Class _i£Sl^:Z- Rnnk .Pz - Cop}ni^htN" ill COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr READINGS IN AMERICAN LITERATURE CHOSEN AND EDITED BY ROY BENNETT PACE ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH SWARTHMORE COLLEGE >>»:< ALLYN AND BACON ,Pz COPYRIGHT. 1915, BY ROY BENNETT PACE Nortoootj 5Preg8 J. S. Gushing Oo, -^Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, -Mass., U.S.A. FEB -6 1915 /^ ^S|pn?igr) 202 From the Close of the War to the Deaths of Whitman and Whittier (1865-1892) : The Beleaguered City . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 204 The Building of the Ship ........ 205 Hiawatha's Wooing . 216 The Birds of Killingworth 224 The Hanging of the Crane 231 The Cross of Snow . . . 237 My Love .... James Bussell Lowell . . . 238 Stanzas on Freedom 239 Commemoration Ode (extracts) . 240 Under the Old Elm (extracts) 248 viii READINGS PAGE Emerson and His Audience (from Emerson the Lecturer) . 262 White's "Selborne" (from My Garden Acquaintance) 258 The True Nature of Democracy (from Democracy) ..*.... 263 My Springs Sid)iey Lanier . . .269 Song of the Chattahoochee 271 The New South .... Henry Woodfin Grady . 272 Advantages of Not Traveling (from Prue and I) . . George William Curtis . 282 Evils of Party Spirit (from The Public Duty of Educated Men) 286 To William Lloyd Garrison . . John Greenleaf Whittier . 291 Proem 292 Ichabod 293 Skipper Ireson's Ride " . . . 295 My Playmate 298 Laus Deo 300 In School-Days 302 The Lost Occasion 303 A Child's Question . . . Walt Whitman . . .306 Mannahatta 307 O Captain ! my Captain ! 308 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed (extracts) . , . . . . . . 309 Come, said my Soul 315 The Height of the Ridiculous . Oliver Wendell Holmes . 315 The Last Leaf 316 The Chambered Nautilus ' . . . 318 The Deacon's Masterpiece 319 Parson Turell's Legacy . . • 322 All Here 327 The Broomstick Train . 329 The Episode of the Pie (from The Autoci-at) 333 My Last Walk with the School- mistress (from The Autocrat) 335 Notes 339 READINGS IN AMERICAN LITERATURE READINGS IN AMERICAN LITERATURE JOHN SMITH Adventure with Opechancanough {From A True Relation) Having 2 Indians for my guide and 2 of our own com- pany, I set forward, leaving 7 in the barge : Having dis- covered 20 miles further in this desart, the river stil kept his depth and bredth, but much more combred with trees : Here we went ashore (being some 12 miles higher then the 5 barge had bene) to refresh our selves, during the boyling of our vituals : One of the Indians I tooke with me, to see the nature of the soile, and to crosse the boughts of the river : the other Indian I left with Maister Eobbinson and Thomas Emry, with their matches light, and order to dis- 10 charge a peece, for my retreat, at the first sight of any Indian. But within a quarter of an houre I heard a loud cry, and a hollowing of Indians, but no warning peece. Supposing them surprised, and that the Indians had betraid us, presently I seazed him and bound his arme fast to my 15 hand in a garter, with my pistoll ready bent to be revenged on him : he advised me to fly, and seemed ignorant of what was done. But as we went discoursing, I was struck with an arrow on the right thigh, but without harme : upon this occasion I espied 2 Indians drawing their bowes, which I 20 prevented in discharging a french pistoll : By that I had charged againe, 3 or 4 more did the like : for the first fell downe and fled : At my discharge, they did the like. My 2 AMERICAN LITERATURE hinde I made my barricade, who offered not to strive. 20. 25 or 30. arrowes were shot at me but short. 3 or 4 times I had discharged my pistoll ere the king of Pamaunck called Opeckankenough with 200 men, invironed me, cache drawing their bowe : which done they laid them upon the ground, yet without shot : My hinde treated betwixt them and me 30 of conditions of peace ; he discovered me to be the Captaine : my request was to retire to the boate : they demanded my armes, the rest they saide were slaine, onely me they would reserve: The Indian importuned me not to shoot. In re- tiring being in the midst of a low quagmire, and minding 35 them more then my steps, I stept fast into the quagmire, and also the Indian in drawing me forth : Thus surprised, I resolved to trie their mercies : my armes I caste from me, till which none durst approch me. Being ceazed on me, they drew me out and led me to the 40 King. I presented him with a compasse diall, describing by my best meanes the use therof : whereat he so amazedly admired, as he suffered me to proceed in a discourse of the roundnes of the earth, the course of the sunne, moone, starres and plannets. With kinde speeches and bread he 45 requited me, conducting me where the Canow lay and John Robbinson slaine, with 20 or 30. arrowes in him. Emry I saw not. I perceived by the aboundance of fires all over the woods. At each place I expected when they would execute me, yet 50 they used me with what kindnes they could : Approaching their Towne, which was within 6 miles where I was taken, onely made as arbors and covered with mats, which they remove as occasion requires : all the women and children, being advertised of this accident, came foorth to meet them, 55 the King well guarded with 20 bowmen 5 flanck and rear, and each flanck before him a sword and a peece, and after him the like, then a bowman, then I on each hand a bowe- JOHN SMITH 3 man, the rest in file in the reare, which reare led foorth amongst the trees in a bishion, eache his bowe and a hand- full of arrowes, a quiver at his back grimly painted : on 60 eache flanck a sargeant, the one running alwaies towards the front, the other towards the reare, each a true pace and in exceeding good order. This being a good time continued, they caste themselves in a ring with a daunce, and so eache man departed to his lodging. The Captain conducting me 65 to his lodging, a quarter of Venison and some ten pound of bread I had for supper: what I left was reserved for me, and sent with me to my lodging : Each morning 3. women presented me three great platters of fine bread, more venison then ten men could devour I had : my gowne, points and 70 garters, my compas and my tablet they gave me again. Though 8 ordinarily guarded me, I wanted not what they could devise to content me : and still our longer acquaint- ance increased our better affection : Much they threatned to assault our forte, as they were 75 solicited by the King of Paspahegh: who shewed at our fort great signes of sorrow for this mischance. The King tooke great delight in understanding the manner of our ships, and sayling the seas, the earth and skies, and of our God : what he knew of the dominions he spared not to ac- 80 quaint me with, as of certaine men cloathed at a place called Ocanahonan, cloathed like me : the course of our river, and that within 4 or. 5 dales journey of the falles, was a great turning of salt water : I desired he would send a messenger to Paspahegh, with a letter I would write, by 85 which they shold understand how kindly they used me, and that I was well, least they should revenge my death. This he granted and sent three men, in such weather as in reason were unpossible by any naked to be indured. Their cruell mindes towards the fort I had deverted, in describing the 90 ordinance and the mines in the fields, as also the revenge 4 AMERICAN LITERATURE Captain Newport would take of them at his returne. Their intent, I incerted the fort, the people of Ocanahonum and the back sea : this report they after found divers Indians 95 that confirmed : The next day after my letter, came a salvage to my lodg- ing, with his sword, to have slaine me : but being by my guard intercepted, with a bowe and arrow he offred to have effected his purpose : the cause I knew not, till the .King 100 understanding thereof came and told me of a man a dying, wounded with my pistoll : he tould me also of another I had slayne, yet the most concealed they had any hurte : This was the father of him I had slayne, whose fury to pre- vent, the King presently conducted me to another King- 105 dome, upon the top of the next northerly river, called Youghtanan. Having feasted me, he further led me to another branch of the river, called Mattapament; to two other hunting townes they led me : and to each of these Countries, a house of the great Emperour of Pewhakan, 110 whom as yet I sui)posed to bee at the Fals ; to him I tolde him I must goe, and so returne to Paspahegh. After this foure or five dayes marsh, we returned to Rasawrack, the first towne they brought me too : where binding the Mats in bundels, they marched two dayes journey, and crossed 115 the River of Youghtanan, where it was as broad as Thames : so conducting me to a place called Menapacute in Pamaunke, where the King inhabited. WILLIAM STRACHEY Account of a Tempest {From A True Repertory) When on S. James his day, July 24. being Monday (pre- paring for no lesse all the blacke night before) the cloudes gathering thicke upon us, and the windes singing, and WILLIAM STRACHEY 5 whistling most unusually, which made us to cast off our Pinnace, towing the same untill then asterne, a dreadfull5 storme and hideous began to blow from out the North-east, which swelling, and roaring as it were by fits, some houres with more violence then others, at length did beate all light from heaven ; which like an hell of darknesse turned blacke upon us, so much the more fidler of horror, as in such cases 10 horror and feare use to overrunne the troubled, and over- mastered sences of all, which (taken up with amazement) the eares lay so sensible to the terrible cries, and murmurs of the windes, and distraction of our Company, as who was most armed, and best prepared, was not a little shaken. 15 For foure and twenty houres the storme in a restlesse tumult, had blowne so exceedingly, as we could not appre- hend in our imaginations any possibility of greater violence, yet did wee still finde it, not onely more terrible, but more constant, fury added to fury, and one storme urging a second 20 more outragious then the former; whether it so wrought upon our feares, or indeede met with new forces : Some- times strikes in our Ship amongst women, and passengers, not used to such hurly and discomforts, made us looke one upon the other with troubled hearts, and panting bosomes : 25 our clamours dround in the windes, and the windes in thun- ^QY # * ^ Q^^j. sailes wound up lay without their use, and if at any time wee bore but a Hollocke, or halfe fore- course, to guide her before the Sea, six and sometimes eight men were not inough to hold the whipstaffe in the steerage, 30 and the tiller below in the Gunner roome, by which may be imagined the strength of the storme : In which, the Sea swelled above the Clouds, and gave battell unto Heaven. It could not be said to raine, the waters like whole Rivers did flood in the ayre. And this I did still observe, that wheras 35 upon the Land, when a storme hath powred it selfe forth 6 AMERICAN LITERATURE once in drifts of raine, the winde as beaten downe, and van- quished therewith, not long after indureth : here the glut of water (as if throatling the winde ere while) was no sooner a 40 little emptied and qualitied, but instantly the windes (as having gotten their mouthes now free, and at liberty) spake more loud, and grew more tumultuous, and malignant. ^ TV TV "Jv Tir "if Howbeit this was not all; It pleased God to bring a greater aflliction yet upon us ; for in the beginning of the 45 storme we had received likewise a mighty leake. And the Ship in every joynt almost, having spued out her Oakam, before we were aware (a casualty more desperate then any other that a Voyage by Sea draweth with it) was growne five foote suddenly deepe with water above her ballast, and we 50 almost drowned within, whilst we sat looking when to perish from above. This imparting no lesse terrour then danger, ranne through the whole Ship with much fright and amaze- ment, startled and turned the bloud, and tooke downe the braves of the most hardy Marriner of them all, insomuch as 55 he that before happily felt not the sorrow of others, now began to sorrow for himselfe, when he saw such a pond of water so suddenly broken in, and which he knew could not (without present avoiding) but instantly sinke him. So as joyning (onely for his owne sake, not yet worth the saving) 60 in the publique safety ; there might be scene Master, Mas- ters Mate, Boateswaine, Quarter Master, Coopers, Carpenters, and who not, with candels in their hands, creeping along the ribs viewing the sides, searching every corner, and listening in every place, if they could heare the water runne. Many 65 a weeping leake was this way found, and hastily stopt, and at length one in the Gunner roome made up with I know not how many peeces of Beefe: but all was to no purpose, the Leake (if it were but one) which drunke in our greatest Seas, and tooke in our destruction fastest, could not then be found. WILLIAM STRACHEY 7 nor ever was, by