hope and heaven ! Let not the land once proud of him Insult him now, Nor brand with deeper shame his dim. Dishonored brow. 20 But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead. In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught 25 Save power remains, — A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. All else is gone ; from those great eyes The soul has fled : 30 When faith is lost, when honor dies. The man is dead ! 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame ; Walk backward, with averted gaze, 35 And hide the shame ! ALL'S WELL The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain ; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our .limbs a chain ; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain. As through the shadowy lens of even The eyes look farthest into heaven On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew ! SEED-TIME AND HARVEST As o'er his furrowed fields which lie Beneath a coldly-dropping sky. Yet chill with winter's melted snow, The husbandman goes forth to sow. Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast The ventures of thy seed we cast, And trust to warmer sun and rain To swell the germs and fill the grain. Who calls the glorious service hard? Who deems it not its own reward? SEED-TIME AND HARVEST 201 Who, for its trials, counts it less A cause of praise and thankfulness ? It may not be our lot to wield The sickle in the ripened field; Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, 15 The reaper's song among the sheaves. Yet where our duty's task is wrought In unison with God's great thought, The near and future blend in one, And whatsoe'er is willed, is done ! 20 And ours the grateful service whence Comes, day by day, the recompense ; The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, The fountain and the noonday shade. And were this life the utmost span, 25 The only end and aim of man. Better the toil of fields like these Than waking dreams and slothful ease. But life, though falling like our grain, Like that revives and springs again; 30 And, early called, how blest are they Who wait in heaven their harvest-day ! TO A. K.° ON RECEIVING A BASKET OF SEA-MOSSES Thanks for thy gift Of ocean flowers. Born where the golden drift 202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Of the slant sunshine falls Down the green, tremulous walls 5 Of water, to the cool still coral bowers, Where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, God's gardens of the deep His patient angels keep ; Gladdening the dim, strange solitude lo With fairest forms and hues, and thus For ever teaching us The lesson which the many-colored skies. The flowers, and leaves, and painted butterflies, The deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that flings 15 The tropic sunshine from its golden wings, The brightness of the human countenance, Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, For evermore repeat. In varied tones and sweet, 20 That beauty, in and of itself, is good. O kind and generous friend, o'er whom The sunset hues of Time are cast. Painting, upon the overpast And scattered clouds of noonday sorrow 25 The promise of a fairer morrow, An earnest of the better hfe to come; The binding of the spirit broken, The warning to the erring spoken, The comfort of the sad, 30 The eye to see, the hand to cull Of common things the beautiful, The absent heart made glad By simple gift or graceful token Of love it needs as daily food, 35 TO A. K. 203 All own one Source, and all are good ! Hence, tracking sunny cove and reach, Where spent waves glimmer up the beach, And toss their gifts of weed and shell From foamy curve and combing swell, 40 No unbefitting task was thine To w^eave these flowers so soft and fair In unison with His design Who loveth beauty everywhere ; And makes in every zone and clime, 45 In ocean and in upper air, ''All things beautiful in their time." For not alone in tones of awe and power He speaks to man; The cloudy horror of the thunder-shower 50 His rainbow span; And where the caravan Winds o'er the desert, leaving, as in air The crane-flock leaves, no trace of passage there. He gives the weary eye 55 The palm-leaf shadow for the hot noon hours, And on its branches dry Calls out the acacia's flowers; And where the dark shaft pierces down Beneath the mountain roots, 60 Seen by the miner's lamp alone. The star-like crystal shoots ; So, where, the winds and waves below, The coral-branched gardens grow, His climbing weeds and mosses show, 65 Like foliage, on each stony bough. Of varied hues more strangely gay 204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Than forest leaves in autumn's day ; — Thus evermore, On sky, and wave, and shore, 70 An all-pervading beauty seems to say : God's love and power are one; and they. Who, like the thunder of a sultry day. Smite to restore, And they, who, like the gentle wind, uplift 75 The petals of the dew-wet flowers, and drift Their perfume on the air, Alike may serve Him, each, with their own gift, Making their lives a prayer ! MOLOCH IN STATE STREET° The moon has set : while yet the dawn Breaks cold and gray. Between the midnight and the morn Bear off your prey ! On, swift and still ! — the conscious street Is panged and stirred ; Tread light ! — that fall of serried feet The dead have heard ! The first drawn blood of Freedom's veins ° Gushed where ye tread; Lo ! through the dusk the martyr-stains Blush darkly red ! Beneath the slowly waning stars And whitening day^ MOLOCH IN STATE STREET 205 What stern and awful presence bars 15 That sacred way ? What faces frown upon ye, dark With shame and pain? Come these from Plymouth's Pilgrim barque? Is that young Vane°? 20 Who, dimly beckoning, speed ye on With mocking cheer? Lo ! spectral Andros, Hutchinson, ° And Gage° are here ! For ready mart or favoring blast 25 Through Moloch's fire Flesh of his flesh, unsparing, passed The Tyrian sire.° Ye make that ancient sacrifice Of Man to Gain, 30 Your traffic thrives, where Freedom dies, Beneath the chain. Ye sow to-day, your harvest, scorn And hate, is near; How think ye freemen, mountain born, 35 The tale will hear? Thank God ! our mother State can yet Her fame retrieve ; To you and to your children let The scandal cleave. 40 Chain Hall and Pulpit, Court and Press, Make gods of gold ; 206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Let honor, truth, and manUness Like wares be sold. Your hoards are great, your walls are strong, 45 But God is just ; The gilded chambers built by wrong Invite the rust. What ! know ye not the gains of Crime Are dust and dross; 50 Its ventures on the waves of time Foredoomed to loss ! And still the Pilgrim State remains What she hath been; Her inland hills, her seaward plains, 55 Still nurture men ! Nor wholly lost the fallen mart, — Her olden blood Through many a free and generous heart Still pours its flood. 60 That brave old blood, quick-flowing yet, Shall know no check, Till a free people's foot is set On Slavery's neck. Even now, the peal of bell° and gun, 65 And hills aflame. Tell of the first great triumph won In Freedom's name. APRIL 207 The long night dies : the welcome gray Of dawn we see; 70 Speed up the heavens Thy perfect day, God of the free ! 1851 APRIL° " The spring comes slowly up this way." Christahel. 'Tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard ; For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow% And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, 5 On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, 10 Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers ! We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south ! For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth ; For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, 15 Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod ! Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased The wail and the shriek of the ]3itter north-east, — Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow. All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, — 20 Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, 208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny south-west. O soul of the spring-time, its hght and its breath, Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death ; Renew the great miracle ; let us behold 25 The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, And Nature, like Lazarus, ° rise, as of old! Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, And in blooming of flower and budding of tree 30 The symbols and types of our destiny see ; The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole. And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul ! THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY The proudest now is but my peer, The highest not more high; To-day, of all the weary year, A king of men am L To-day, alike are great and small, 5 The nameless and the known; My palace is the people's hall, The ballot-box my throne ! Who serves to-day upon the list Beside the served shall stand ; 10 Ahke the brown and wrinkled fist, The gloved and dainty hand ! The rich is level with the poor, The weak is strong to-day; And sleekest broadcloth counts no more 15 Than homespun frock of gray. TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 209 To-day let pomp and vain pretence My stubborn right abide ; I set a plain man's common sense Against the pedant's pride. 20 To-day shall simple manhood try The strength of gold and land ; The wide world has not wealth to buy The power in my right hand ! While there's a grief to seek redress, 25 Or balance to adjust, Where weighs our living manhood less Than Mammon's vilest dust, — While there's a right to need my vote, A wrong to sweep away, 3° Up ! clouted knee and ragged coat ! A man's a man to-day ! TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTERS AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE Old friend, kind friend ! lightly down Drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown ! Never be thy shadow less, Never fail thy cheerfulness ; Care, that kills the cat, may plough s Wrinkles in the miser's brow. Deepen envy's spiteful frown, Draw the mouths of bigots down, Plague ambition's dream, and sit Heavy on the hypocrite, 10 Haunt the rich man's door, and ride 210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS In the gilded coach of pride ; — Let the fiend pass ! — what can he Find to do with such as thee ? Seldom comes that evil guest 15 Where the conscience lies at rest, And brown health and quiet wit Smiling on the threshold sit. ■ I, the urchin unto whom, In that smoked and cUngy room, 20 Where the district gave thee rule O'er its ragged winter school, Thou didst teach the mysteries Of those weary A B C's, — Where, to fill the every pause 25 Of thy wise and learned saws. Through the cracked and crazy wall Came the cradle-rock and squall, And the goodman's voice, at strife With his shrill and tipsy wife, — 30 Luring us by stories olcl, With a comic unction told, More than by the eloquence Of terse birchen arguments (Doubtful gain, I fear), to look 35 With complacence on a book ! — Where the genial pedagogue Half forgot his rogues to flog, Citing tale or apologue. Wise and merry in its drift 40 As old Phsedrus' twofold gift,° Had the little rebels known it, Risum et prudentiam monet° ! I, — the man of middle years, TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 211 In whose sable locks appears 45 Many a warning fleck of gray, — Looking back to that far day, And thy primal lessons, feel Grateful smiles my Hps unseal, As, remembering thee, I blend 50 Olden teacher, present friend. Wise with antiquarian search. In the scrolls of State and Church : Named on history's title-page. Parish clerk and justice sage ; 55 For the ferule's wholesome awe Wielding now the sword of law. Threshing Time's neglected sheaves. Gathering up the scattered leaves Which the wrinkled sibyl° cast 60 Careless from her as she passed, — Twofold citizen art thou, Freeman of the past and now. He who bore thy name of old Midway in the heavens did hold 65 Over Gibeon° moon and sun; Thou hast bidden them backward run; Of to-day the present ray Flinging over 3^esterday ! Let the busy ones deride 7° What I deem of right thy pride : Let the fools their tread-mills grind Look not forward nor behind, Shuffle in and wriggle out, Veer with every breeze about, 75 Turning like a windmill sail, 212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Or a dog that seeks his tail ; Let them laugh to see thee fast Tabernacled in the Past, Working out with eye and lip, 80 Riddles of old penmanship, Patient as Belzoni° there Sorting out, with loving care, Mummies of dead questions stripped From their sevenfold manuscript ! 85 DabbUng, in their noisy way, In the puddles of to-day, Little know they of that vast Solemn ocean of the past. On whose margin, wreck-bespread, 90 Thou art walking with the dead, Questioning the stranded years. Waking smiles, by turns, and tears. As thou callest up again Shapes the dust has long o'erlain, — 95 Fair-haired woman, bearded man, Cavalier° and Puritan; In an age whose eager view Seeks but present things, and new, Mad for party, sect and gold, 100 Teaching reverence for the old. On that shore, with fowler's tact. Coolly bagging fact on fact. Naught amiss to thee can float. Tale, or song, or anecdote; 105 Village gossip, centuries old. Scandals by our grandams told. What the pilgrim's table spread, TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 213 Where he lived, and whom he wed, Long-drawn bill of wine and beer no For his ordination cheer, Or the flip that well-nigh made Glad his funeral cavalcade ; Weary prose, and poet's lines. Flavored by their age, like wines, us Eulogistic of some ciuaint, Doubtful, puritanic saint; Lays that quickened husking jigs, Jests that shook grave periwigs. When the parson had his jokes 120 And his glass, like other folks; Sermons that, for mortal hours. Taxed our fathers' vital powers. As the long nineteenthlies poured Downward from the sounding-board, 125 And, for fire of Pentecost, ° Touched their beards December's frost. Time is hastening on, and we What our fathers are shall be, — Shadow-shapes of memory ! 