any labour, counsell, or search. The waters 70 still increasing, and the Punipes going, which at length choaked with bringing up whole and continuall Bisket (and indeede all w^ had, tenne thousand weight) it was conceived, as most likely, that the Leake might be sprung in the Bread- roome, whereupon the Carpenter went downe, and ript up all 75 the roome, but could not finde it so. * * # =H^ # # Our Governour, upon the tuesday morning (at what time, by such who had bin below in the hold, the Leake was first dis- covered) had caused the whole Company, about one hundred and forty, besides women, to be equally divided into three 80 parts, and opening the Ship in three places (under the fore- castle, in the waste, and hard by the Bitacke) appointed each man where to attend; and thereunto every man came duely upon his watch, tooke the Bucket, or Pumpe for one houre, and rested another. Then men might be scene to 85 labour, 1 may well say, for life, and the better sort, even our Governour, and Admirall themselves, not refusing their turne, and to spell each the other, to give example to other. The common sort stripped naked, as men in Gallies, the easier both to hold out, and to shrinke from under the salt 90 water, which continually leapt in among them, kept their eyes waking, and their thoughts and hands working, with t^^red bodies, and wasted spii-its, three dayes and foure nights destitute of outward comfort, and desperate of any deliverance, testifying how mutually willing they were, yet 95 by labour to keepe each other from drowning, albeit each one drowned whilest he laboured. Once, so huge a Sea brake upon the poope and quarter upon us, as it covered our Shippe from stearne to stemme, like a garment or a vast cloude, it filled her brimme full 100 for a while within, from the hatches up to the sparre decke. This source or confluence of water was so violent, as it rusht 8 AMERICAN LITERATURE and carried the Helm-man from the Helme, and wrested the Whip-staffe out of his hand, which so flew from side to side, 105 that when he woukl have ceased the same againe, it so tossed him from Star-boord to Lar-boord, as.it was Gods mercy it had not split him : It so beat him from his hold, and so bruised him, as a fresh man hazarding in by chance fell faire with it, and by maine strength bearing somewhat 110 up, made good his place, and with much clamour incouraged and called upon others ; who gave her now up, rent in pieces and absolutely lost. Our Governour was at this time below at the Capstone, both by his speech and authoritie hearten- ing every man unto his labour. It strooke him from the 115 place where hee sate, and groveled him, and all us about him on our faces, beating together with our breaths all thoughts from our bosomes, else, then that wee were now sinking. * * * It so stun'd the ship in her full pace, that shee stirred no more, then if shee had beene caught in 120 a net, or then, as if the fabulous Remora had stucke to her fore-castle. Yet without bearing one inch of saile, even then shee was making her way nine or ten leagues in a watch. One thing, it is not without his wonder (whether it were the feare of death in so great a storme, or that it 125 pleased God to be gracious unto us) there was not a passen- ger, gentleman, or other, after hee beganne to stirre and labour, but was able to relieve his fellow, and make good his course : And it is most true, such as in all their life times had never done houres worke before (their mindes now 130 helping their bodies) were able twice fortie eight houres to- gether to toile with the best. MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 9 BAY PSALM BOOK 23 A Psalme of David The Lord to mee a shepheard is, want therefore shall not I. ) Hee in the folds of tendev-grasse, doth cause mee downe to lie : To waters calme me gently leads 5 3 Restore my soule doth hee : he doth in paths of righteousnes for his names sake leade mee. 4 Yea though in valley of deaths shade I walk, none ill I'le feare : 10 because thou art with mee, thy rod, and staff e my comfort are. 5 For mee a table thou hast spread, in presence of my foes : thou dost annoynt my head with oyle, 16 my cup it over-flowes. 6 Goodnes & mercy surely shall all my dayes follow mee : and in the Lords house T shall dwell so long as dayes shall bee. 20 MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH The Judgment of Infants {From The Day of Doom) CLXVI Then to the Bar all they drew near Who died in infancy, And never had or good or bad effected pers'nally; But from the womb unto the tomb 5 were straightway carried, (Or at the least ere they transgress'd) Who thus began to plead : 10 AMERICAN LITERATURE CLXVII "If for our own transgressi-oii, 10 or disobedience, We here did stand at thy left hand, just were the Recompense; But Adam's guilt our souls hath spilt, his fault is charg'd upon us; 16 And that alone hath overthrown and utterly undone us. ''Not we, but he ate of the Tree, Whose fruit was interdicted; Yet on us all of' his sad Fall 20 the punishment's inflicted. How could we sin that had not been, or how is his sin our, Without consent, which to prevent we never had the pow'r? CLXIX 25 "O great Creator why was our Nature depraved and forlorn ? Why so defil'd, and made so vil'd, whilst we were yet unborn? If it be just, and needs we must 30 transgressors reckon 'd be, Thy Mercy, Lord, to us afford, which sinners hath set free. CLXX " Behold we see Adam set free, and sav'd from his trespass, 35 Whose sinful Fall hath split us all, and brought us to this pass. MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH U Canst thou deny us once to try, or Grace to us to tender, When he finds grace before thy face, who was the chief offender?" 40 Then answered the Judge most dread : " God doth such doom forbid, ^ That men should die eternally for what they never did. But what you call old Adam's Fall, 45 and only his Trespass, You call amiss to call it his, both his and yours it was. CLXXII " He was design'd of all Mankind to be a public Head; 50 A common Root, whence all should shoot, and stood in all their stead. He stood and fell, did ill or well, not for himself alone. But for you all, who now his Fall 55 and trespass would disown. CLXXX " You sinners are, and such a share as sinners, may expect ; Such you shall have, for I do save none but mine own Elect. 60 Yet to compare your sin with their who liv'd a longer time, I do confess yours is much less, though every sin's a crime. 12 AMERICAN LITERATURE CLXXXI 65 " A crime it is, therefore in bliss you may not hope to dwell; But unto you I shall allow the easiest room in Hell." The glorious King thus answering, they cease, and plead no longer; Their Consciences must needs confess his Reasons are the stronger. ANNE BRADSTREET The Glories of Nature (From Contemplations) Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide, When Phcehus wanted but one hour to bed, The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, Where gilded o're by his rich golden head. Their leaves & fruits seem'd painted, but was true Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew, Rapt were my sences at this delectable view. I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, If so much excellence abide below ; 10 How excellent is he that dwells on high ? Whose power and beauty by his w^orks we know. Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light. That hath this under world so richly dight : More Heaven then Earth was here no winter & no night. 3 15 Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye, Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem'd to aspire ; How long since thou wast in thine Infancy? Thy strength, and stature, more thy years admire, ANNE BRADSTREET 13 Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born ? Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn, 20 If so, all these as nought, Eternity doth scorn. Then higher on the glistering Sun I gaz'd. Whose beams was shaded by the leavie Tree, The more I look'd, the more I grew amaz'd. And softly said, what glory's like to thee ? 25 Soul of this world, this Universes Eye, No wonder, some made thee a Deity : Had I not better known, (alas) the same had I. 30 Thou as a Bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes, And as a strong man, joyes to run a race. The morn doth usher thee, with smiles & blushes. The Earth reflects her glances in thy face. Birds, insects, Animals with Vegative, Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive : And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive. 35 Thy swift Annual, and diurnal Course, Thy daily streight, and yearly oblique path. Thy pleasing fervor, and thy scorching force, All mortals here the feeling knowledg hath. Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night, 40 Quaternal Season caused by thy might : Hail Creature, full of sweetness, beauty & delight. Art thou so full of glory, that no Eye Hath strength, thy shining Rayes once to behold? And is thy splendid Throne erect so high ? 45 As to approach it, can no earthly mould. 14 AMERICAN LITERATURE How full of glory then must thy Creator be? Who gave this bright light luster unto thee : Admir'd, ador'd for ever, be that Majesty. 8 60 Silent alone, where none or saw^, or heard, In pathless paths I lead my wandring feet, My humble Eyes to lofty Skyes I rear'd To sing some Song, my mazed Muse thought meet. My great Creator I would magnifie, 55 That nature had, thus decked liberally : But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility! I heard the merry grashopper then sing. The black clad Cricket, bear a second part. They kept one tune, and plaid on the same string, 60 Seeming to glory in their little Art. Shall Creatures abject, thus their voices raise? And in their kind resound their makers praise : Whilst I as mute, can warble forth no higher layes. 26 While musing thus with contemplation fed, 65 And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain. The sweet-tongu'd Philomel percht ore my head. And chanted forth a most melodious strain W^hich rapt me so with wonder and delight, I judg'd my hearing better then my sight, 70 And wisht me wings with her a while to take my flight. 27 O merry Bird (said I) that fears no snares. That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy barn. Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm WILLIAM BRADFORD 15 Thy cloaths ne're wear, thy meat is every where, 75 Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water cleer, Reminds not what is past, nor whats to come dost fear. 28 The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, * So each one tunes his pretty instrument, 80 And warbling out the old, begin anew. And thus they pass their youth in summer season. Then follow thee into a better Region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion. WILLIAM BRADFORD Life at Merry Mount {From History of Plymouth Plantation) Aboute some 3. or 4. years before this time, ther came over one Captaine Wolastoue, (a man of pretie parts,) and with him 3. or 4. more of some eminencie, who brought with them a great many servants, with provissions & other implments for to begine a plantation ; and pitched them 5 selves in a place within the Massachusets, Avhich they called, after their Captains name, Mount-Wollaston. Amongst whom was one Mr. Morton, who, it should seeme, had some small adventure (of his owne or other mens) amongst them ; but had litle respecte amongst them and was sleghted by 10 the meanest servants. Haveing continued ther some time, and not finding things to answer their expectations, nor profite to arise as they looked for, Captaine Wollaston takes a great part of the sarvents, and transports them to Virginia, wher he puts them of at good rates, selling 15 their time to other men ; and writs back to one Mr. Rass- dall, one of his cheefe partners, and accounted their mar- 16 AMERICAN LITERATURE chant, to bring another parte of them to Verginia likewise, intending to put them of there as he had done the rest. 20 And he, with the consente of the said Rasdall, ap- poynted one Fitcher to be his Livetenante, and governe the remaines of the plantation, till he or Rasdall returned to take further order theraboute. But this Morton abovesaid, haveing more craft than honestie, (who had been a kind of 25 petiefogger, of Furnefells Inne,) in the others absence, watches an oppertunitie, (commons being but hard amongst them,) and gott some strong drinck and other junkats, & made them a feast ; and after they were merie, he begane to tell them, he would give them good counsell. You see 30 (saith he) that many of your fellows are carried to Virginia; and if you stay till this Rasdall returne, you will also be carried away and sould for slaves with the rest. Therfore I would advise you to thrust out this Levetenant Fitcher ; and I, having a parte in the plantation, will receive you as 35 my partners and consociats ; so may you be free from ser- vice, and we will converse, trad, plante, & live