130 Joined to that vast multitude Where the great are but the good. And the mind of strength shall prove Weaker than the heart of love ; Pride of graybeard wisdom less 135 Than the infant's guilelessness. And his song of sorrow more Than the crown the Psalmist wore ! Who shall then, with pious zeal, At our moss-grown thresholds kneel, 140 214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS From a stained and stony page Reading to a careless age, With a patient eye lilve thine, Prosing tale and limping line, Names and words the hoary rime 145 Of the Past has made subUme ? Who shall work for us as well The antiquarian's miracle? Who to seeming life recall Teacher grave and pupil small? 150 Who shall give to thee and me Freeholds in futurity ? Well, whatever lot be mine, Long and happy days be thine. Ere thy full and honored age 155 Dates of time its latest page ! Squire for master. State for school. Wisely lenient, live and rule ; Over grown-up knave and rogue Play the watchful pedagogue ; 160 Or, while pleasure smiles on duty, At the call of youth and beauty. Speak for them the spell of law Which shall bar and bolt withdraw, And the flaming sword remove 165 From the Paradise of Love. Still, with undimmed eyesight, pore Ancient tome and record o'er; Still thy week-day lyrics croon, Pitch in church the Sunday tune, 170 Showing something, in thy part. Of the old Puritanic art. BUENS 215 Singer after Sternhold's° heart ! In thy pew, for many a year, HomiUes from 01dbug° hear, 175 Who to wit Uke that of South, ° And the Syrian's golden mouth, Doth the homely pathos add Which the pilgrim preachers had ; Breaking, hke a child at play, 180 Glided idols of the day, Cant of knave and pomp of fool Tossing with his riclicule, Yet, in earnest or in jest. Ever keeping truth abreast. 185 And, when thou art called, at last, To thy townsmen of the past, Not as stranger shalt thou come ; Thou shalt find thyself at home ! With the httle and the big, 190 Woollen cap and periwig, Madam in her high-laced ruff, Goody in her home-made stuff, — Wise and simple, rich and poor ! Thou hast known them all before ! 195 BURNS ° ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM No more these simple flowers belong To Scottish maid and lover : Sown in the common soil of song, They bloom the wide world over. 216 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, 5 The minstrel and the heather, The deathless singer and the flowers He sang of hve together. Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns ! The moorland flower and peasant ! 10 How, at their mention, memory turns Her pages old and pleasant ! The gray sky wears again its gold And purple of adorning, And manhood's noonday shadows hold 15 The dews of boyhood's morning. The dews that washed the dust and soil From off the wings of pleasure, The sky, that flecked the ground of toil With golden threads of leisure. 20 I call to mind the summer day, The early harvest mowing. The sky with sun and clouds at play, And flowers with breezes blowing. I hear the blackbird in the corn, 25 The locust in the haying : And, like the fabled hunter's horn, Old tunes my heart is playing. How oft that day, with fond delay, I sought the maple's shadow, 30 And sang with Burns the hours away, Forgetful of the meadow ! BURKS 217 Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead I heard the squirrels leaping. The good dog listened while I read, 35 And wagged his tale in keeping. I watched him while in sportive mood I read "The Twa Dogs' "° story, And half beUeved he understood The poet's allegory. 40 Sweet day, sweet songs ! — The golden hours Grew brighter for that singing, From brook and bird and meadow flowers A dearer welcome bringing. New light on home-seen nature beamed, 45 New glory over Woman ; And daily Ufe and duty seemed No longer poor and common. I woke to find the simple truth Of fact and feeling better 50 Than all the dreams that held my youth A still repining debtor : That Nature gives her handmaid. Art, The themes of sweet discoursing ; The tender idyls of the heart 55 In every tongue rehearsing. Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, Of loving knight and lady. When farmer boy and barefoot girl Were wandering there already ? 60 218 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS I saw through all famihar things The romance underlying ; The joys and griefs that plume the wings Of Fancy skyward flying. I saw the same blithe day return, 65 The same sweet fall of even, That rose on wooded Craigieburn,° And sank on crystal Devon. ° I matched with Scotland's heathery hills The sweetbrier and the clover; 70 With Ayr and Doon,° my native rills, Their wood-hymns chanting over. O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, I saw the Man uprising ; No longer common or unclean, 75 The child of God's baptizing ! With clearer eyes I saw the worth Of life among the lowly ; The Bible at his cotter's hearth° Had made my own more holy. 80 And if at times an evil strain, To lawless love appealing. Broke in upon the sweet refrain Of pure and healthful feeling, It died upon the eye and ear, 85 No inward answer gaining; . No heart had I to see or hear The discord and the staining. BURNS 219 Let those who never erred forget His worth, in vain bewaihngs; 90 Sweet Soul of Song ! — I own my debt Uncancelled by his failings ! Lament who will the ribald line Which tells his lapse from duty, How kissed the maddening lips of wine 95 Or wanton ones of beauty ; But think, while falls that shade between The erring one and Heaven, That he wlio loved like Magdalen, Like her may be forgiven. 100 Not his the song whose thunderous chime Eternal echoes render — The mournful Tuscan's ° haunted rhyme, And Milton's starry splendor ! But who his human heart has laid 105 To Nature's bosom nearer? Who sw^eetened toil like him, or paid To love a tribute dearer? Through all his tuneful art, how strong The human feeling gushes ! no The very moonlight of his song Is warm with smiles and blushes ! Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, So " Bonnie Doon" but tarry; Blot out the Epic's stately rhyme, 115 But spare his Highland Mary°! 220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS THE VOICES " Why urge the long, unequal fight, Since Truth has fallen in the street, Or lift anew the trampled light, Quenched by the heedless million's feet ? " Give o'er the thankless task ; forsake 5 The fools who know not ill from good: Eat, drink, enjoy thy own, and take Thine ease among the multitude. "Live out thyself; with others share Thy proper life no more ; assume 10 The unconcern of sun and air, For life or death, or blight or bloom. ''The mountain pine looks calmly on The fires that scourge the plains below, Nor heeds the eagle in the sun 15 The small birds piping in the snow ! " The world is God's, not thine ; let Him Work out a change, if change must be : The hand that planted best can trim And nurse the old unfruitful tree." 20 So spake the Tempter, when the light Of sun and stars had left the sky, I listened, through the cloud and night, And heard, methought, a voice reply : '' Thy task may well seem over-hard, 25 Who scatterest in a thankless soil THE VOICES 221 Thy life as seed, with no reward Save that which Duty gives to Toil. '' Not wholly is thy heart resigned To Heaven's benign and just decree, 30 Which, hnking thee with all thy kind, Transmits their joys and griefs to thee. " Break off that sacred chain, and turn Back on thyself thy love and care ; Be thou thine own mean idol, burn 35 Faith, Hope, and Trust, thy children, there. ''Released from that fraternal law Which shares the common bale and bhss, No sadder lot could Folly draw, Or Sin provoke from Fate, than this. 40 '' The meal unshared is food unblest : Thou hoard'st in vain what love should spend; Self-ease is pain; thy only rest Is labor for a worthy end. '' A toil that gains with what it yields, 45 And scatters to its own increase, And hears, while sowing outward fields, The harvest-song of inward peace. " Free-lipped the liberal streamlets run, Free shines for all the healthful ray; 50 The still pool stagnates in the sun, The lurid earth-fire haunts decay ! ''What is it that the crowd requite Thy love with hatC; thy truth with lies? 222 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And but to faith, and not to sight, 55 The walls of Freedom's temple rise ? " Yet do thy work ; it shall succeed In thine or in another's day; And, if denied the victor's meed. Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay. 60 *' Faith shares the future's promise; Love's Self-offering is a triumph won; And each good thought or action moves The dark world nearer to the sun. ''Then faint not, falter not, nor plead 65 Thy weakness ; truth itself is strong ; The hon's strength, the eagle's speed. Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. ''Thy nature, which, through fire and flood, To place or gain finds out its way, 70 Hath power to seek the highest good, And duty's hohest call obey ! " Strivest thou in darkness ? — Foes without In league with traitor thoughts within ; Thy night-watch kept with treml^ling doubt 75 And pale remorse the ghost of Sin ? — " Hast thou not, on some week of storm, Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking fair, And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form The curtains of its tent of prayer ? 80 THE HERO 223 "So, haply, when thy task shall end, The wrong shall lose itself in right, And all thy week-day darkness blend With the long Sabbath of the Ught !" THE HERO° "0 FOR a knight like Bayard, ° Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of steel, My love-knot on his spear ! '^ for the white plume floating s Sad Zutphen's° field above, — The hon heart in battle. The woman's heart in love ! " O that man once more were manly, Woman's pride, and not her scorn : lo That once more the pale young mother Dared to boast ' a man is born ' ! " But, now life's slumberous current No sun-bowed cascade wakes; No tall, heroic manhood 15 The level dulness breaks. " O for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of steel. My love-knot on his spear!" 20 Then I said, my own heart throbl)ing To the time her proud pulse beat. 224 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS " Life hath its regal natures yet, — True, tender, brave, and sweet ! '^ Smile not, fair unbeliever! 25 One man, at least, I know, Who might wear the crest of Bayard Or Sidney's plume of snow. '' Once, when over purple mountains Died away the Grecian sun, 30 And the far Cyllenian° ranges Paled and darkened, one by one, — " Fell the Turk, a bolt of thunder. Cleaving all the quiet sky, And against his sharp steel lightnings 35 Stood the Suliote° but to die. " Woe for the weak and halting ! The crescent blazed behind A curving line of sabres. Like fire before the wind ! 40 " Last to fly, and first to rally. Rode he of whom I speak. When, groaning in his bridle-path, Sank down a wounded Greek. '^With the rich Albanian^ costume 45 Wet with many a ghastly stain, Gazing on earth and sky as one Who might not gaze again ! " He looked forward to the mountains, Back on foes that never spare, 50 THE HERO 225 Then flung him from his saddle, And placed the stranger there. '' ' Allah ! ° hu ! ' Through flashing sabres, Through a stormy hail of lead, The good Thessalian° charger 55 Up the slopes of olives sped. " Hot spurred the turbaned riders, He almost felt their breath, Where a mountain stream rolled darkly down Between the hills and death. 60 '' One brave and manful struggle, — He gained the solid land, And the cover of the mountains. And the carbines of his band !" "It was very great and noble," 65 Said the moist-eyed listener then, " But one brave deed makes no hero ; Tell me what he since hath been !" "Still a brave and generous manhood, Still an honor without stain, 70 In the prison of the Kaiser, By the barricades of Seine. ° " But dream not helm and harness The sign of valor true ; Peace hath higher tests of manhood 75 Than battle ever knew. "Wouldst know him now? Behold liim, The Cadmus ° of the bhnd, 226 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Giving the dumb lip language. The idiot clay a mind. 80 " Walking his round of duty Serenely day by day, With the strong man's hand of labor And childhood's heart of play. '' True as the knights of story, 85 Sir Lancelot and his peers, ° Brave in his calm endurance As they in tilt of spears. "As waves in stillest waters, As stars in noonday skies, 90 All that wakes to noble action In his noon of calmness lies. " Wherever outraged Nature Asks word or action brave, Wherever struggles labor, 95 Wherever groans a slave, — " Wherever rise the peoples, Wherever sinks a throne. The throbbing heart of Freedom finds An answer in his own. 100 " Knight of a better era, Without reproach or fear ! Said I not well that Bayards And Sidneys still are here ? '' THE BAREFOOT BOY 227 THE BAREFOOT BOY° Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still S Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face. Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! lo Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride ! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy 15 In the reach of ear and eye, — Outward sunshine, inward joy: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! O for boyhood's painless play. Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 20 Health that mocks the doctor's rules. Knowledge never learned of schools. Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wildflower's time and place. Flight of fowl and habitude 25 Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell. How the woodchuck digs his cell. And the ground-mole sinks his well; 228 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS How the robin feeds her young, 30 How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest hhes blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the groundnut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 35 Of the black wasp's cunning way. Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! — For, eschewing books and tasks, 40 Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks. Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, — Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 4S for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw. Me, their master, waited for. 1 was rich in flowers and trees, 50 Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played. Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; 55 Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night. Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 60 Mine the walnut slopes beyond. THE BAREFOOT BOY 229 Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides°! Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too, 6$ All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! O for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread, — 70 Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude ! O'er me, Hke a regal tent. Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 75 Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While for music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 80 I was monarch : pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my Httle man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard, 85 Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 90 All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, 230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, 95 Up and down in ceaseless moil; Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 100 Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS" We cross the prairie as of old The pilgrims crossed the sea, To make the West, as they the East, The homestead of the free ! We go to rear a wall of men 5 On Freedom's Southern line. And plant beside the cotton-tree The rugged Northern pine ! We're flowing from our native hills As our free rivers flow; 10 The blessing of our Mother-land Is on us as we go. We go to plant her common schools On distant prairie swells, And give the Sabbaths of the wild 15 The music of her bells. SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT 231 Upbearing, like the Ark of old, The Bible in our van, We go to test the truth of God Against the fraud of man. 20 No pause, nor rest, save where the streams That feed the Kansas run, Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon Shall flout the setting sun ! We'll tread the prairie as of old 25 Our fathers sailed the sea. And make the West, as they the East, The homestead of the free ! SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT ° Where are we going? where are we going, Where are we going, Rubee ? Lord of peoples. Lord of lands. Look across these shining sands, Through the furnace of the noon. Through the white light of the moon, Strong the Ghiblee wind is blowing. Strange and large the world is growing ! Speak and tell us where we are going, Where are we going, Rubee ? Bornou land was rich and good, Wells of water, fields of food, Dourra fields, and bloom of bean, 232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And the palm-tree cool and green : Bornou land we see no longer, 15 Here we thir.st, and here we hunger, Here the Moor-man smites in anger : Where are we going, Rubee ? When we went from Bornou land, We were like the leaves and sand, 20 We were many, we are few; Life has one, and death has two : Whitened bones our path are showing, Thou All-seeing, Thou All-knowing ! Hear us, tell us, where are we going, 25 Where are we going, Rubee ? Moons of marches from our eyes Bornou land behind us lies; Stranger round us day by day Bends the desert circle gray; 30 Wild the waves of sand are flowing, Hot the winds above them blowing, — Lord of all things ! — where are we going ? Where are we going, Rubee ? We are weak, but Thou art strong 35 Short our lives, but Thine is long ; We are blind, but Thou hast eyes ; We are fools, but Thou art wise ! Thou, our morrow's pathway knowing Through the strange world round us growing, 40 Hear us, tell us where are we going, Where are we going, Rubee ? THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 233 THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN^ O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, I see, beyond the valley lands, The sea's long level dim with rain. Around me all things, stark and dumb, s Seem praying for the snows to come, And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, With winter's sunset lights and dazzhng morn atone. • II Along the river's summer walk. The withered tufts of asters nod; lo And trembles on its arid stalk The hoar plume of the golden rod. And on a ground of sombre fir. And azure-studded juniper. The silver birch its buds of purple shows, 15 And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild- rose ! Ill With mingled sound of horns and bells, A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, Like a great arrow through the sky, 20 Two dusky lines converged in one^ 234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Chasing the southward-flying sun ; While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. IV I passed this way a year ago : 25 The wind blew south; the noon of day Was warm as June's; and save that snow Flecked the low mountains far away, And that the vernal-seeming breeze Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, 30 I might have dreamed of summer as I lay. Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. Since then, the winter blasts have piled The white pagodas of the snow° On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, 35 Yon river, in its overflow Of spring-time rain and sun, set free. Crashed with its ices to the sea ; And over these gray fields, then green and gold, The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. 40 VI Rich gift of God ! A year of time ! What pomp of rise and shut of day, What hues wherewith our Northern cHme Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 235 What airs outblown from ferny dells, 45 And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, What songs of brooks and birds, what fruit and flowers, Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours ! VII I know not how, in other lands, The changing seasons come and go; 5° What splendors fall on Syrian sands, What purple Hghts on Alpine snow ! Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits On Venice at her watery gates ; A dream alone to me is Arno's° vale, ss And the Alhambra's° halls are but a traveller's tale. VIII Yet, on life's current, he who drifts Is one with him who rows or sails ; And he who wanders widest lifts No more of beauty's jealous veils 6o Than he who from his doorway sees The miracle of flowers and trees, Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air. And from cloud minaret ° hears the sunset call to prayer ! IX The eye may well be glad, that looks 65 Where Pharpar's° fountains rise and fall; 236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS But he who sees his native brooks Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. The marble palaces of Ind° Rise round him in the snow and wind ; 70 From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz° smiles, And Rome's cathedra ° awe is in his woodland aisles. X And thus it is my fancy blends The near at hand and far and rare; And while the same horizon bends 75 Above the silver-sprinkled hair Which flashed the light of morning skies On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes. Within its round of sea and sky and field. Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos° stands revealed. - 80 XI And thus the sick man on his bed. The toiler to his task-work bound, Behold their prison-walls outspread, Their chpped horizon widen round ! While freedom-giving fancy waits, 85 Like Peter's angel at the gates, The power is theirs to baffle care and pain. To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again ! XII What lack of goodly company. When masters of the ancient lyre 90 THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 237 Obey my call, and trace for me Their words of mingled tears and fire ! I talk with Bacon, ° grave and wise, I read the world with Pascal's ° eyes; And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, 95 And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw near. XIII Methinks, friend, I hear thee say, ''In vain the human heart we mock; Bring Hving guests who love the day, Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock ! 100 The herbs we share with flesh and blood Are better than ambrosial food, With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, But doubly blessed is he who can partake of both. XIV He who might Plato's ° banquet grace, 105 Have I not seen before me sit. And watched his puritanic face. With more than Eastern wisdom lit? Shrewd mystic ! who, upon the back Of his Poor Richard's Almanack, ° no Writing 1/3 Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, ° Links Menu's age of thought ° to Fulton's age of steam ! XV Here too, of answering love secure. Have I not welcomed to my hearth 238 MISCELLANEOUS PGEMS The gentle pilgrim troubadour, 115 Whose songs have girdled half the earth ; Whose pages, hke the magic mat° Whereon the Eastern lover sat, Have borne me over Rhineland's purple vines, And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's° mountain pines ! 120 XVI And he, who to the lettered wealth Of ages adds the lore unpriced, The wisdom and the moral health. The ethics of the school of Christ; The statesman° to his holy trust, 125 As the Athenian archon,° just. Struck down,° exiled hke him for truth alone. Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? XVII What greetings smile, what farewells wave, What loved ones enter and depart ! 130 The good, the beautiful, the brave, The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart ! How conscious seems the frozen sod And beechen slope whereon they trod ! The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends 135 Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. XVIII Then ask not why to these bleak hills I cling as clings the tufted moss, THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 239 To bear the winter's lingering chills, The mocking spring's perpetual loss. 140 I dream of lands where summer smiles, And soft winds blow from spicy isles, But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet. Could I not feel thy soil. New England, at my feet ! XIX At times I long for gentler skies, 145 And bathe in dreams of softer air. But homesick tears would fill the eyes That saw the Cross without the Bear.° The pine must whisper to the palm. The north-wind break the tropic calm; 150 And with the dreamy languor of the Line,° The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty join. XX Better to stem with heart and hand The roaring tide of life than lie. Unmindful, on its flowery strand, 155 Of God's occasions drifting by ! Better with naked nerve to bear The needles of this goading air. Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego The godhke power to do, the godlike aim to know. 160 XXI Home of my heart ! to me more fair Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls. 240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS The painted, shingly town-house where The freeman's vote for Freedom falls ! The simple roof where prayer is made, 165 Than Gothic groin° and colonnade ; The Hving temple of the heart of man, Than Rome's 'sky-mocking vault, or many-spired Milan° ! XXII More dear thy equal village schools. Where rich and poor the Bible read, 170 Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, And Learning wears the chains of Creed; Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in The shattered sheaves of home and kin. Than the mad license following Lenten pains, 175 Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. XXIII And sweet homes nestle in these dales. And perch along these wooded swells; And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, ° They hear the sound of Sabbath bells ! 180 Here dwells no perfect man sublime, Nor woman winged before her time, But with the faults and follies of the race, Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. XXIV Here manhood struggles for the sake 185 Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 241 The graces and the loves which make The music of the march of Ufe; And woman, in her daily round Of duty, walks on holy ground. 190 No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. XXV Then let the icy north-wind blow The trumpets of the coming storm, To arrowy sleet and blinding snow 195 Yon slanting lines of rain transform — Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, As gayly as I did of old ; And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. 200 XXVI And I will trust that He who heeds The life that hides in mead and wold, Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, And stains these mosses green and gold, Will still, as He hath done, incline 205 His gracious care to me and mine; Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star ! XXVII I have not seen, I may not see, My hopes for man take form in fact, 210 242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS But God will give the victory In due time ; in that faith I act. And he who sees the future sure, The baffling present may endure, And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads 215 The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. XXVIII And thou, my song, I send thee forth. Where harsher songs of mine have flown; Go, find a place at home and hearth Where'er thy singer's name is known; 220 Revive for him the kindly thought Of friends ; and they who ove him not, Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take The hands he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. THE MAYFLOWERS° Sad Mayflower ! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails ! What had she in those dreary hours, 5 Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet, "God be praised !" the Pilgrim said. Who saw the blossoms peer 10 Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, " Behold our Mayflower here !" THE EVE OF ELECTION 243 " God wills it : here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er, For us the Mayflower of the sea 15 Shall spread her sails no more." O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. 20 Behind the sea-wall's rugged length. Unchanged, your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old. So live the fathers in their sons, 25 Their sturdy faith be ours, And ours the love that overruns Its rocky strength with flowers. The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day Its shadow round us draws ; 30 The Mayflower of his stormy iDay, Our Freedom's struggling cause. But warmer suns ere long shall bring To hfe the frozen sod; And, through dead leaves of hope, shall spring 35 Afresh the flowers of God ! THE EVE OF ELECTION From gold to gray Our mild sweet day Of Indian summer fades too soon; 244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS But tenderly Above the sea 5 Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. In its pale fire The village spire Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance; The painted walls 10 Whereon it falls Transfigured stand in marble trance ! O'er fallen leaves The west-wind grieves, Yet comes a seed-time round again; 15 And morn shall see The State sown free With baleful tares or healthful grain. Along the street The shadows meet 20 Of Destiny, whose hands conceal The moulds of fate That shape the State, And make or mar the common weal. Around I see 25 The powers that be; I stand by Empire's primal springs; And princes meet, In every street. And hear the tread of uncrowned kings ! 30 Hark ! through the crowd The laugh runs loud, THE EVE OF ELECTION 245 Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. God save the land A careless hand 35 May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon ! No jest is this; One cast amiss May blast the hope of Freedom's year. Oh, take me where 40 Are hearts of prayer. And foreheads bowed in reverent fear ! Not lightly fall Beyond recall The written scrolls a breath can float; 4S The crowning fact The kingliest act Of Freedom, is the freeman's vote ! For pearls that gem A diadem 50 The diver in the deep sea dies ; The regal right We boast to-night Is ours through costlier sacrifice ; The blood of Vane,° 55 His prison pain Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, And hers whose faith Drew strength from death, And prayed her Russell ° up to God ! 60 Our hearts grow cold, We hghtly hold 246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS A right which brave men died to gain; The stake, the cord, The axe, the sword, 65 Grim nurses at its birth of pain The shadow rend. And o'er us bend, O martyrs, with your crowns and palms, — Breathe through these throngs 70 Your battle songs. Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms ! Look from the sky. Like God's great eye. Thou solemn noon, with searching beam, 75 Till in the sight Of thy pure light Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. Shame from our hearts Unworthy arts, 80 The fraud designed, the purpose dark; And smite away The hands we lay Profanely on the sacred ark. To party claims 85 And private aims. Reveal that august face of Truth, Whereto are given The age of heaven. The beauty of immortal youth. 90 So shall our voice Of sovereign choice MY PSALM 247 Swell the deep bass of duty done, And strike the key Of time to be, 95 When God and man shall speak as one ! MY PSALM I MOURN no more my vanished years : Beneath a tender rain, An April rain of smiles and tears. My heart is young again. The west winds blow, and, singing low, 5 I hear the glad streams run ; The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun. No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear; 10 But, grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here. I plough no more a desert land. To harvest weed and tare ; The manna dropping from God's hand 15 Rebukes my painful care. I break my pilgrim staff, — I lay Aside the toiling oar ; The angel sought so far away I welcome at my door, 20 The airs of spring may never play Among the ripening corn, 248 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Nor freshness of the flowers of May Blow through the autumn morn; Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look 25 Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook Shall see its image given ; — The woods shall wear their robes of praise, The south-wind softly sigh, 30 And sweet, calm days in golden haze Melt down the amber sky. Not less shall manly deed and word Rebuke an age of wrong; The graven flowers that wreathe the sword 35 Make not the blade less strong. But smiting hands shall learn to heal, — To build as to destroy; Nor less my heart for others feel That I the more enjoy. 40 All as God wills, who wisely heeds To give or to withhold, And knoweth more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told ! Enough that blessings undeserved 45 Have marked my erring track ; — That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, His chastening turned me back ; — Tl^at more and more a Providence Of love is understood, 50 THY WILL BE DONE 249 Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good ; — That death seems but a covered way Which opens into hght, Wherein no bhnded child can stray ^^ Beyond the Father's sight ; — That care and trial seem at last, Through Memory's sunset air, Like mountain-ranges overpast. In purple distance fair ; — 60 That all the jarring notes of life Seem blending in a psalm, And all the angles of its strife Slow rounding into calm. And so the shadows fall apart, 65 And so the west- winds play; And all the windows of my heart I open to the day. THY WILL BE DONE° We see not, know not ; all our way Is night, — with Thee alone is day : From out the torrent's troubled drift, Above the storm our prayers we lift, Thy will be done ! The flesh may fail, the heart may faint But who are we to make complaint, 250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Or dare to plead, in times like these The weakness of our love of ease ? Thy will be done ! lo We take with solemn thankfulness Our burden up, nor ask it less, And count it joy that even we May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, Whose will be done ! is Though dim as yet in tint and line, We trace Thy picture's wise design. And thank Thee that our age supplies Its dark relief of sacrifice. Thy will be done ! 20 And if, in our unworthiness, Thy sacrificial wine we press ; If from Thy ordeal's heated bars Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, Thy will be done ! 25 If, for the age to come, this hour Of trial hath vicarious power, And, blest by Thee, our present pain, Be Liberty's eternal gain, Thy will be done ! 30 Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys. The anthem of the destinies ! The minor of Thy loftier strain, Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain. Thy will be done ! 35 THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 251 THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862° The flags of war like storm-birds fly, The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature keeps 5 Her ancient promise well, Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps The battle's breath of hell. And still she walks in golden hours Through harvest-happy farms, 10 And still she wears her fruits and flowers Like jewels on her arms. What mean the gladness of the plain This joy of eve and morn, The mirth that shakes the beard of grain 15 And yellow locks of corn ? Ah ! eyes may well be full of tears, And hearts with hate are hot ; But even-paced come round the years, And Nature changes not. 20 She meets with smiles our bitter grief. With songs our groans of pain ; She mocks with tint of flower and leaf The war-field's crimson stain. Stifl, in the cannon's pause, we hear as Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm ; 262 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Too near to God for doubt or fear, She shares the eternal calm. She knows the seed lies safe below The fires that blast and burn ; 30 For all the tears of blood we sow She waits the rich return. She sees with clearer eye than ours The good of suffering born, — The hearts that blossom like her flowers^ 35 And ripen like her corn. Oh, give to us, in times like these. The vision of her eyes ; And make her fields and fruited trees Our golden prophecies ! 40 Oh, give to us her finer ear ! Above this stormy din, We too would hear the bells of cheer Ring peace and freedom in. OUR RIVER° FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL AT '^THE LAURELS " ON THE MERRIMACK Once more on yonder laurelled height The summer flowers have budded ; Once more with summer's golden light The vales of home are flooded; OUR RIVER 253 And once more, by the grace of Him 5 Of every good the Giver, We sing upon its wooded rim The praises of our river : Its pines above, its waves below, The west-wind down it blowing, 10 As fair as when the young Brissot° Beheld it seaward flowing, — And bore its memory o'er the deep, To soothe a martyr's sadness, And fresco, in his troubled sleep, 15 His prison-w^alls with gladness. We know the world is rich with streams Renowned in song and story. Whose music murmurs tl trough our dreams Of human love and glory : 20 We know that Arno's banks ° are fair, And Rhine has castled shadows, And, poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr° Go singing down their meadows. But while, unpictured and unsung 25 By painter or by poet, Our river waits the tuneful tongue And cunning hand to show it, — We only know the fond skies lean Above it, warm with blessing, 30 And the sweet soul of our Undine ° Awakes to our caressing. No fickle sun-god holds the flocks That graze its shores in keeping; 254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS No icy kiss of Dian° mocks 35 The youth beside it sleeping : Our Christian river loveth most The beautiful and human; The heathen streams of Naiads ° boast, But ours of man and woman. 4° The miner in his cabin hears The ripple we are hearing; It whispers soft to homesick ears Around the settler's clearing : In Sacramento's vales of corn, 45 Or Santee's bloom of cotton, Our river by its valley-born Was never yet forgotten. The drum rolls loud, — the bugle fills The summer air with clangor; so The war-storm shakes the solid hills Beneath its tread of anger; Young eyes that last year smiled in ours Now point the rifle's barrel, And hands then stained with fruits and flowers 55 Bear redder stains of quarrel. But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on. And rivers still keep flowing, — The dear God still His rain and sun On good and ill bestowing. 60 His pine-trees whisper, '' Trust and wait ! " His flowers are prophesying That all we dread of change or fall His love is underlying. LAUS DEO 255 And thou, O Mountain-born ! — no more 65 We ask the wise Allotter Than for the firmness of thy shore, The calmness of thy water, The cheerful lights that overlay Thy rugged slopes with beauty, 70 To match our spirits to our day And make a joy of duty. LAUS DEO°! It is done ! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel ! How the great guns, peal on peal, s Fling the joy from town to town ! Ring, O bells ! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may hear, 10 Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time ! Let us kneel : God's own voice is in that peal, And this spot is holy ground. 15 Lord, forgive us ! What are we. That our eyes this glory see. That our ears have heard the sound ! For the Lord On the whirlwind is abroad; 20 256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS In the earthquake He has spoken He has smitten with His thunder The iron walls asunder And the gates of brass are broken ! Loud and long 25 Lift the old exulting song; Sing with Miriam° by the sea He has cast the mighty down; Horse and rider sink and drown; He hath triumphed gloriously ! 