togeather as equalls, & supporte & protecte one another, or to like effecte. This counsell was easily received; so they tooke opper- tunitie, and thrust Levetenante Fitcher out a dores, and 40 would suffer him to come no more amongst them, but forct him to seeke bread to eate, and other releefe from his neigbours, till he could gett passages for England. After this they fell to great licenciousness, and led a dissolute life, powering out them selves into all profanenes. And 45 Morton became lord of misrule, and maintained (as it were) a schoole of Athisme. And after they had gott some good into their hands, and gott much by trading with the Indeans, they spent it as vainly, in quaffing & and drinking both wine & strong waters in great exsess, and, as some reported 50l0£. worth in a morning. They allso set up a May-pole, drinking and dancing aboute it many days togeather, invit- JOHN WINTHROP 17 iiig the Indean women, for their consorts, dancing and frisking togither, (like so many fairies, or furies rather,) and worse practises. As if they had anew revived & cele- brated the feasts of the Eoman Goddes Flora, or the beasly 55 practieses of the madd Bacchinalians. Morton likwise (to shew his poetrie) composed sundry rimes & verses, some tending to lasciviousnes, and others to the detraction & scandall of some persons, which he affixed to this idle or idoll May-polle. They chainged allso the name of their 60 place, and in stead of calling it Mounte Wollaston, they call it Merie-mounte, as if this joylity would have lasted ever. But this continued not long, for after Morton was sent for England, (as follows to be declared,) shortly after came over that worthy gentlman, Mr. John Indecott, who brought 65 over a patent under the broad seall, for the governmente of the Massachusets, who visiting those parts caused that May-polle to be cutt downe, and rebuked them for their profannes, and admonished them to looke ther should be better walking ; so they now, or others, changed the name 70 of their place againe, and called it Mounte-Dagon. JOHN WINTHROP The "Little Speech" on Liberty {From The History of New England) There is a twofold liberty, natural (I mean as our nature is now corrupt) and civil or federal. The first is common to man with beasts and other creatures. By this, man, as he stands in relation to man simply, hath liberty to do what he lists ; it is a liberty to evil as well as to good. 5 This liberty is incompatible and inconsistent with authority, and cannot endure the least restraint of the most just authority. The exercise and maintaining of this liberty 18 AMERICAN LITERATURE makes men grow more evil, and in time to be wofse than 10 brute beasts: omnes sumus licentia deteriores. This is that great enemy of truth and peace, that wild beast, which all the ordinances of God are bent against, to restrain and subdue it. The other kind of liberty I call civil or federal, it may also be termed moral, in reference to the covenant 15 between God and man, in the moral law, and the politic covenants and constitutions, amongst men themselves. This liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and can- not subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only which is good, just, and honest. This liberty you are to 20 stand for, with the hazard (not only of your goods, but) of your lives, if need be. Whatsoever crosseth this, is not authority, but a distemper thereof. This liberty is main- tained and exercised in a way of subjection to authority ; it is of the same kind of liberty wherewith Christ hath 25 made us free. The woman's own choice makes such a man her husband ; yet being so chosen, he is her lord, and she is to be subject to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of bondage; and a true wife accounts her subjection her honor and free- dom, and would not think her condition safe and free, but 30 in her subjection to her husband's authority. Such is the liberty of the church under the authority of Christ, her king and husband ; his yoke is so easy and sweet to her as a bride's ornaments ; and if through frowardness or wanton- ness, etc., she shake it off, at any time, she is at no rest in 35 her spirit, until she take it up again ; and whether her lord smiles upon her, and embraceth her in his arms, or whether he frowns, or rebukes, or smites her, she apprehends the sweetness of his love in all, and is refreshed, supported, and instructed by every such dispensation of his authority 40 over her. On the other side, ye know who they are that complain of this yoke and say, let us break their bands, etc., we will not have this man to rule over us. Even so, breth- COTTON MATHER 19 ren, it will be between you and your magistrates. If you stand for your natural corrupt liberties, and will do what is good in your own eyes, you will not endure the least weight 45 of authority, but will murmur, and oppose, and be always striving to shake off that yoke ; but if you will be satisfied to enjoy such civil and lawful liberties, such as Christ allows you, then will you quietly and cheerfully submit unto that authority which is set over you, in all the admin- 50 istrations of it, for your good. Wherein, if we fail at any time, we hope we shall be willing (by God's assistance) to hearken to good advice from any of yon, or in any other way of God; so shall your liberties be preserved, in up- holding the honor and power of authority amongst you. 55 COTTON MATHER Character of Governor Bradford {From Magnalia) The leader of a people in a wilderness had need to be a Moses; and if a Moses had not led the people of Plymouth Colony, when this worthy person was their governour, the people had never with so much unanimity and importunity still called him to lead them. Among many instances 5 thereof, let this one piece of self-denial be told for a memo- rial of him, wheresoever this History shall be considered : The Patent of the Colony was taken in his name, running in these terms ; "To William Bradford, his heirs, associates, and assigns." But when the number of the freemen was 10 much increased, and many new townships erected, the Gen- eral Court there desired of Mr. Bradford, that he would make a surrender of the same into their hands, which he willingly and presently assented unto, and confirmed it according to their desire by his hand and seal, reserving no 15 20 AMERICAN LITERATURE more for himself than was his proportion with others, by agreement. But as lie found the providence of Heaven many ways recompensing his many acts of self-denial, so he gave this testimony to the faithfulness of the divine 20 promises : " That he had forsaken friends, houses and lands for the sake of the gospel, and the Lord gave them him again." Here he prospered in his estate; and besides a worthy son which he had by a former wife, he had also two sons and a daughter by another, whom he married in this 25 land. He was a person for study as well as action ; and hence, notwithstanding the difficulties through which he passed in his youth, he attained unto a notable skill in languages : the Dutch tongue was become almost as vernacular to him as 30 the English ; the French tongue he could also manage ; the Latin and the Greek he had mastered ; but the Hebrew he most of all studied, " Because," he said, " he would see with his own eyes the ancient oracles of God in their native beauty." He was also well skilled in History, and 35 Antiquity, and in Philosophy ; and for Theology he became so versed in it, that he was an irrefragable disputant against the errors, especially those of Anabaptism, which with trouble he saw rising in his colony ; wherefore he wrote some significant things for the confutation of those errors. 40 But the crown of all was his holy, prayerful, watchful, and fruitful walk with God, wherein he was very exemplary. At length he fell into an indisposition of body, which rendered him unhealthy for a whole winter; and as the spring advanced, his health yet more declined ; yet he felt 45 himself not what he counted sick, till one day; in the night after which, the God of heaven so filled his mind with ineffable consolations, that he seemed little short of Paul, rapt up into the unutterable entertainments of Paradise. The next morning he told his friends, " That the good JONATHAN EDWARDS 21 Spirit of God had given liiin a pledge of his happiness 50 in another world, and the first fruits of his eternal glory ; " and on the day following he died, May 9, 1657, in the 69th year of his age — lamented by all the colonies of New England, as a common blessing and father to them all. mihi si Similis Contlngat Clausula VitcB ! 55 Plato's brief description of a governour, is all that I will now leave as his character, in an EPITAPH. No/xev? T/3o<^0? dyeXiy? dv^/ocuTriVT/?. MEN are but FLOCKS : BRADFORD beheld their need, And long did them at once both rule and feed. 60 JONATHAN EDWARDS {From Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God) Deuteronomy xxxii. 35. — "Their foot shall slide in due time." * * * * * * The observation from the words that I would now insist upon is this. There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, hut the m^ere pleasure of God. By the mere pleasure of God, I mean his sovereign pleas- 5 ure, his arbitrary will, restrained by no obligation, hindered by no manner of difficulty, any more than if nothing else but God's mere will had in the least degree or in any respect whatsoever any hand in the preservation of wicked men one moment. 10 The truth of this observation may appear by the follow- ing considerations. 1. There is no want of power in God to cast wicked men into hell at any moment. * ^ =* 2. They deserve to be cast into hell ; so that divine 15 22 AMERICAN LITERATURE justice never stands in the way, it makes no objection against God's using his power at any moment to destroy them. ^ * * 3. They are already under a sentence of condemnation 20 to hell. * * * 4. They are now the subjects of that very same anger and wrath of God, that is expressed in the torments of hell. * * * 0. The devil stands ready to fall upon them, and seize 25 them as his own, at what moment God shall permit him. * * * 6. There are in the souls of wicked men those hellish principles reigning, that would presently kindle and flame out into hell-fire, if it were not for God's restraints. * * * 30 7. It is no security to wicked men for one moment, that there are no visible means of death at hand. * * * 8. Natural men's prudence and care to preserve their own lives, or the care of others to preserve them, don't secure 'em a moment. * * * 35 9. All wicked men's jxiins and contrivance they use to escape hell, while they continue to reject Christ, and so re- main wicked men, don't secure 'em from hell one moment. * * # 10. God has laid himself under oio obligation, by any promise, to keep any natural man out of hell one moment. * * * 40 So that thus it is, that natural men are held in the hand of God over the pit of hell ; they have deserved the fiery pit, and are already sentenced to it ; and God is dreadfully provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness 45 of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least bound by any promise to hold 'em up one moment ; the devil JONATHAN EDWARDS 23 is waiting for them, the flames gather and flash about them, and would fain lay hold on them and swallow them up ; the fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out; 50 and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no means within reach that can be any security to them. In short they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of; all that preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, and uncovenanted, unobliged forbearance of an incensed 55 God. * * * And let every one that is yet out of Christ and hanging over the pit of hell, whether they be old men and women or middle-aged or young people or little children, now hearken to the loud calls of God's word and providence. 60 This acceptable year of the Lord that is a day of such great favor to some will doubtless be a day of as remarkable ven- geance to others. Men's hearts harden and their guilt in- creases apace at such a day as this, if they neglect their souls. And never was there so great danger of such persons 65 being given up to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. God seems now to be hastily gathering his elect in all parts of the land ; and probably the bigger part of adult persons that ever shall be saved will be brought in now in a little time, and that it will be as it was on that great outpouring 70 of the Spirit upon the Jews in the Apostles' days, the elec- tion will obtain and the rest will be blinded. If this should be the case with you, you will eternall}^ curse this day, and will curse the day that ever you was born to see such a sea- son of the pouring out of God's Spirit, and will wish that 75 you had died and gone to hell before you had seen it. Now undoubtedly it is as it was in the days of John the Baptist, the axe is in an extraordinary manner laid at the root of the trees, that every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit may be hewn down and cast into the fire. 80 Therefore let everyone that is out of Christ now awake 24 AMERICAN LITERATURE and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this congregation. Let every one fly out of Sodom. " Haste and 85 escape for your lives, look not hehiiid you, escape to the moun- tains, lest ye he consumed.