30 Did we dare, In our agony of prayer, Ask for more than He has done? When was ever His right hand Over any time or land 35 Stretched as now beneath the sun? How they pale, Ancient myth and song and tale. In this wonder of our days, When the cruel rod of war 40 Blossoms white with righteous law, And the wrath of man is praise ! Blotted out ! All within and all about Shall a fresher life begin; 45 Freer breathe the universe As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin ! It is done ! In the circuit of the sun 50 LAUS DEO 257 Shall the sound thereof go forth. It shall bid the sad rejoice, It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth ! Ring and swing, 55 Bells of joy ! On morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad ! With a sound of broken chains Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God ! 60 NOTES PROEM (Page 1) This poem, written in 1847, soon after the publication of Voices of Freedom, is now placed at the beginning of all editions of Whittier's poems. It is an adequate statement of, at least, his earlier poetic aims, and is in all respects an admirable piece of self-criticism. 3. Edmund Spenser (1552 ?-l599) was one of the two greatest English masters of poetry before Shakespeare wrote his plays. The other of the two was Chaucer. 4. Sir PhiUp Sidney (1554-1586), a contemporary of Spen- ser's, was the author of a popular romance called Arcadia, and of some poetry and criticism. 27. Andrew Mar veil (1621-1678) was throughout almost his whole life contemporary with the far greater John Milton (1608-1671) the author of Paradise Lost. Marvell's lyrics, to which Whittier refers, were the product of his earlier life. Later he became, like Milton, absorbed in the exciting political events attending the downfall of Charles I, and his execution in 1649. These Puritan poets were, it is plain, particularly congenial to Whittier' s temperament. SNOW-BOUND 2 [1865] (Page 3) Aside from the one large group of earlier poems inspired by his hatred of slavery, Whittier' s poetry mainly expresses moods of contemplation and reminiscence, and finds its subjects in the simpler and homlier aspects of nature and humanity. ^ The date given opposite the title of each poem in these notes is in each case the date of composition, rather than that of publication. ^ The Whittier homestead at Haverhill is now the property of the Whittier Memorial Association. Its rooms have been restored as nearly as possible to the condition described in Snoiv-Bound. The house is open to the public, thousands of whom visit it annually. 259 260 NOTES Holmes styled him 'Hhe Woodthrush of Essex/* and others have called him the Burns of New England, suggesting, however, in the latter case an analogy which must not be pressed too far. Snow-Bound portrays the scenes of Whittier's early life. The house in which he was born is still standing in East Haver- hill, Mass. It had been the family homestead for several gene- rations, and is the scene of Snow-Bound. The characters in the poem are those who really lived or visited there when Whittier was a boy on his father's farm. They were his father and mother, his brother Matthew, his sisters Mary and Elizabeth, and his uncle and aunt, both unmarried. Besides these mem- bers of his own family, there were the schoolmaster, who boarded in the house, and, as an occasional visitor. Miss Harriet Liver- more, a young woman of eccentric character and remarkable subsequent history. The family life was extremely simple. As literature there were in the house besides the Bible, only the almanac, the weekly newspaper, and a very few books, among which were a single volume of poems and, though held in great suspicion, "one harmless novel." "Story-telling," says Whit- tier, " was almost a necessary resource during the long winter evenings." Memories of Indian warfare, of hunting expeditions, and stories of witchcraft were still the common possession of the older people of the time. Sweet and simple as its story is, Snow-Bound takes its strong hold upon us not merely because it is a description of the family life of the poet's own home; nor is it even because hundreds of people now living in near and distant parts of America can look back in memory to country homesteads of their own New England childhood, and find them, too, essentially pictured in Snow-Bound. Love for Whittier and affection for New England may well be awakened by the poem; but no one should fail to see how, more deeply, it reveals without explaining them the strong and broad foundations of that New England character which em- bodies so much of human life at its best. And then finally the poem should be read as a piece of literature, for the sake of its own beautiful pictures and its beautiful words, which are, after all, perhaps the chief reason why we read poetry at all. In this connection Snow-Bound may well be compared with Burns' s The Cotter's Saturday Night, and Goldsmith's Tha Deserted Village. NOTES 261 The first quotation standing at the beginning of the poem is taken from an old book dated 1851, in Whittier's possession, which had formerly been owned by one Bantam, a reputed sorcerer, who once lived in the Piscataqua region of New Hampshire. The second quotation is from Emerson's The Snow-storm. 65. Pisa's leaning miracle. The famous Leaning Tower of Pisa in northern Italy is a round bell-tower or campanile, of white marble, eighty feet in height, which leans six feet out of the perpendicular. The probable cause of the deflection is the sinking of the ground on one side of the foundation. 77. Aladdin's wondrous cave. See The Arabian Nights' Entertainment. 90. Amun was an Egyptian, originally an Ethiopian, deity worshipped mainly in the form of a ram, or of a human being with a ram's head. 215. "The Chief of Gambia." This line and the four subse- quent ones in italics ''are taken from The African Chief, a poem by Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Morton (1759-1846). . . . This poem was included in The American Preceptor, a school-book which was in use in Whittier's boyhood." (Riverside edition of Snow- Bound.) 225. Memphremagog, a lake on the border between Ver- mont and Canada. 229. St. Francois' hemlock trees. There are several locali- ties bearing this name in the country south of Quebec. 231. On Norman cap. The settlers of many regions of Canada were French, who still retain French customs and use the French language. 236. Salisbury lies at the mouth of the Merrimac River. 242. Great Boar's Head and Little Boar's Head are on the coast, south of Portsmouth, N.H. 243. The Isles of Shoals lie opposite the mouth of the Pis- cataqua River, near Portsmouth. 259. Cocheco is the modern Dover, N.H. 274. Piscataqua. vSee note on 243. 286. Painful Sewell's ancient tome. "Painful" here has an old meaning of " painstaking. " William Sewel's History of the Quakers was a work greatly esteemed by the Quakers. 289. Chalkley's Journal was another Quaker document. [Thomas Chalkley (died 1749) was a Quaker preacher. In his 262 NOTES Journal he describes now upon a certain voyage the ship's company fell short of food and water. "To stop their mur- muring I told them," he says, "they should not need to cast lots, which was usual in such cases, which of us should die first, for I would freely offer up my life to do them good. One said, 'God bless you, I will not eat any of you.' Another said, 'He would die before he would eat of me ' ; and so said several. I can truly say on that occasion, at that time, my life was not dear to me, and that I was serious and ingenuous in my propo- sition." At that juncture a large dolphin arose by the ship's side, and "looked him in the face." Fortunately the creature "readily took a hook," and saved the company from further temptation. 305. The tangled ram. See the account of Abraham's intended sacrifice of Isaac, in Genesis xxii. 320. Apollonius Tyanaeus, a Greek magician and pretended miracle-worker of the first century a.d. 321. Hermes Trismegistus, an Egyptian philosopher of uncer- tain identity, to whom is ascriber^ the invention of the art of harmony, the lute, the lyre, the science of astrology, and many other things. 332. White of Selbourne. Gilbert White (1720-1793), distinguished English Naturalist, was the author of a classic work entitled The Natural History of Selbourne. Selbourne is situated in the County of Surrey, England. 398. Now bathed within the fadeless green. Elizabeth Whit- tier lived with her brother until her death in 1864. Her death was the poet's greatest bereavement. 439. The master of the district school was George Haskell, who afterwards became a physician, practising in Illinois, and afterward in New Jersey. 476. Pindus-born Araxes. The correct name is Aracthus. The stream is one of five taking their rise in the central peak of the Pindus Mountains in Greece. 510. Another guest. The other guest was Miss Harriet Liyermore, the daughter of a New Hampshire judge. This brilliant but extremely eccentric woman embraced the doc- trine of the Second Advent, and with this belief spent much of her life in Palestine and Arabia, in order to be at hand to ride with Christ into Jerusalem in his triumphal return to his earthly kingdom. NOTES 263 536. Petruchio's Kate is the heroine of Shakespeare's Tam- ing of the Shrew. 637. Siena's saint was St. Catherine; she was a seer of visions. 550. Smyrna is a seaport city of Syria, 551. Malta is an important island of the Mediterranean, near Sicily, owned by England. 555. The crazy Queen of Lebanon was Lady Hester Stanhope, an Englishwoman of good family, who dwelt in a palace on Mt. Lebanon in Palestine, in the same expectation as that held by Miss Livermore (see note on line 510). The two fell out in jealousy of each other's expected privileges. 669. Calvin's creed. John Calvin (L509-1564) was the founder of the form of religious belief which underlies Presbyterianism. 683. Thomas EUwood, a Quaker poet of the seventeenth century, was a friend of Milton, and the author of an epic entitled Davideis, which now possesses only historical interest. ,. 693. The Creek Indians were removed from their original home in Georgia to lands^west of the Mississippi during Whittier's boyhood. 694. M'Gregor was a Scotchman who, in 1822, headed one of the earliest " filibustenng " expeditions in Central America. The object of the expedition, the piratical seizing of territory whereon to found a colony, failed. 696. Mt. Taygetos, in Greece, is situated in*the territory consecrated by the Greek struggle for freedom against Turkey. Alexander, Prince Ypsilanti, was one of the Greek revolutionary leaders. He drew followers from the province of Maina. 741. Truce of God was a name given to an historic com- pact in force during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth cen- turies, generally applying throughout Western Europe, whereby the barons were to do no fighting from Wednesday evening till Monday morning, or during Advent or Lent, or on principal saints' days. Pilgrims, priests, women, and merchants were to receive special exemption from pillage. Violation of the Truce was punishable by excommunication by the Church. 746. These Flemish pictures. Flemish or Dutch artists found favorite subjects for their paintings in domestic interiors. SONGS OF LABOR (Page 28) This group of poems was collected from the magazines in which they first appeared and published in book form in 1850. 264 NOTES Though the forms of labor which gave titles to the various poems of the group have materially changed in the half century since they were written, the poems themselves breathe a spirit that has neither place nor time, and must always be contemporary. Perhaps in these poems, too, as much as in any, Whittier be- came not merely a poet of New England or of the North, but a poet of our national life. DEDICATION [1850] 22. Beauty is its own excuse. "For the idea of this line," we are told by Whittier, "I am endebted to Emerson in his imitable sonnet to the Rhodora : — ' If eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.' " THE SHIPBUILDERS [1846] (Page 30) Compare this poem with Longfellow's Building of the Ship. 59. The Hebrides lie west of the northern part of Scotland. 69. No Lethean drug. The reference is to the Chinese opium trade. ,♦ THE SHOEMAKERS [1845] (Page 32) 2. The Gentle Craft of Leather. This expression is a reference to the mediaeval organization in the chief European countries of those who practised certain occupations into guilds or crafts somewhat on the lines of the modern trades-unions. These guilds exercised at times vital influence of a social and political as well as industrial sort. 7. St. Crispin's day, October 25, commemorates a Christian martyr of the third century who had supported himself by mak- ing shoes, while he was a preacher of the gospel. 17. The Spanish main was that portion of the Atlantic be- tween Cuba and the northern coast of South America, includ- ing the Caribbean Sea. It was so called particularly in the six- teenth century. 27. Florentine. Silk manufacture is an important industry of Florence in Northern Italy. NOTES 2^^ 49. Hans Sachs (1497-1576) was a famous cobbler-poet of NuremVjiirg. 51. Robert Bloomfield (1766-1823), a little-remembered English poet, author of The Farmer's Boy, and William Gifford (1757-1826) a satirist and first editor of the Quarterly Revieiv, were both in their early days shoemakers. 52. Roger Sherman (1721-1793), a signer of the Declaration of Independence, had been a shoemaker in New Milford, Con- necticut. 54. Jacob Behmen, or Boehme, or Bohm (1494-1576), was i\ German mystic. 56. George Fox (1624-1690), an eccentric genius, who habitually clad himself in leather clothes, was founder of the sect of Quakers. 63. Hebe was cup-bearer at the banquets of the Olympian gods of the Greek mythology. 70. Saratoga in New York State was at the time of the writ- ing of this poem a particular resort of fashionable society dur- ing the summer months. 