^'' BENJAMIN FRANKLIN On Drunkenness (Dogood Papers, No. 12) Quod est in corde sohrii, est in ore ebril. To THE Author of the New-England Coukant. Sir, IT is no unprofitable tho' unpleasant Pursuit, diligently to 5 inspect and consider the Manners & Conversation of Men, who insensible of the greatest Enjoyments of humane Life, abandon themselves to Vice from a false Notion of Pleasure and good Fellowship. A true and natural Representation of any Enormity, is often the best Argument against it and 10 Means of removing it, when the most severe Reprehensions alone, are found ineffectual. I WOULD in this Letter improve the little Observation I have made on the Vice of Drunkeiiness, the better to reclaim the good Fellows who usually pay the Devotions of the 15 Evening to Bacchus. I DOUBT not but moderate Drinking has been improv'd for the Diffusion of Knowledge among the ingenious Part of Mankind, who want the Talent of a ready Utterance, in order to discover the Conceptions of their Minds in an enter- 20taining and intelligible Manner. 'Tis true, drinking does not improve our Faculties, but it enables us to use them ; and therefore I conclude, that much Study and experience, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 25 and a little Liquor, are of absolute Necessity for some Tem- pers, in order to make them accomplish'd orators. Die. Ponder discovers an excellent Judgment when he is inspir'd with a 25 glass or two of Claret, but he passes for a Fool among those of small Observation, who never saw him the better for Drink. And here it will not be improper to observe, That the moderate Use of Liquor, and a well plac'd and well reg- ulated Anger, often produce this same Effect ; and some who 30 cannot ordinarily talk but in broken Sentences and false Grammar, do in the Heat of Passion express themselves with as much Eloquence as Warmth. Hence it is that my own Sex are generally the most eloquent, because the most passionate. " It has been said in the Praise of some Men," 35 (says an ingenious Author,) " that they could talk whole Hours together upon any thing; but it must be owned to the Honour of the other Sex, that there are many among them who can talk whole Hours together ujjon Nothing. I have known a Woman branch out into a long extempore Dis- 40 sertation on the Edging of a Petticoat, and chide her Servant for breaking a China Cup, in all the Figures of Rhetorick." BUT .after all it must be consider'd, that no Pleasure can give Satisfaction or prove advantageous to a reasonable Mind, which is not attended with the Restraints of Reason. Enjoy- 45 ment is not to be found by Excess in any sensual Gratifica- tion ; but on the contrary, the immoderate Cravings of the Voluptuary, are always succeeded with Loathing and a palled Appetite. What Pleasure can the Drunkard have in the Reflection, that while in his Cups, he retain'd only 50 the Shape of a Man, and acted the Part of a Beast ; or that from reasonable Discourse a few Minutes before, he descended to Impertinence and Nonsense ? I CANNOT pretend to account for the different Effects of Liquor on Persons of different Dispositions, who are guilty 55 of Excess in the LTse of it. 'Tis strange to see Men of a 26 AMERICAN LITERATURE regular Conversation become rakish and profane when intoxi- cated with Drink, and yet more surprizing to observe, tliat some who appear to be the most profligate Wretches when 60 sober, become mighty religious in their Cups, and will then, and at no other Time address their Maker, but when they are destitute of Reason, and actually affronting him. Some shrink in the Wetting, and others swell to such an unusual Bulk in their Imaginations, that they can in an Instant 65 understand all Arts and Sciences, by the liberal Education of a little vivyfying Punch, or a sufficient Quantity of other exhilerating Liquor. AND as the Effects of Liquor are various, so are the Char- acters given to its Devourers. It argues some Shame in the 70 Drunkards themselves, in that they have invented numberless Words and Phrases to cover their Folly, whose proper Signi- fications are harmless, or have no Signification at all. They are seldom known to be drunk, tho they are very often boozey, cogey, ti2^sey,fox\l, merry, melloiv, fuddVd, groatable, Confound- 75 edly cut, See two Moons, are Among the PhiUstines, In a very good Humour, See the Sun, or, The Sun has shone upon them ; they Clip the King^s English, are Almost froze, Feavourish, In their Altitudes, Pretty ivell entered, &c. In short, every Day produces some new Word or Phrase which might be added 80 to the Vocabulary of the Tiplers: But I have chose to mention these few, because if at any Time a Man of Sobriety and Temperance happens to cut himself confoundedly, or is almost froze, or feavourish, or accidently sees the Sun, &c. he may escape the Imputation of being drunk, when his Mis- 85 fortune comes to be related. I am Sir, Your Humble Servant, Silence Dogood. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 27 Growth of Ill-Humor in America {From Causes of the American Discontents) The Waves uever rise but wlien the Winds blow. — Prov. Sir, As the cause of the present ill-humour in America, and of the resolutions taken there to purchase less of our manu- factures, does not seem to be generally understood, it may 5 afford some satisfaction to your Readers, if you give them the following short historical state of facts. From the time that the Colonies were first considered as capable of granting aids to the Crown, down to the end of the last war, it is said, that the constant mode of obtaining lo those aids was by RequisHion made from the Crown through its Governors to the several Assemblies, in circular letters from the Secretary of State in his Majesty's name, setting forth the occasion, requiring them to take the matter into consideration ; and expressing a reliance on their prudence, 15 duty and affection to his Majesty's Government, that they would grant such sums, or raise such numbers of men, as were suitable to their respective circumstances. The Colonies, being accustomed to this method, have from time to time granted money to the Crown, or raised 20 troops for its service, in proportion to their abilities ; and during the last war beyond their abilities, so that consider- able sums were returned them yearly by Parliament, as they had exceeded their proportion. Had this happy method of Requisition been continued, 25 (a method that left the King's subjects in those remote countries the pleasure of showing their zeal and loyalty, and of imagining that they recommended themselves to their Sovereign by the liberality of their voluntary grants) there is no doubt but all the money that could reasonably 30 be expected to be raised from them in any manner, might 28 AMERICAN LITERATURE have been obtained, without the least heart-burning, of- fence, or breach of the harmony, of alfections and interests, that so long subsisted between the two countries. 35 It has been thought wisdom in a Government exercising sovereignty over different kinds of people, to have some re- gard to prevailing and established opinions among the people to be governed, wherever such opinions might, in their effects obstruct or promote public measures. If they 40 tend to obstruct public service, they are to be changed, if possible, before we attempt to act against them ; and they can only be changed by reason and persuasion. But if pub- lic business can be carried on without thwarting those opinions, if they can be, on the contrary, made subservient 45 to it, they are not unnecessarily to be thwarted, how absurd so ever such popular opinions may be in their nature. This had been the wisdom of our Government with re- spect to raising money in the colonies. It was well known, that the Colonists universally were of opinion, that no 50 money could be levied from English subjects, but by their own consent given by themselves or their chosen Repre- sentatives : That therefore, whatever money was to be raised from the people in the Colonies, must first be granted by their Assemblies, as the money raised in Britain is first 55 to be granted by the House of Commons : That this right of granting their own money, was essential to English liberty : And that if any man, or body of men, in which they had no Representative of their choosing, could tax them at pleasure, they could not be said to have any prop- eoerty, any thing they could call their own. But as these opinions did not hinder their granting money voluntarily and amply whenever the Crown by its servants came into their Assemblies (as it does into its Parliaments of Britain or Ireland) and demanded aids ; therefore that method was 65 chosen rather than the hateful one of arbitrary taxes. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 29 I do not undertake here to support those opinions of the Americans ; they have been refuted by a late Act of Parlia- ment, declaring its own power; which very Parliament, however, shewed wisely so much tender regard to those in- veterate prejudices, as to repeal a tax that had militated 70 against them. And those prejudices are still so fixed and rooted in the Americans, that, it has been supposed, not a single man among them has been convinced of his error, even by that Act of Parliament. They reflected how lightly the interest of all America had 75 been estimated here, when the interests of a few of the in- habitants of Great Britain happened to have the smallest competition with it. That thus the whole American people was forbidden the advantage of a direct importation of wine, oil, and fruit, from Portugal, but must take them loaded 80 with all the expences of a voyage 1000 leagues round about, being to be landed first in England, to be re-shipped for America; expences amounting, in war time, at least to 30 per cent, more than otherwise they would have been charged with, and all this merely that a few Portugal merchants in 85 London may gain a commission on those goods passing through their hands, Portugal merchants, by the by, that can complain loudly of the smallest hardships laid on their trade by foreigners, and yet even in the last year could oppose with all their influence the giving ease to their fel- 90 low subjects labouring under so heavy an oppression ! That on a slight complaint of a few Virginia merchants, nine colonies had been restrained from inaking paper money, become absolutely necessary to their internal commerce from the constant remittance of their gold and silver to 95 Britain. But not only the interest of a x^articular body of mer- chants, the interest of any small body of British tradesmen or artificers, has been found, they say, to outweigh that of 30 AMERICAN LITERATURE 100 all the King's subjects in the colonies. There can not be a stronger natural right than that of a man's making the best profit he can of the natural produce of his lands, provided he does not thereby hurt the state in general. Iron is to be found everywhere in America, and beaver furs are the 105 natural produce of that country : hats, and nails, and steel are wanted there as well as here. It is of no importance to the common welfare of the empire, whether a subject of the King's gets his living by making hats on this or that side of the water. Yet the Hatters of England have prevailed 110 to obtain an Act in their own favour, restraining that man- ufacture in America, in order to oblige the Americans to send their beaver to England to be manufactured, and purchase back the hats, loaded with the charges of a double transportation. In the same manner have a few Nail- 115 makers, and a still smaller body of Steel-makers (perhaps there are not half a dozen of these in England) prevailed totally to forbid by an Act of Parliament the erecting of slitting-mills or steel-furnaces in America; that the Ameri- cans may be obliged to take all the nails for their buildings, 120 and steel for their tools, from these artificers, under the same disadvantages. Added to these, the Americans remembered the Act au- thorizing the most cruel insult that perhaps was ever offered by one people to another, that of emptymg our gaols into 125 their settlements : Scotland too having within these two years obtained the privelege it had not before, of sending its rogues and villains also to the plantations. I say, re- flecting on these things, they said one to another (their newspapers are full of such discourses) these people are not 130 content with making a monopoly of us, forbidding us to trade with any other country of Europe, and compelling us to buy everything of them, though in many articles we could furnish ourselves 10, 20, and even to 50 per cent BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 31 cheaper elsewhere ; but now they have as good as declared they have a right to tax us ad libitum internally and ex- 135 ternally, and that our constitutions and liberties shall all be taken away, if we do not submit to that claim. These are the wild ravings of the at present half dis- tracted Americans. To be sure, no reasonable man in Eng- land can approve of such sentiments, and, as I said before, I do 140 not pretend to support or justify them : But I sincerely wish, for the sake of the manufactures and commerce of Great Britain, and for the sake of the strength which a firm union with our growing colonies would give us, that these people had never been thus needlessly driven out of their senses. 