72. The Crystal Mountains, an early name for the White Mountains of New Hampshire, derived from the discovery in them of crystals, at the time supposed to be precious stones. THE DROVERS [1847] (Page 35) 60. Pharaoh's evil cattle. See Genesis xli. 2-4. 87. Kearsarge is a mountain near Concord, N.H. (2943 ft.). THE FISHERMEN [1845] (Page 39) 22. Brador's rocks are in Prince Edward Island. 33. The Red Island lies in Placentia Bay, Newfoundland. 39. The Mickmacks are the tribe of Indians inhabiting Nova Scotia and the regions immediately to the north of it. 54. The fish of Tobit. The story of this fish is contained in ll:o sixth, seventh, and eighth chapters of the apocryphal book of Tobit. The fish served as a charm which drove away an evil spirit from the bride of Tobias, the son of Tobit, and thereby saved Tobias from the fate of the lady's seven other previous husbands. 266 NOTES THE HUSKERS [1847] (Page 42) and the corn-song [1847] (Page 45) the lumbermen [1845] (Page 47) 33. Ambijejis. The localities mentioned in this stanza may all be found on any good map of the interior of Maine. 42. Mt, Katahdin is one of the highest mountains in New England, and the highest in Maine (5200 ft.). CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK [1843] (Page 52) A story of Quaker persecution. It was not uncommon to sell Quakers into slavery, or, in fact, criminals who had com- mitted certain offences. 4. The Chaldean lions. See the story of Daniel in the lion's den, Daniel vi. 16-24. 30. Wenham, in Essex County, Mass. 49, Paul and Silas, within Philippi' s cell. See Acts xvi. 19-40. 50. From Peter's sleeping limbs. See Acts xii. 1-17. 54. Hermon's holy hill. Mt. Hermon is a mountain in Syria on the borders of Palestine, often mentioned in the Old Testament. 84. Endicott. John Endicott (1589-1665) was colonial governor of Massachusetts in 1658. 99. The house of Rimmon. A deity in the form of an idol worshipped by the Syrians of Damascus. 119. Tekoa, a town of the early kingdom of Israel, west of the Dead Sea. FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS [1841] (Page 61) 1. Sebago Lake is in Cumberland County, Maine. PENTUCKET [1838] (Page 65) On August 30, 1708, a force of French and Indians, invading New England from Canada, attacked Haverhill, Mass., killing forty of the inhabitants, and carrying away one hundred. This is the event on which the poem is based. Haverhill was called by the Indians, Pentucket, NOTES 267 31. Pompeii was overwhelmed and buried with ashes by an eruption of Vesuvius in a.d. 79. 82. De Rouville was the French commander of the expedi- tion. THE EXILES [1841] (Page. 68) This spirited narrative of Quaker persecution gives a vivid picture of the intolerance of 1660 in Massachusetts. The treatment of Quakers equalled in severity that accorded to witches. 83. Preston Pans. This battle was fought between the Scotch forces of the young Stuart prince, Charles Edward, and the English on a field near Edinburgh; but as its date was 1745, it will be seen that in this instance Whittier's history is some- what confused. Marston Moor was won by Cromwell's army against the Royalist forces of Charles I in 1644. 84. Ireton was one of the commanders of the Puritan forces in the battle of Marstoii Moor, and was the son-in-law of Crom- well. 85. The Puritans were those who held like principles with Cromwell in the controversies and warfare which resulted in the execution of Charles I in 1649. The followers of the king were popularly called Cavaliers. Generally speaking, the ancestors of the Massachusetts colonists were Puritans, and those of the colonists of Virginia, Cavaliers. 87. Prince Rupert, the nephew of Charles I, was the com- mander of the Cavalier forces at Marston Moor. Oliver Crom- well (1.599-1658) is of course Charles's great opponent and conqueror. 95. Smitten ear. A reference to the act of the disciple Peter in cutting off the ear of the servant of the High Priest, at the time of Christ's betrayal by Judas. See Luke xxii. 50-51. 166. Crane-neck, and the other localities named in the fol- lowing seven stanzas, are such as lie in or near the mouth of the Merrimac River in northeastern Massachusetts. The major ones may be identified upon a good map of the region. 197. Cape Ann lies to the south of the mouth of the Merri- mac. 198. Gloucester, an important sea-coast town of Massachu- setts, lies south of Cape Ann. 268 NOTES 209. The bleak and stormy Cape which the adventurous Macey rounded in his wherry was Cape Cod. 211. Nantucket lies to the south of the peninsula of Cape Cod. The island had already been purchased by Macey and some of his neighbors to be a place of refuge in case of trouble with the Puritans. THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA [1847] (Page 77) This poem is based on incidents recorded in a letter describ- ing the battle of Buena Vista (1847) in the Mexican War. One of the Mexican women, who gave such aid to the wounded as they were able, was found sharing her ministrations among friend and foe alike. 1. Ximena should be pronounced Hema'na (Sp.). BARCLAY OF URY [1847] (Page 81) Barclay of Ury was, says Whittier, one of the earliest converts to the doctrines of the Quakers in Scotland. He had fought with distinction under the great Swedish king, Gustavus Adol- phus, but, as a Quaker, was subjected to persecution and abuse. "I find more satisfaction," he said, "as well as honor, in being thus insulted for my religious principles, than when, a few years ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as I passed the city of Aberdeen, to meet me on the road and conduct me to public entertainment in their hall, and then escort me out again, to gain my favor." 1. Aberdeen is an important city in northeastern Scotland. 35. Liitzen, near Leipzig, was the scene of a great battle between the Swedes and Germans in 1632, in which the Swedes were victorious, but lost their leader, Gustavus Adolphus, in the hour of triumph. 56. Tilly. Count von Tilly (1559-1632) was a fierce and merciless commander in the Thirty Years' War. His name became proverbial for barbarity. 81. The snooded daughter. The snood is a fillet which in Scotland binds, or used to bind, the hair of young girls. 99. The Tolbooth prison. Tolbooth itself is a Scottish word for prison. NOTES 269 THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK [1849] (Page 8&) The great Italian painter, Tintoretto (1518-1594), made the legend told in this poem the subject of a great picture. It is described by Mrs. Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, Vol. I, p. 121. 9. Tintoretto. An Italian painter, pupil of Titian. See pre- ceding paragraph. 13. Provence was the name of an old province in the south- eastern part of France. 65. Dothan. For the story of Elisha at Dothan in Samaria of Palestine, see 2 Kings vi. 8-23. KATHLEEN [1849] (Page 89) In the colonial days of America, particularly in the seventeenth century, white slaves were not unknown. Sometimes they were kidnapped from seaport towns in Europe, sometimes they were sentenced to slavery for debt, for political offences, and for crime. 5. Galaway. Galway, see line 112, is a county in western Ireland. 13. Kern was a name for an Irish footman. 19. Shealing-fires, i.e. the fires in the cottages or huts of the peasants. 41. Limerick is an Irish seaport town. 49. The Banshee was a fairy in the Gaelic folk-lore. TAULER [1853] (Page 93) Johann Tauler, a religious thinker of dreamy tendencies, lived in Germany from 1290 to 1361. 62. The weary schoolmen. The schoolmen were mediaeval scholars, chiefly monks, who, neglecting the facts of common experience, practised abstract speculation, and attained great skill in the art of disputation. 71. Erwin von Steinbach (died 1318) was a famous German architect. 270 NOTES MAUD MULLER [1854] (Page 96) Among all Whittier' s poems perhaps no ballad equals this one in its general popularity. THE RANGER [1856] (Page 100) "Originally published as Martha Mason; a Song of the Old French War." (Author's note.) 11. The lion . . . Abraham's rock. The lion, here, is the symbol of British power, which had fortified the Plains of Abraham at Quebec. 37. Casco Bay is on the coast of Maine. Portland stands upon its shore. THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER [1857] (Page 106) This ballad, and the following six in these selections, were published together in 1860 under the title Home Ballads. 32. Derbyshire and Yorkshire are counties in the central, and northeastern parts, respectively, of England. 33. Norman William was William I, called the Conqueror, who became king of England after the battle of Senlac in 1066. 35. The Saxon thane. In the days before William the Con- queror, England was ruled by Saxons, whose thanes possessed social rank equivalent to that of a baron. 36. The hovering Dane. The chief opponents and rivals of the Saxons in their control of England during the ninth ; and tenth centuries were the Danes, who occupied northern England, and finally in 1016, under Canute, made conquest of the whole of England. 82. Salem's dreary jail. Salem, Mass., was a centre of the persecution of witches in the middle of the seventeenth century in New England. Read Longfellow's Giles Corey. THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN [1857] (Page 114) Cape Ann lies on the Massachusetts coast, north of Gloucester, which is alluded to in line 2. 8. Rantoul. Robert Rantoul (1805-1852) was a congress- NOTES 271 man from Massachusetts and a friend of Whittier's. Whit- tier has honored him with a poem bearing his name. 11. Magnalia Christi. Magnalia Christi Americana (The Great Deeds of Christ in America), by Cotton Mather. 12. Ovid. Pubhus Ovidius Naso (b.c. 43-a.d. 18) was an important Roman poet. 21. The Covenanter. In 1638 the Scottish Parhament made an agreement, ratified by the Parliament of England in 1643, for the preservation of the reformed reUgion of -Scotland, and "the extirpation of Popery and Prelacy." The signers of this ''Solemn League and Covenant" were called Covenanters and became after 1660 themselves the objects of bitter persecu- tion. About 18,000 of them were put to death during three decades. SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE [1857] (Page 120) This stirring ballad is based upon an incident which came to Whittier's ears in verse form in his boyhood. Whittier after- wards discovered that he had unwittingly perverted the facts of an actual occurrence, to the detriment of the memory of a real skipper, whose mutinous crew had thrown the blame on him for refusing to rescue sailors on a distressed vessel. He wrote to Samuel Roads, Jr., author of a History of Marblehead, "I am glad for the sake of truth and justice that the real facts are given in thy book. I certainly would not knowingly do injus- tice to any one, dead or living." • 3. Apuleius's Golden Ass. Apuleius (114-190 a.d.), an Afri- can by birth, wrote an allegorical romance in eleven books, with this title. From it we get the episode of Cupid and Psyche. 4. One-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. See The Arabian Nights' Entertainment. 6. Islam's prophet on Al-Borak. Al-Bordk was the animal which, according to the Koran, the angel Gabriel brought to convey Mahomet, the prophet of Islam, to the seventh heaven. It hacl the face of a man, the wings of an eagle, and spoke with a human voice. 26. Bacchus was the Roman god of wine. 30. The Maenads, a Greek form of the name given to the Bacchantes, women who were "worshippers" of Bacchus. 35. Chaleur Bay is an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 272 NOTES TELLING THE BEES [1858] (Page 124) An old superstition runs to the effect that if a member of the family dies, and the bees are not told of the fact and their hives put into mourning, they will forsake the premises. Ob- servance of the curious superstition once existed in rural New- England. 1. Here is the place. It is Whittier's own homestead that is described. THE SYCAMORES [1857] (Page 126) 9. Celtic. The Irish are one of the Celtic peoples of Europe. Among them, also, are the Scotch, French, Italians, and Span- ish. The Germans, Swedish, Danish, and English are, generally speaking. Teutons. 12. Amphion, according to the fable, built Thebes by the music of his lute. 13. Hugh Tallant, an Irishman, was an early settler of Haver- hill, Mass., Whittier's early home. 27-28. Cluny and Mear are the names of religious times. 47. Yorkshire is a northern county of England. 51. St. Keven, or St. Coemgen (498-618), was a saint of the early Christian Church in Ireland. His "behavior with the sack- cloth ladder attests the antiquity of the Hibernian tempera- ment. 53. Tara was a great hall upon a hill in Meath, Ireland, where kings and clergy assembled for the discussion of public matters. 111. Tadmor, a Syriac nanie for the ancient city of Palmyra in the Syrian desert. 112. Marks is altered to " mocks" in the latest editions. 121. Keezar. See .the poem, Cobbler Keezar's Vision. THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY [1859] (Page 131) The legend of the double-headed snake is contained in that great repository of early New England lore and legend, Cotton Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana, the "Wonder-Book" mentioned in the poem. 5. The Python was a huge serpent engendered in the mud of NOTES 273 the Deluge, according to Greek mythology, and slam by Apollo. 6. Deucalion was the Greek Noah. 9. Newbury is a small town in Essex County, Mass. 22. Cheops was the builder of the so-caUed Great Pyramid of Egypt. 42. The Northman's Written Rock is a large boulder whereon still remain certain inscriptions asserted by some to have been carved there by Norsemen in their supposed colonization of New England in the tenth century. 59. Common Pasture. The present day commons in many New England towns were formerljr free pasture land for the cattle of the village. Placed in the centre of the town, they occupied the position of greatest safety from the incursions of Indians. 76. Cotton Mather (1663-1728) a famous preacher and writer, author of the Magnalia Christi Americana. THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY [1858] (Page 134) THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA [1860] (Page 138) "In the winter of 1675-1676, the Eastern Indians, who had been making war upon the New Hampshire settlements, were so reduced in numbers by fighting and famine that they agreed to a peace with Major Waldron at Dover, but the peace was broken in the fall of 1676. The famous chief, Squando, was the principal negotiator on the part of the savages. He had taken up the hatchet to revenge the brutal treatment of his child by drunken white sailors, which caused its death." (Author's note.) 6. The Cocheco River is a small tributary of the Piscataqua River in New Hampshire. 11. Piscataqua. This river forms part of the boundary be- tween New Hampshire and Maine, and enters the Atlantic at Portsmouth. 43. Saco. This region is in York County, Maine. 65. The totem of my child. Totems are objects of worship among savages. Sometimes they are animals, sometimes images. A person or a tribe chooses a totem because of some relationship conceived to exist naturally between the chooser and his totem. 274 NOTES 71. Manito. The Great Spirit, worshipped by the American Indians. 104. Parted . . . like Egypt's wave. This refers to the passage of the children of Israel through the Red Sea. Exo- dus xiv. 143. Wampum. Chains of certain kinds of shells were much prized by the Indians, among whom they were used in place of money. 202. Painful minister. "Painful" is here used in its old sense of ''careful." MY PLAYMATE [1860] (Page 145) In a few reminiscent poems like this one, and Memories, one catches the echo of personal romance in Whittier's life. THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS [1857] (Page 148) 17. Tunis is the capital of the Barbary State of the same name on the coast of Africa, bordering on the Mediterranean Sea. THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW [1858] (Page 149) This poem is based on an historic incident of the great Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 in India. The isolated garrison at Lucknow, a large city in the province of Oude, was relieved by the heroic march of a small British army under Sir Henry Havelock. 9. The Lowland reaper. The counties of southern Scotland are called the Lowlands, in contrast with the northern High- lands. 12. The Scottish pipes are bagpipes, a peculiar wind-instru- ment for the production of music. 13. Pibroch is the name of a kind of Scottish air, generally martial. By a common confusion, which even Lord Byron does not escape, the word is applied to the instrument upon which the air is played, i.e. the bagpipe. 36. Sepoys were natives of Hindustan, employed by Great Britain as soldiers. 46-47. Campbells and MacGregors were Scottish clans represented in the relief expedition. The usual uniform of the f NOTES 275 Highland clans in Scotland is made of plaid, the design being characteristic of the clan. 52. Goomtee. A river of Hindustan entering the Ganges sixteen miles below Benares. 77. Gaelic is an old word sometimes used to describe the race and language of the Highland Scotch, and of the Irish as well. THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR [1859] (Page 152) 8. The wild Assiniboins are an Indian tribe living in Manitoba and the adjacent regions of Canada. 24. St. Boniface is a town in Manitoba on the Red River, and is now a centre of Roman Catholic education. BARBARA FRIETCHIE [1863] (Page 154) The facts which underlie this poem have been the subject of much debate. It is clear that Whittier wrote the poem in I faith supposing that he had been correctly informed of the inci- ident. It is now agreed, however, that the real Barbara Friet- chie did not wave the Union flag at the Confederate troops of '"Stonewall" Jackson as they passed out of Frederick, Md., 'on September 10, 1862, and that General Jackson did not himself I pass her house at all. But it is also agreed that Barbara Friet- j chie, then ninety-six years old, was a stanch Union sympathizer I and did freely express her patriotic sentiments during the stay of the Confederates in the town. Also, upon the same street, another woman, Mrs. Mary Quantrell, displayed at this time a Union flag to the Confederates, one of whom, tradition states, tried, contrary to orders, to take it from her. Finally, on (September 13 and 14, a portion of McClellan's army passed j through Frederick, and on one of these days the aged Barbara Frietchie came out upon her porch and waved a flag at the I passing soldiers. ' 10. Lee. General Robert E. Lee, the commander-in-chief of the Confederate armies. 1 24. "Stonewall" Jackson. General Thomas J. Jackson (1824-1863), one of the greatest of the Confederate command- ers, won the epithet, "Stonewall," at the battle of Manassas I Junction, 1861, by the firmness with which he held his posi- tion, and thereby turned defeat into victory. 276 NOTES COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION [1861] (Page 156) " Cobbler Keezar " was one of the early settlers of the valley of the Merrimac River, and a noted character in his time. 19. The Brocken is the highest peak of the Hartz Mountains in Germany, about which cluster a vast number of myths and legends. 84. Doctor Dee (1527-1608) was an English astrologer who possessed a magic crystal in which he professed to read the future. 85. Agrippa. Henry Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535) was an alchemist, i.e. one of the mediaeval chemists whose aim was the transmutation of metals into gold. 89. The Minnesingers were minstrels who lived in Germany from about 1138 to 1294. The word means ''love-singers," and these minstrels were so called because their usual subject was love. 139. Bingen is a city on the Rhine River in Germany. 140. Frankfort-on-the-Main is one of the most important cities of Prussia. AMY WENTWORTH [1862] (Page 163) The name Wentworth was a conspicuous one in the history of the New England colonies. Benning Wentworth was a governor of New Hampshire, and his nephew, Sir John Went- worth, succeeded him in that office, both in the first half of the eighteenth century. 29. Grim as Vernet's. Horace Vernet (1789-1863) was a French painter of much reputation for his treatment of military subjects. 35. As Niirnberg sang while Wittenberg defied. These are the names of important German cities. 36. Kranach painted by his Luther's side. Lucas von Kranach, or Cranoch (1472-1553), was a German painter and engraver, contemporary with Martin Luther (1483-1546), the great reformer. 38. Marvell's music. Andrew Marvell (1621-1678) was a Puritan poet of high rank, the friend and contemporary of Milton. NOTES 277 47. Fijian. The Fiji islanders of the South Seas were once renowned for cannibalism. THE COUNTESS [1863] (Page 169) This poem was dedicated by its author to Dr. Elias Weld, who is the old doctor in Snoiu-Bound. "He was," says Whit- tier, "the one cultivated man in the neighborhood. His small but well-chosen libraiy was placed at my disposal." "Count Francois de Vipart with his cousin Joseph Roch- ment de Poyere came to the United States in the early part of the present [nineteenth] century. They took up their residence at Rocks Village on the Merrimac, where they both married. The wife of Count Vipart was Mary Elliot, who, as my father remembered her, was a very lovely young girl." (Author's note.) She died within a year of her marriage and her hus- band returned to France. 109. The Gascon land. Gascony was an old province in the southwest of France. 156. Garonne. The Garonne River rises in the Pyrenees and flows in general northwestward into the Bay of Biscay. 175. Gallic, i.e. French. The word is derived from the ancient name of France, Gaul. THE FROST SPIRIT [1830] (Page 175) This poem is an interesting experiment in an unusual metre. Written in 1830, it is one of Whittier's earlier poems on Nature. 11. Mt. Hecla is an active volcano in Iceland. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE [1847] (Page 176) John Randolph of Roanoke (1773-1833) was a highly eccen- tric but greatly gifted native of Virginia, conspicuous in the political Ufe of America during the earlier portion of the last century. He was at various times member of Congress and Senator from Virginia. Politically he was a firm believer in the states' rights doctrine. Though he was the owner of many slaves on his enormous estates, he foresaw the peril of the institution, and in his will, made in 1821, he gave his own slaves their freedom. 278 NOTES 39. Clio was one of the nine muses of the Greek mythology. Her province was History. 61. The Neva is one of the largest rivers of Russia. St. Petersburg is situated upon it. Randolph visited Russia in 1830 upon a special government mission and during the same absence from America spent nearly a year in Great Britain. 105. Patrick Henry (1736-1799) the Virginia patriot whose speeches in connection with American independence are house- hold words in American homes. 108. The Sage of Monticello was Thomas Jefferson (1743- 1826), the third president of the United States. THE NORSEMEN [1841] (Page 180) 1. Gift from the . . . Past. A few years before this poem was written a portion of a statue, rudely carved, had been found at Bradford on the Merrimac River. That it was left there by the Norsemen is highly conjectural, although it is generally ad- mitted that they visited and possibly established some settle- ment in America, several centuries before the era of Columbus. 52. Of Thule's night. Thule was a name given to the most remote northern land known to the ancients. Pytheas, a Greek navigator, says it is "six days' sail from Britain." It may have been Iceland, or the Faroe Islands. Cf. William Black's novel, Ultima Thule, the scene of which lies in the Hebrides. 55. Jutland is the northern part of the peninsula which embraces the continental part of Denmark. Lochlin was a Gaelic name for Scandinavia — though it generally refers to Denmark. 70. To Saga's chant and Runic rhyme. The legends of the Norse mythology were called sagas. The early Norsemen had a peculiar alphabet, consisting of sixteen characters called runes, in which their earliest composition are written. 71. Zetland is an old name for the Shetland Islands, north of Scotland. Scalds were the court poets and chroniclers of the ancient Scandinavians. 74. Odin was chief of the Scandinavian gods, the god of vic- tory. 77. The Gaels were the earliest historic settlers of the British Isles. They survive in the Irish, Scotch, and Welsh of to-day. NOTES 279 78. The Franks were inhabitants of much of what to-day is called France. 79. lona's sable-stoled Culdee. Christianity was introduced into Scotland from Ireland, in the fifth century, or earlier. The earliest Christian church in Scotland may have stood on lona, a small island on the west coast of Scotland. The heads of these early churches were called Culdees, or bishops. 92. Berserker was the name of a mythological hero of Scandi- navia, who was so called because he went to war "bare of sark," or coat of mail. 93. Valhalla was, in Scandinavian mythology, the place inhabited by the souls of heroes slain in battle. 98. The Druids were the priests of an ancient religion whose rites were observed by various tribes in Britain, Gaul, and Ger- many. FORGIVENESS [1846] (Page 184) Notice how the movement of this poem is affected by the use, not very common, in Whittier, of "run-on" lines; i.e of lines whose units of grammatical phrase do not end with the line in which they begin, but are continued into the next. Compare lines 1 and 4 with lines 2 and 3. ' WHAT THE VOICE SAID [1847] (Page 185) i 14. The Titans were giants, in the Greek mythology, sons of \ Heaven and Earth. \ 41. The Parsees are fire-worshippers, adherents of Zoroas- trianism, the ancient religion of Persia. 43. The Tartars were Mongols of Tartary in Asia. 1 EXTRACT FROM "A NEW ENGLAND LEGEND" [1833] 1 (Page 188) 53. The charmed Ausonian shore is that of Italy; so named from Auson, the son of Ulysses. 280 NOTES 60. Albion, a poetic name for England. " Glammarye/' an old form of the word " glamour." 61. In Melrose Abbey sleeping. Sir Walter Scott is buried in Melrose Abbey, in Melrose in southern Scotland. 72. "Catechise," a colloquialism for the Shorter Catechism learning which was a common form of religious practice in New England. 