145 I am, yours, &c. F + S. Britain's Dealings With Her Colonies Imitated (From An Edict by the King of Prussia) We have long wondered here at the supineness of the English nation, under the Prussian impositions upon its trade entering our port. We did not, till lately, know the claims, ancient and modern, that hang over that nation ; and therefore could not suspect that it might submit to those impositions from a sense of duty or from principles of 5 equity. The following Edict, just made publick, may, if serious, throw some light upon this matter. * # * # # # " Whereas it is well known to all the world, that the first German settlements made in the Island of Britain, were by 10 colonies of people, subject to our renowned ducal ancestors, and drawn from their dominions, under the conduct of Hen- gist, Horsa, Hella, Uff, Cerdicus, Ida, and others ; and that the said colonies have flourished under the protection of our august house for ages past ; have never been emancipated 15 32 AMERICAN LITERATURE therefrom ; and yet have hitherto yielded little profit to the same : And whereas we ourself have in the last war fought for and defended the said colonies, against the power of France, and thereby enabled them to make conquests from 20 the said power in America, for which we have not yet re- ceived adequate compensation: And whereas it is just and expedient that a revenue should be raised from the said colonies in Britain, towards our indemnification; and that those who are descendants of our ancient subjects, and 25 thence still owe us due obedience, should contribute to the replenishing of our royal coffers as they must have done, had their ancestors remained in the territories now to us appertaining : We do therefore hereby ordain and command, that, from and after the date of these presents, there shall 30 be levied and paid to our officers of the customs, on all goods, wares, and merchandizes, and on all grain and other produce of the earth, exported from the said Island of Britain, and on all goods of whatever kind imported into the same, a duty of four and a half per cent ad valorem, for the use of 35 us and our successors. And that the said duty may more effectually be collected, we do hereby ordain, that all ships or vessels bound from Great Britain to any other part of the world, or from any other part of the world to Great Britain, shall in their respective voyages touch at our port of 40 Koningsberg, there to be unladen, searched, and charged with the said duties. "And, lastly, being willing farther to favour our said colonies in Britain, we do hereby also ordain and command, that all the thieves, highway and street robbers, house- 45 breakers, forgerers, murderers, and villains of every denom- ination, who have forfeited their lives to the law in Prussia; but whom we, in our great clemency, do not think fit here to hang, shall be emptied out of our gaols into the said BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 33 island of Great Britain, for the better peopling of that country. 50 "We flatter ourselves, that these our royal regulations and commands will be thought just and reasonable by our much-favoured colonists in England; the said regulations being copied from their statutes of 10 and 11 William, c. 10, 5 Geo. II. c. 22, 23, Geo. II. c. 29, 4 Geo. I. c. 11, and from 55 other equitable laws made by their parliaments ; or from instructions given by their Princes; or from resolutions of both Houses, entered into for the good government of their own colonies in Ireland and America. " And all persons in the said island are hereby cautioned 60 not to oppose in any wise the execution of this our Edict, or any part thei:eof, such opposition being high treason ; of which all who are suspected shall be transported in fetters from Britain to Prussia, there to be tried and executed according to the Prussian law. 65 " Such is our pleasure. " Given at Potsdam, this twenty-fifth day of the month of August, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-three, and in the thirty-third year of our reign. " By the King, in his Council. 70 " Rechtmaessig, /Sec." Some take this Edict to be merely one of the King's Jeux d'' Esprit: others suppose it serious, and that he means a quarrel with England ; but all here think the assertion it concludes with, " that these regulations are copied from acts 75 of the English parliament respecting their colonies," a very injurious one ; it being impossible to believe, that a people distinguished for their love of liberty, a nation so wise, so liberal in its sentiments, so just and equitable towards its neighbors, should, from mean and injudicious views of petty 80 34 AMERICAN LITERATURE immediate profit, treat its own children in a manner so arbi- trary and tyrannical ! The Whistle (A Letter to Madame Brillon) I received my dear friend's two letters, one for Wednes- day and one for Saturday. This is again Wednesday. 1 do not deserve one for to-day, because I have not answered the former. But, indolent as I am, and averse to writing, 6 the fear of having no more of your pleasing epistles, if I do not contribute to the correspondence, obliges me to take up my pen ; and as Mr. B. has kindly sent me word, that he sets out to-morrow to see you, instead of spending this Wednesday evening as I have done its namesakes, in your 10 delightful company, I sit down to spend it in thinking of you, in writing to you, and in reading over and over again your letters. I am charmed with your description of Paradise, and with your plan of living there ; and I approve much of 15 your conclusion, that, in the mean time, we should draw all the good we can from this world. In my opinion, we might all draw more good from it than we do, and suffer less evil, if we would take care not to give too much for whistles. For to me it seems, that most of the unhappy people we 20 meet with, are become so by neglect of that caution. You ask what I mean ? You love stories, and will ex- cuse my telling one of myself. When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly 25 to a shop where they sold toys for children ; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 35 all my money for one. I then came home, and went whist- ling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and 30 cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth ; put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of my money; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation ; and the reflection gave 35 me more chagrin than the ichistle gave me pleasure. This however was afterwards of use to me, the impres- sion continuing on my mind ; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, BojiH give too much for the ivhistle; and I saved my money. 40 As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his 45 virtue, and perhaps his friends to attain it, I have said to myself. This man gives too much for his whistle. When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em- ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect. He pays, indeed, 50 said I, too much for his ivhistle. If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfort- able living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth. Poor man, 55 said I, you pay too much for your whistle. When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, Mistaken man, said I, you are providing p)ain for yourself, 60 instead ofptleasure ; you give too much for your whistle. 36 AMERICAN LITERATURE If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, 65 Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to an ill-natured brute of a husband. What a 2)ity, say I, that she should pay so much for a ivhistle! In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of 70 mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates they have made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their ivhistles. Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, when I consider, that, with all this wisdom of which I am 75 boasting, there are certain things in the world so tempting, for example, the apples of King John, which happily are not to be bought ; for if they were put to sale by auction, I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase, and find that I had once more given too much for the 80 whistle. Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours very sincerely and with unalterable affection, B. Franklin. PATRICK HENRY {From Liberty or Death) Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned — we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we have 5 prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the minis- try and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; PATRICK HENRY 37 our supplications have been disregarded ; and we have been spurned with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In 10 vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free — if we mean to preserve in- violate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the 15 noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained — we must fight ! — I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 20 They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are totaUy disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather 25 strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the 30 God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God 35 who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the con- 40 test. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on 38 AMERICAN LITERATURE the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come ! ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! ! ! 45 It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace, — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ? 50 What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! JAMES OTIS {From On the Writs of Assistance) One of the most essential branches of English liberty is the freedom of one's house. A man's house is his castle ; and wliilst he is quiet, he is as well guarded as a prince in his castle. This writ, if it should be declared legal, would 5 totally annihilate this privilege. Custom-house officers may enter our houses when they please ; we are commanded to permit their entry. Their menial servants may enter, may break locks, bars, and everything in their way ; and whether they break through malice or revenge, no man, no court can 10 inquire. Bare suspicion without oath is sufficient. This wanton exercise of this power is not a chimerical suggestion of a heated brain. I will mention some facts. Mr. Pew had one of these writs, and when Mr. Ware succeeded him, he endorsed this writ over to Mr. Ware, so that these writs 15 are negotiable from one officer to another ; and so your Honours have no opportunity of judging the persons to whom this vast power is delegated. Another instance is this: Mr. Justice Walley had called this same Mr. Ware JAMES OTIS 39 before him, by a constable, for a breach of the Sabbath-day Acts, or that of profane swearing. As soon as he had 20 finished, Mr. Ware asked him if he had done. He replied, "Yes." "Well then," said Mr. Ware, "I will show you a little of my power. I command you to permit me to search your house for uncustomed goods," and went on to search the house from garret to cellar; and then served the con- 25 stable in the same manner ! But to show another absurdity in this writ, if it should be established, I insist upon it every person, by the 14 Charles II., has this power as well as the Custom-house officers. The words are, "it shall be lawful for any person or persons authorized, etc." What a 30 scene does this open ! Every man prompted by revenge, ill-humour or wantonness to inspect the inside of his neigh- bor's house, may get a writ of assistance. Others will ask it from self-defense ; one arbitrary exertion will provoke another, until society be involved in tumult and in blood ! 35 Again, these writs are not returned. Writs, in their nature, are temporary things. When the purposes for which they are issued are answered, they exist no more; but these live forever ; no one can be called to account. Thus reason and the constitution are both against this writ. 40 Let us see what authority there is for it. Not more than one instance can be found of it in all our law-books ; and that was in the zenith of arbitrary power, namely, in the reign of Charles II., when star-chamber powers were pushed to extremity by some ignorant clerk of the exchequer. But 45 had this writ been in any book whatever, it would have been illegal. All precedents are under the control of the princi- ples of law. Lord Talbot says it is better to observe these than any precedents, though in the House of Lords the last resort of the subject. No Acts of Parliament can establish 50 such a writ ; though it should be made in the very words of the petition, it would be void. But this proves no more 40 AMERICAN LITERATURE than what I before observed, that special writs may be granted on oath and probable suspicion. The act of 7 and 8 55 William III. that the officers of the plantations shall have the same powers, etc., is confined to this sense ; that an officer should show probable ground; should take his oath of it; should do this before a magistrate; and that such magistrate, if he think proper, should issue a special war- 00 rant to a constable to search the places. That of C Anne can prove no more. THOMAS PAINE Times that Try Men's Souls {From The Crisis, No. 1) These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country ; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, 5 like hell, is not easily conquered ; yet we have this conso- lation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly : it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods ; 10 and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right {not only to tax) but " to bind us in all cases whatsoever," and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then there 15 is not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the ex- pression is impious; for so unlimited a power can belong only to God. W^hether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as THOMAS PAINE 41 an argument ; my own simple opinion is, that had it been 20 eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own: ^we have none to blame but ourselves. But no great deal is lost yet. All that 25 Howe has been doing this month past, is rather a ravage than a, conquest, which the spirit of the Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little resolution will soon recover. I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but 30 my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Al- mighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish, who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither 35 have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils ; and as I do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a 40 house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he. 'Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them: Britain has trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat bottomed boats ; and in the 45 fourteenth century the whole English army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified with fear ; and this brave exploit w^as performed by a few 1 The present wiuter is worth an age, if rightly employed ; but if lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil : and there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful. — Author's note, a citation from his Common Sense. 42 AMERICAN LITERATURE broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of 50 Arc. Would, that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow suffer- ers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some cases, have their uses ; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind grows through 55 them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sin- cerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an 60 imaginary apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many a disguised tory has lately shown his head, that shall penitentially solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware. GEORGE WASHINGTON {From his First Inaugural) Fellow-Citizexs of the Senate and House of Repre- sentatives : Among the vicissitudes incident to life, no event could have filled me with greater anxieties, than that of which the notification was transmitted by your order, and received on the 14th day of the present month. On the one hand, I 5 was summoned by my country, whose voice I can never hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat which I had chosen with the fondest predilection, and, in my flatter- ing hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of my declining years; a retreat which was rendered every day 10 more necessary as well as more dear to me, by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent interruptions in my GEORGE WASHINGTON 43 health to the gradual waste committed on it by time. On the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust, to which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to awaken in the wisest and most experienced of her citizens 15 a distrustful scrutiny into his qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despondence one, who, inheriting inferior endowments from nature, and unpracticed in the duties of civil administration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of his own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions, all I dare 20 aver is, that it has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a just appreciation of every circumstance by which it might be affected. All I dare hope is, that, if in executing this task, I have been too much swayed by a grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an affec-25 tionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the con- fidence of my fellow-citizens; and have hence too little consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination for the weighty and untried cares before me ; my error will be pal- liated by the motives which misled me, and its consequences 30 be judged by my country with some share of the partiality in which they originated. # # * # * * # To the preceding observations I have one to add, which will be most properly addressed to the House of Kepresenta- tives. It concerns myself, and will therefore be as brief 35 as possible. When I was first honored with a call into the service of my country, then on the eve of an arduous strug- gle for its liberties, the light in which I contemplated my duty, required that I should renounce every pecuniary com- pensation. From this resolution I have in no instance de-40 parted. And being still under the impressions which produced it, I must decline as inapplicable to myself any share in the personal emoluments, which may be indispen- sably included in a permanent provision for the executive 44 AMERICAN LITERATURE 45 department ; and must accordingly pray, that the pecuniary estimates for the station in which I am placed may, during my continuance in it, be limited to such actual expenditures as the public good may be thought to require. Having thus imparted to you my sentiments, as they have 50 been awakened by the occasion which brings us together, I shall take my present leave ; but not without resorting once more to the benign Parent of the human race, in humble supplication, that, since he has been pleased to favor the American people with opportunities for deliberating in per- 55 feet tranquillity, and dispositions for deciding with unpar- alleled unanimity on a form of government for the security of their union and the advancement of their happiness; so his divine blessing may be equally conspicuous in the en- larged views, the temperate consultations, and the wise 60 measures, on which the success of this government must depend. THOMAS JEFFERSON {From A Summary View of the Rights of British America) That these are our grievances, which we have thus laid before his majesty, with that freedom of language and sen- timent which becomes a free people claiming their rights, as derived from the laws of nature, and not as the gift of 5 their chief magistrate : let those flatter who fear ; it is not an American art. To give praise which is not due, might be well from the venal, but would ill beseem those who are asserting the rights of human nature. They know, and will therefore say, that kings are the servants, not the proprie- 10 tors of the people. Open your breast, Sire, to liberal and expanding thought. Let not the name of George the Third be a blot in the page of history. You are surrounded by British counsellors, but remember that they are parties. THOMAS JEFFERSON 45 You have no ministers for American affairs, because you have none taken from among us, nor amenable to the laws 15 on which they are to give advice. It behoves you, there- fore, to think and to act for yourself and your people. The great principles of right and wrong are legible to every reader ; to pursue them, requires not the aid of many coun- sellors. The whole art of government consists in the art of 20 being honest. Only aim to do your duty, and mankind will give you credit where you fail. No longer persevere in sacrificing the rights of one part of the empire to the inor- dinate desires of another ; but deal out to all equal and im- partial right. Let no act be passed by any one legislature, 25 which may infringe on the rights and liberties of another. This is the important post in which fortune has placed you, holding the balance of a great, if a well poised empire. This, Sire, is the advice of your great American council, on the observance of which may, perhaps, depend your felicity and 30 future fame, and the preservation of that harmony, which alone can continue both to Great Britain and America, the reciprocal advantages of their connection. It is neither our wish, nor our interest to separate from her. We are will- ing, on our part, to sacrifice every thing which reason can 35 ask, to the restoration of that tranquility for which all must wish. On their part, let them be ready to establish union and a generous plan. Let them name their terms, but let them be just. Accept of every commercial preference it is in our power to give for such things as we can raise for their 40 use, or they make for ours. But let them not think to ex- clude us from going to other markets to dispose of those commodities which they cannot use, or to supply those wants which they cannot supply. Still less, let it be pro- posed that our properties within our own territories, shall 45 be taxed or regulated by any power on earth but our own. The God wdio gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time ; 46 AMERICAN LITERATURE the hand of force may destroy, but cannot disjoin them. This, Sire, is our last, our determined resolution ; and that 50 you will be pleased to interpose with that efficacy which your earnest endeavours may ensure to procure redress of these our great grievances, to quiet the minds of your sub- jects in British America, against any apprehensions of fu- ture encroachment, to establish fraternal love and harmony 55 through the whole empire, and that these may continue to the latest ages of time, is the fervent prayer of all British America ! ALEXANDER HAMILTON The Union as a Safeguard Against Domestic Faction and Insurrection (From The Federalist, No. IX) To THE People of the State of New York : A firm Union will be of the utmost moment to the peace and liberty of the States, as a barrier against domestic fac- tion and insurrection. It is impossible to read the history 5 of the petty republics of Greece and Italy without feeling sensations of horror and disgust at the distractions with which they were continually agitated, and at the rapid suc- cession of revolutions by which they were kept in a state of perpetual vibration between the extremes of tyranny and 10 anarchy. If they exhibit occasional calms, these only serve as short-lived contrasts to the furious storms that are to succeed. If now and then intervals open to view, we be- hold them with a mixture of regret, arising from the reflec- tion that the pleasing scenes before us are soon to be over- 15 whelmed by the tempestuous waves of sedition and party rage. If momentary rays of glory break forth from the gloom, while they dazzle us with a transient and fleeting ALEXANDER HAMILTON 47 brilliancy, they at the same time admonish us to lament that the vices of government should pervert the direction and tarnish the lustre of those bright talents and exalted 20 endowments for which the favored souls that produced them have been so justly celebrated. From the disorders that disfigure the annals of those republics the advocates of despotism have drawn arguments, not only against the forms of republican government, but 25 against the very principles of civil liberty. They have decried all free government as inconsistent with the order of society, and have indulged themselves in malicious exul- tation over its friends and partisans. Happily for man- kind, stupendous fabrics reared on the basis of liberty, 30 which have flourished for ages, have, in a few glorious in- stances, refuted their gloomy sophisms. And, I trust, America will be the broad and solid foundation of other edifices, not less magnificent, which will be equally perma- nent monuments of their errors. 