73. "Webster's Spelling-Book." Noah Webster's Spelling Book was studied in every New England school in Whittier's generation. HAMPTON BEACH [1843] (Page 190) This poem, written in 1843, should be read in connection M'ith the group of later poems entitled The Tent on the Beach (1867). With them it contains a clear expression of Whittier's love for the ocean shore. Certain of its passages are of remark- able beauty. Hampton Beach lies at the mouth of the Hamp- ton River near the southern extremity of the short stretch of sea-coast that New Hampshire posvsesses. As an early expression of Whittier's love of Nature, it may be compared with The Frost Spirit, and To A. K. THE HILL-TOP [1850] (Page 193) The localities mentioned in this poem are all in central New Hampshire. MEMORIES [1841] (Page 196) This poem possesses a romantic interest. Whittier never married, but it is supposed that this poem refers to a disap- pointed love of his young manhood. ICHABOD [1850] (Page 198) This remarkable expression of sorrowful indignation was called forth by the famous speech of Daniel Webster, on the NOTES 281 7th of March, 1850. In that speech Webster proposed cer- tain compromises with the South as a means of settUng the slavery issue. Throughout New England the speech was re- garded as a sacrifice of principle by Webster, prompted by his ambition for the Presidency. Historians now generally vindi- cate the statesmanship of Webster's speech. That Whittier himself changed his opinion upon the matter may be seen by comparing this poem with The Lost Occasion. Ichabod, how- ever, is in the opinion of some critics Whittier' s most powerful poem. TO A. K. (AVIS KEENE) [1850] (Page 201) This exquisite poem is remarkable in two ways. As a poem purely upon Nature it is one of Whittier' s earliest, and, shall we not say, one of his very best. Moreover, it is one of Whittier' s few experiments in an irregular metre. His success is so great that one can but wish he had possessed a greater interest in the technical problems of his art. MOLOCH IN STATE STREET [1851] (Page 204) Moloch was a Phoenician god to whom sacrifices of children were made. 9. The fiirst drawn blood of Freedom' s veins. Crispus Attucks, a. negro, was the first to fall by a British bullet in the days pre- ceding the War of the Revolution. He was killed in Boston while leading a mob against British soldiers in 1770. 20, Sir Harry Vane (1612-1662) was a governor of the Colony of Massachusetts. 23. Andros, Hutchinson. Sir Edmund Andros (1637-1714) and Thomas Hutchinson (1711-1780) were among the early colonial governors of Massachusetts. 24. Gage. General Thomas Gage (1720?-1787) was com- mander of the British forces in Boston when the Revolution began. 28. Tyrian. Tyre was a Phoenician seaport, famed for its purple dyes. 65. Even now, the peal of bell. At the time when this poem was written, Charles Sumnor had just been elected to the United States Senate, holding professed anti-slavery principles. There 282 NOTES had been a great effort to keep the slavery question out of politics. APRIL [1852] (Page 207) This poem rnay be studied as one of the earlier of Whittier's poems to be occupied exclusively with the description of Nature. Compare with The Frost Spirit, and To A. K., and Hampton Beach. 27. Nature, like Lazarus. See John xi. 1-46. TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER [1851] (Page 209) "These lines were addressed to my worthy friend, Joshua Coffin, teacher, historian, antiquarian. He was one of the twelve persons who with William Lloyd Garrison formed the first anti-slavery society in New England." (Author's note.) 41. Old Phaedrus' twofold gift. Phsedrus: a Latin writer of the Augustan, who translated and imitated the Fables of iEsop. 43. Laughter and sagacity he counsels; i.e. gives instruction and pleasure at the same time. 62. The wrinkled sibyl. Sibyls were women supposed to prophesy, under the inspiration of some Roman deity. 66. Over Gibeon. See Joshua x. 1-1 4. 82. Belzoni. Giovanni Belzoni (1778 ?-1823) was an Italian explorer of Egypt. 97. Cavalier. The name frequently given to the adherents of Charles I in his struggle against Cromwell. 126. Fire of Pentecost. See Acts ii. 1-4. 173. After Sternhold's heart. Thomas Sternhold (d. 1549) was an English versifier of the Psalms. 175. Oldbug. "Dr. Withington, author of The Puritan under the name of Jonathan Oldbug." (Author's note.) 176. South. Robert South. BURNS [1854] (Page 215) In this poem Whitticr acknowledges his deep indebtedness to Burns, and tells how "the older poet awoke the younger." NOTES 283 (See Introduction.) It is written in the ballad-metre that was a favorite with Burns. Robert Burns (1759-1796), the most popular of Scottish poets, hardly needs further intro- duction here. 38. "The Twa Dogs" is the title of one of Burns' s poems. 67-68. Craigieburn and Devon were favorite streams of Burns's. The Devon is a river in Perthshire. "Burn" means "small stream." 71. The A}^ and Doon are streams of Ayrshire in south- western Scotland. 79. The Bible at his cotter's hearth. See Burns's The Cotter's Saturday Night. 103. The mournful Tuscan was Dante (1265-1321), the author of The Divine Comedy, one of the three greatest epics. 116. His Highland Mary. See Burns's Highland Mary. Mary Morison, therein commemorated, who died when young, was an early love of Burns's. THE VOICES [1854] (Page 220) THE HERO [1853] (Page 223) The hero commemorated in this poem is Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, husband of Julia Ward Howe, author of the Battle Hijmn of the Republic. As a young man he fought with the Greeks in their war for separation from Turkey. 1. A knight like Bayard. The Chevalier Pierre du Terrail de Bayard (1475-1524) was famed throughout Europe as the most chivalrous knight of his time. 6. Zutphen. Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586), an Enghsh poet, stands as the type of chivalry (in English history). He was killed in the battle of Zutphen, 1586. 31. The far Cyllenian ranges. Mt. Cyllene is a famous mountain of Greece situated near the centre of the Pelopon- nesus. 36. The Suliotes were inhabitants of the region of Suli, in southern Albania. 45. The Albanians lived in Albania, a province in European Turkey, north of Greece, and bordering on the Adriatic and Ionian seas. 53. Allah, the Mohammedan name for God. 284 NOTES 55. Thessaly is a district in northeastern Greece. 72. The barricades of Seine. Howe after took part in the fighting in Paris in the Revolution of 1848. 78. Cadmus was, according to legend, the inventor of the alphabet. 86. Sir Lancelot and his peers. The knights of the Round Table in King Arthur's legendary court. See Tennyson's Idylls of the King. THE BAREFOOT BOY [1855] (Page 227) This deservedly popular poem is reminiscent of Whittier's own boyhood. 63. Apples of Hesperides. "The Hesperides were the women v/ho guarded the golden apples which Earth gave to Here {Juno) at her marriage with Zeus {Jove) J* Brewer's Reader's Handbook. THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS [1854] (Page 228) Between 1855 and 1858 there was a desperate struggle be- tween the friends and the opponents of slavery to colonize the territory of Kansas, into which the institution of slavery had been admitted by act of Congress in 1854. Each party hoped to gain the control of the political administration of the terri- tory and thereby save the coming state for its principles. The conflict was so severe that in 1856 a state of civil war prevailed, and armed bands of emigrants were formed and sent into the territory by North and by South alike. Whittier's poem was a campaign song among the earliest of these emigrant parties from the North. SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT [1847] (Page 230) The passage from Richardson's Journal, containing the inci- dent upon which these haunting stanzas are based, is quoted by Whittier, viz. : — "Sehah, Oasis of Fezzan, 10th March, 1846. This evening the female slaves were unusually excited in singing, and I had the curiosity to ask my negro servant. Said, what they were singing about. As many of them were natives of his own coun- NOTES 285 try, he had no difficulty in translating the Mandara or Bornou language. I had often asked the Moors to translate their songs for me, but got no satisfactory account from them. Said at first said, 'Oh, they sing of Rubee' (God). 'What do you mean ? ' I replied impatiently. * Oh, don't you know ? ' he con- tinued, 'they ask God to give them their Atka' (certificate of freedom). I inquired, ' Is that all ? ' Said: 'No; they say, "Where are we going? The world is' large. God! Where are we going? God!'" I inquired, 'What else?' Said: 'They remember their country, Bornou, and say, " Bornou was a pleasant country, full of all good things; but this is a bad coun- try, and we are miserable!'" 'Do they say anything else?' Said: 'No; they repeat these words over and over again, and add, "O God! give us our Atka, and let us return again to our dear home." ' " THE LAST W^ALK IN AUTUMN [1857] (Page 233) The philosophy of content which finds expression in this poem is of a piece with that in Snow-Bo2ind. 34. The white pagodas of the snow. Compare with the description of the well-curb in Snow-Bound. 55. The Arno valley is that in which Florence stands, in northern Italy. 56. The Alhambra is a Moorish palace of great architectural beauty in Seville, Spain. 64. Minarets are slender, tapering towers on Mohammedan mosques, or religious temples. 66. Pharpar. The Pharpar was a river of Damascus. Sec 2 Kings v. 69. Ind, i.e. India. 71. Persian Hafiz, a renowned Persian (1300 ?-l 390-?). 72. Rome's cathedral, i.e. St. Peter's. 80. The Kosmos, i.e. the universe. 93. Bacon. Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was a great English philosopher, sometimes called the founder of modern experimental science. 94. Pascal, Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), wa^ a great French philosopher and mathematician. 105. Plato, who lived in the fourth and fifth centuries b.c, 286 NOTES was one of the two greatest of Greek thinkers, Aristotle, his pupil, being the other. 110. Poor Richard's Almanack, written and published by Benjamin Franklin, is still a classic in American literature. 111. The Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream. The Sufis were members of a sect of Persian Mohammedans. The Brahmins of ilindustan were sometimes called Gentoos. 112. Menu' sage of thought. Menu was a Hindoo law-giver. 117. The magic mat. The reference is to a familiar story in the Arabian Nights' Entertainment. 120. Nubia . . . Phrygia. Nubia is a region in the Sudan, in eastern Africa. Phrygia was a province in ancient Asia Minor. 121-125. And he, . . . the statesman, was Charles Sumner, Senator from Massachusetts, a warm friend of Whittier's. 126. The Athenian archon. The archon was one of the chief civil and religious magistrates of Athens. 127. Struck down. Sumner was brutally attacked in the Senate chamber at Washington by Preston Brooks, of South Carolina, and severely injured. 148. The Cross without the Bear. The traveller south of the equator finds the Southern Cross to be the most conspicuous constellation of stars in his heaven. The constellation of the Great Bear, containing the "Big Dipper" is not then visible, being below the northern horizon. 151. The Line, i.e. the equator. 162. Gay Versailles or Windsor's halls. At Versailles was a palace of the French Emperors. Windsor Castle on the Thames River is a palace of the English royalty. 166. Gothic groin. A peculiar angle made by the intersec- tion of curved surfaces in certain Gothic arches. For an illus- tration, see Webster's Dictionary. 168. Milan, a city in northern Italy. 179. Arcadian vales. Arcadia was the name of a region in central Greece. THE MAYFLOWERS [1856] (Page 242) The trailing arbutus, called sometimes the mayflower in New England, was the first flower that the early Pilgrims saw after the fearful winter of 1810. NOTES 287 THE EVE OF ELECTION (Page 243) This poem commemorates the state election of 1858. 55. The blood of Vane. Sir Henry Vane was beheaded two years after the Restoration of Charles II in 1660, because of his prominence in the government of Cromwell. 60. Her Russell. Lord William Russell, an English patriot, was beheaded in 1683. MY PSALM [1859] (Page 247) THY WILL BE DONE [1861] (Page 249) This poem should be read in the light of its composition, at the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861, and also in the light of Whittier's peace-loving Quaker faith. THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 [1862] (Page 251) This finely courageous lyric was written during a period of the most desperate and uncertain warfare, the general results of which had been on the whole not unfavorable to the South. Among many severe battles the following stand out: Antietam, Corinth, Fredericksburg, and Stone River. f OUR RIVER [1861] (Page 252) This poem was written about the Merrimac River, always a favorite subject with Whittier. 11. Brissot. Jean Pierre Brissot, a famous leader in the French Revolution visited America when a young man, and admired particularly the scenery of the Merrimac. 21. Arno's banks. The Arno is a river of northern Italy. 23. The Doon and Ayr. See page 283, line 71. 31. Undine. The story of this water-sylph whose home was in river-beds is contained in De la Motte Fouqu^'s Undine. 35. Dian. Diana was, in Grecian mythology, the virgin goddess of the hunt. 39. The Naiads were, in the same mythology, water- nymphs. 288 ■ NOTES LAUS DEO [1865] (Page 255) This song of praise and triumph marks the conclusion of the struggle against slavery. The passage by Congress of the constitutional amendment abohshing slavery took place on January 31, 1865, but it was not ratified by the required number of states till December 18 of the same year. The poem "wrote itself, or rather sang itself," he wrote to a friend, "while the bells rang" which announced the passage of the amendment. The poem was complete in the poet's mind before he wrote a line of it on paper. The reader should observe how full the poem is of biblical phraseology. 27. Miriam was the sister of Moses. The expressions which follow are found in the song of Moses upon the escape of the Israelites through the Red Sea. Exodus xv. 1. Macmillan*s Pocket Series of English Classics I Uniform In Size and Binding Cloth 25 cents each Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. Edited by Zelma Gray, East Side High School, Saginaw, Mich. Andersen's Fairy Tales. Translated from the Danish by Caroline Peachey and Dr. H. W. DULCKEN. With biographical notes and introduction by Sarah C. 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