35 But it is not to be denied that the portraits they have sketched of republican government were too just copies of the originals from which they were taken. If it had been found impracticable to have devised models of a more per- fect structure, the enlightened friends to liberty would have 40 been obliged to abandon the cause of that species of govern- ment as indefensible. The science of politics, however, like most other sciences, has received great improvement. The efficacy of various principles is now well understood, which were either not known at all, or imperfectly known to the 45 ancients. The regular distribution of power into distinct departments; the institution of courts composed of judges holding their offices during good behaviour ; the representa- tion of the people in the legislature by deputies of their own election: these are wholly new discoveries, or have 50 made their principal progress towards perfection in modern 48 AMERICAN LITERATURE times. They are means, and powerful means, by which the excellences of republican government may be retained and its imperfections lessened or avoided. To this catalogue of 55 circumstances that tend to the amelioration of popular sys- tems of civil government, I shall venture, however it may appear to some, to add one more, on a principle which has been made the foundation of an objection to the new Con- stitution ; I mean the enlargement of the orbit within 60 which such systems are to revolve, either in respect to the dimensions of a single State, or to the consolidation of sev- eral smaller States into one great Confederacy. The latter is that which immediately concerns the object under consid- eration. It will, however, be of use to examine the princi- 65 pie in its application to a single State, which shall be attended to in another place. The utility of a Confederacy as well to suppress fac- tion and to guard the internal tranquillity of states, as to increase their external force and security, is in reality not a 70 new idea. It has been practised upon in different countries and ages, and has received the sanction of the most ap- proved writers on the subject of politics. The opponents of the plan proposed have, with great assiduity, cited and circulated the observations of Montesquieu on the necessity 75 of contracted territory for a republican government. But they seem not to have been apprised of the sentiments of that great man expressed in another part of his work, nor to have adverted to the consequences of the principle to which they subscribe with such ready acquiescence. 80 When Montesquieu recommends a small extent for re- publics, the standards he had in view were of dimensions far short of the limits of almost every one of these States. Neither Virginia, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York, North Carolina, nor Georgia can by any means be com- 85 pared with the models from which he reasoned and to JOHN WOOLMAN 49 which the terms of his description apply. If we therefore take his ideas on this point as the criterion of truth, we shall be driven to the alternative either of 1:aking refuge at once in the arms of monarchy, or of splitting ourselves into an infinity of little, jealous, clashing, tumultuous common- 90 wealths, the wretched nurseries of unceasing discord, and the miserable objects of universal pity or contempt. Some of the writers who have come forward on the other side of the question seem to have been aware of the dilemma ; and have even been bold enough to hint at the division of the 95 larger States as a desirable thing. Such an infatuated policy, such a desperate expedient, might, by the multipli- cation of petty officers, answer the views of men who possess not qualifications to extend their influence beyond the narrow circles of personal intrigue, but it could never 100 promote the greatness or happiness of the people of America. JOHN WOOLMAN An Anti-slavery Mission {From his Journal) As the people in this and the southern provinces live much on the labor of slaves, many of whom are used hardly, my concern was, that I might attend with singleness of heart to the voice of the true Shepherd, and be so supported as to remain unmoved at the faces of men. 5 As it is common for Friends on such a visit to have enter- tainment free of cost, a difficulty arose in my mind with respect to saving my money by kindness received, which to me appeared to be the gain of oppression. Eeceiving a gift, considered as a gift, brings the receiver 10 under obligations to the benefactor, and has a natural ten- dency to draw the obliged into a party with the giver. To 50 AMERICAN LITERATURE prevent difficulties of this kind, and to preserve the minds of judges from any bias, was that Divine prohibition; 15 " Thou shalt no*l receive any gift ; for a gift blindeth the wise, and perverteth the words of the righteous." As the disciples were sent forth without any provision for their journey, and our Lord said the workman is worthy of his meat, their labor in the Gospel was considered as a reward 20 for their entertainment, and therefore not received as a gift; yet, in regard to my present journey, I could not see my way clear in that respect. The difference appeared thus : The entertainment the disciples met with, was from such whose hearts God had opened to receive them, from a 25 love to them, and the truth they published. But we, con- sidered as members of the same religious Society, look upon it as a piece of civility to receive each other in such visits ; and such reception, at times, is partly in regard to reputa- tion, and not from an inward unity of heart and spirit. 30 Conduct is more convincing than language ; and where people, by their actions, manifest that the slave-trade is not so disagreeable to their principles but that it may be encouraged, there is not a sound uniting with some Friends who visit them. 35 The prospect of so weighty a work, and being so distin- guished from many whom I esteemed before myself, brought me very low ; and such were the conflicts of my soul, that I had a near sympathy with the prophet, in the time of his weakness, when he said, " If thou deal thus with me, kill 40 me, I pray thee, if I have found favor in thy sight " ; but I soon saw that this proceeded from the want of a full resig- nation to the Divine will. Many were the afflictions which attended me ; and in great abasement, with many tears, my cries were to the Almighty, for his gracious and fatherly 45 assistance ; and then, after a time of deep trial, I was favored to understand the state mentioned by the Psalmist, JOHN WOOLMAN 51 more clearly than ever I had before ; to wit : " My soul is even as a weaned child."' Being thus helped to sink down into resignation, I felt a deliverance from that tempest in which I had been sorely exercised, and in calmness of mind 50 went forward, trusting that the Lord Jesus Christ, as I faithfully attended to him, would be a counsellor to me in all difficulties ; and that by his strength I should be enabled even to leave money with the members of Society where I had entertainment, when I found that omitting it would ob- 55 struct that work to which I believed he had called me. And as I copy this after my return, I may add, that often- times I did so, under a sense of duty. The way in which I did it was this; when I expected soon to leave a Friend's house where I had had entertainment, if I believed that 1 60 should not keep clear from the gains of oppression without leaving money, I spoke to one of the heads of the family privately, and desired him to accept of some pieces of silver, and give them to such of the negroes as he believed would make the best use of them ; and at other times I gave them 65 to the negroes myself, as the way looked clearest to me. As I expected this before I came out, I had provided a large number of small pieces; and thus offering them to some who appeared to be wealthy people, was a trial both to me and them : but the fear of the Lord so covered me at times, 70 that my way was made easier than I expected ; and few, if any, manifested any resentment at the offer, and most of them, after some talk, accepted of them. The 7th day of the fifth month, in the year 1757, 1 lodged at a Friend's house, who putting us a little on our way, I 75 had conversation with him in the fear of the Lord, concern- ing his slaves; in which my heart was tender, and I used much plainness of speech with him, which he appeared to take kindly. We pursued our journey without appointing meetings, being pressed in my mind to be at the Yearly 80 52 AMERICAN LITERATURE Meeting in Virginia. In my travelling on the road, I often felt a cry rising from the center of my mind, Lord, I am a stranger on the earth, hide not thy face from me. On the 11th day of the fifth month, we crossed the rivers Potomac 85 and Rappahannock, and lodged at Port Royal : and on the way we happening in company with a colonel of the militia, • who appeared to be a thoughtful man, I took occasion to remark on the difference in general between a people used to labor moderately for their living, training up their chil- 90 dren in frugality and business, and those who live on the labor of slaves; the former, in my view, being the most happy life : with which he concurred, and mentioned the trouble arising from the untoward, slothful disposition of the negroes ; adding, that one of our laborers would do as 95 much in a day as two of their slaves. I replied, that free men, whose minds were properly on their business, found a satisfaction in improving, cultivating, and providing for their families ; but negroes, laboring to support others, who claim them as their property, and expecting nothing but 100 slavery during life, had not the like inducement to be in- dustrious. After some further conversation, I said that men having power, too often misapplied it ; that though we made slaves of the negroes, and the Turks made slaves of the Christians, 105 1 believed that liberty was the natural right of all men equally ; which he did not deny ; but said the lives of the negroes were so wretched in their own country, that many of them lived better here than there. I only said there is great odds in regard to us, on what principle we act ; and 110 so the conversation on that subject ended. I may here add, that another person, some time afterward, mentioned the wretchedness of the negroes, occasioned by their intestine wars, as an argument in favor of our fetching them away as slaves ; to which I then replied, if compassion on the FRANCIS HOPKINSON 53 Africans, in regard to their domestic troubles, were the 115 real motives of our purchasing them, that S2:)irit of tender- ness being attended to, would incite us to use them kindly, that as strangers brought out of affliction, their lives might be happy among us ; and as they are human creatures, whose souls are as precious as ours, and who may receive 120 the same help and comfort from the holy Scriptures as we do, we could not omit suitable endeavors to instruct them therein. But while we manifest by our conduct, that our views in purchasing them are to advance ourselves; and while our buying captives taken in war, animates those 125 parties to push on that war, and increase desolation amongst them ; to say they live unhappily in Africa, is far from being an argument in our favor. I further said, the present circumstances of these provinces to me appear difficult; the slaves look like a burthensome stone to such who burthen 130 themselves with them, and that if the white people retain a resolution to prefer their outward prospects of gain to all other considerations, and do not act conscientiously toward them as fellow-creatures, I believe that burthen will grow heavier and heavier, until times change in a way disagree- 135 able to us. At this the person appeared very serious, and owned, that in considering their condition, and the manner of their treatment in these provinces, he had sometimes thought it might be just in the Almighty so to order it. FRANCIS HOPKINSON {Fmm The Battle of the Kegs) Gallants attend and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty, Strange things I'll tell which late befell In Philadelphia cit3\ 54 AMERICAN LITERATURE 5 'Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on a log of wood. And saw a thing surprising. As in amaze he stood to gaze, 10 The truth can't be denied, sir. He spied a score of kegs or more Come floating down the tide, sir. A sailor too in jerkin blue, This strange appearance viewing, 15 First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, Then said some mischief's brewing. These kegs, I'm told, the rebels bold, Pack'd up like pickling herring ; And they're come down t'attack the town, 20 In this new way of ferrying. The soldier flew, the sailor too, And scar'd almost to death, sir. Wore out their shoes, to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sir. 25 Now up and down throughout the town. Most frantic scenes were acted; And some ran here, and others there, Like men almost distracted. " Arise, arise," sir Erskine cries, 30 " The rebels — more's the pity, Without a boat are all afloat, And rang'd before the city. " The motley crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, 35 Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir. FRANCIS HOPKINSON 55 " Therefore prepare for bloody war, These kegs must all be routed, Or surely we despised shall be. And British courage doubted." 40 The royal band, now ready stand All raiig'd in dread array, sir, With stomach stout to see it out. And make a bloody day, sir. The cannons roar from shore to shore, 45 The small arms make a rattle ; Since wars began I'm sure no man E'er saw so strange a battle. The rebel dales, the rebel vales. With rebel trees surrounded; 50 The distant wood, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded. The fish below swam to and fro, Attack'd from ev'ry quarter; Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 55 'Mongst folks above the water. The kegs, 'tis said, tho' strongly made. Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, Could not oppose their powerful foes. The conqu'ring British troops, sir. 60 From morn to night these men of might Display'd amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retir'd to sup their porrage. An hundred men with each a pen, 65 Or more upon my word, sir, It is most true would be too few, Their valour to record, sir. 56 AMERICAN LITERATURE . Such feats did they perforin that day, 70 Against these wick'd kegs, sir, That years to come, if they get home. They'll make their boasts and brags, sir. ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS Paul Jones A song unto Liberty's brave Buccaneer, Ever bright be tlie fame of the patriot Rover, For our rights he first fought in his " black privateer," And faced the proud foe ere our sea they cross'd over, 5 In their channel and coast. He scattered their host. And proud Britain robbed of her sea-ruling boast. And her rich merchants' barks shunned the ocean in fear Of Paul. Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. 10 In the first fleet that sailed in defence of our laud, Paul Jones forward stood to defend freedom's arbor. He led the bold Alfred at Hopkins' command, And drove the fierce foeman from Providence harbor, 'Twas his hand that raised 15 The first flag that blazed, And his 'deeds 'neath the "Pine tree" all ocean amaz'd, For hundreds of foes met a watery bier From Paul Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. His arm crushed the Tory and mutinous crew 20 That strove to have freemen inhumanly butchered; Remembered his valor at proud Flamborough, When he made the bold Serapis strike to the Richard; Oh ! he robbed of their store The vessels sent o'er 25 To feed all the Tories and foes on our shore. He gave freemen the spoils and long may they revere The name of fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS 57 The Riflemen's Song at Bennington Why come ye hither, strauger? Your mind what madness fills ? In our valleys there is danger, And danger on our hills ! Hear ye not the singing 5 Of the bugle, wild and free ? Full soon ye'll know the ringing Of the rifle from the tree ! The rifle, the sharp rifle ! In our hands it is no trifle ! 10 Ye ride a goodly steed; He may know another master : Ye forward come with speed, But ye'll learn to back much faster. When ye meet our mountain boys 15 And their leader, Johnny Stark ! Lads who make but little noise, But who always hit the mark AVith the rifle, the true rifle ! In their hands will prove no trifle ! 20 Had ye no graves at home Across the briny water, That hither ye must come, Like bullocks to the slaughter ? If we the work must do, 25 Why, the sooner 'tis begun. If flint and trigger hold but true, The quicker 'twill be done By the rifle, the good rifle ! In our hands it is no trifle ! 30 58 AMERICAN LITERATURE TIMOTHY DWIGHT Columbia Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. The queen of the world, and child of the skies! Thy genius commands thee ; with raptures behold, While ages on ages thy splendours unfold. 5 Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time. Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime. Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame. To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire, 10 Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire. Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws, Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 15 On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise. Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar. And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star. New bards, and new sages, unrival'd shall soar 20 To fame, unextinguish'd, when time is no more ; To thee, the last refuge of virtue design'd. Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring. 25 Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend. And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend ; The graces of form shall awake pure desire. And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ; Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin'd, 30 And Virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind. With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow. And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. Thy fleets to all nations thy pow'r shall display, The nations admire, and the ocean obey ; JOHN TRUMBULL 59 Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 35 And the east and ttie south yield their spices and gold. As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendour shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd, Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world. 40 Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, From war's dread confusion I pensively stray'd — The gloom from the face of fair heav'n retired ; The winds ceas'd to murmur; the thunders expir'd ; Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along, 45 And a voice, as of angels, enchantiiigly sung : " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." JOHN TRUMBULL McFingal's Sentence {From McFingal, Canto III) Meanwhile beside the pole, the guard . A Bench of Justice had prepared. Where sitting round in awful sort The grand Committee held their Court; Wliile all the crew, in silent awe, 5 Wait from their lips the lore of law. Few moments with deliberation They hold the solemn consultation ; When soon in judgment all agree. And Clerk proclaims the dread decree; 10 " That 'Squire McFingal having grown The vilest Tory in the town. And now in full examination Convicted by his own confession. Finding no tokens of repentance, This Court proceeds to render sentence : 60 AMERICAN LITERATURE That first the Mob a slip-knot single Tie round the neck of said McFitigal, And in due form do tar hitn next, 20 And feather, as the law directs ; Then through the town attendant ride him, In cart with Constable beside him. And having held him up to shame. Bring to the pole, from whence he came." McFingal's Flight {Fro7n McFingal, Canto IV) McFingal deem'd it vain to stay, And risk his bones in second fray : But chose a grand retreat from foes. In literal sense, be?ieath their nose. 5 The window then, which none else knew, He softly open'd and crept through. And crawling slow in deadly fear, By movements wise made good his rear. Then ^corning all the fame of martyr, 10 For Boston took his swift departure. Nor looked back on the fatal spot. More than the family of Lot. Not North in more distress'd condition, Out-voted first by opposition ; 15 Nor good King George, when our dire phantom Of Independence came to haunt him, Which hovering round by night and day. Not all his conj'rors e'er could lay. His friends, assembled for his sake, 20 He wisely left in pawn, at stake, To tarring, feath'ring, kicks and drubs Of furious, disappointed mobs, Or with their forfeit heads to pay For him, their leader, crept away. JOEL BARLOW 61 So when wise Noah summon'd greeting, 25 All animals to gen'ral meeting, From every side the members went. All kinds of beasts to represent ; Each, from the flood, took care t'embark, And save his carcase in the ark : 30 But as it fares in state and church, Left his constituents in the lurch. JOEL BARLOW Washington to his Troops {From The Vision of Columbus, Book V) In front great Washington exalted shone. His eye directed tow'rd the half-seen sun ; As through the mist the bursting splendors glow. And light the passage to the distant foe. His waving steel returns the living day, 5 Clears the broad plains, and marks the warrior's way ; The forming columns range in order bright. And move impatient for the promis'd fight. When great Columbus saw the chief arise. And his bold blade cast lightning on the skies, 10 He trac'd the form that met his view before. On drear Ohio's desolated shore. Matur'd with years, with nobler glory warm, Fate in his eye, and vengeance on his arm, The great observer here with joy beheld 15 The hero moving in a broader field. While other chiefs and heirs of deathless fame Rise into sight, and equal honors claim ; But w^ho can tell the dew-drops of the morn ? Or count the rays that in the diamond burn? 20 62 AMERICAN LITERATURE Now, the broad field as untry'd warriors shade, The sun's glad beam their shining ranks display'd; The glorious Leader wav'd his glittering steel, Bade the long train in circling order wheel ; 25 And, while the banner'd host around him press'd, With patriot ardour thus the ranks address'd : — " Ye generous bands, behold the task to save, Or yield whole nations to an instant grave. See headlong myriads crowding to your shore, 30 Hear, from all ports, their boasted thunders roar ; From Charlestown-heights their bloody standards play, O'er far Champlain they lead their northern way, Virginian banks behold their streamers glide. And hostile navies load each southern tide. 35 Beneath their ships your towns in ashes lie, Your inland empires feast their greedy eye ; Soon shall your fields to lordly parks be turn'd, Your children butcher'd, and your villas burn'd; While following millions, thro' the reign of time, 40 Who claim their birth in this indulgent clime. Bend the weak knee, to servile toils consign'd, And sloth and slavery overwhelm mankind. Rise then to war, to noble vengeance rise, Ere the grey sire, the hapless infant dies ; 45 Look thro' the world where endless years descend, What realms, what ages on your arms depend ! Reverse the fate, avenge th' insulted sky ; Move to the strife — we conquer or we die." So spoke the chief ; and with his guiding hand 50 Points the quick toil to each surrounding band. At once the different lines are wheeled afar, In different realms, to meet the gathering war. THOMAS GODFREY 63 THOMAS GODFREY Song For CJiloris long I sigh'd in vain, Nor could her bosom move, She met my vows with cold disdain, And scorn returned for Love. At length, grown weary of her pride, I left the haughty Maid, Corlnna's fetters now I try'd. Who love for love repaid. With her the pleasing hours I waste. With her such joys I prove, 10 As kindred Souls alone can taste, When join'd in mutual Love. Ye Shepherds hear, not slight my strain, Fly, fly the scornful Fair, Kind Nymphs you'll find to ease your pain, 15 And soften ev'ry care. When in Celiacs Heavenly Eye When in Cello's heavenly Eye Soft inviting Love I spy, Tho' you say 'tis all a cheat, I must clasp .the dear deceit. Why should I more knowledge gain, When it only gives me pain ? If deceived I'm still at rest. In the sweet delusion blest. 64 AMERICAN LITERATURE {From The Prince of Parthia) Act V, Scene I The Palace The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers Evanthe sleeping on a Sofa; after the music ceases, Vardanes enters. Vardanes. Now shining Empire standing at the goal, Beck'ns me forward to increase my speed ; 5 But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes, Lysias I'll. urge to ease me of his life. Then give the villain up to punishment. The shew of justice gains the changeling croud. Besides, I ne'er will harbour in my bosom 10 Such serpents, ever ready with their stings — But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe — Hence with ambition's cares — see, where reclin'd, In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss'd. Sleep seems to heighten ev'ry beauteous feature, 15 And adds peculiar softness to each grace. She weeps — in dreams some lively sorrow pains her — I'll take one kiss — oh ! what a balmy sweetness! Give me another — and another still — For ever thus I'd dwell upon her lips. 20 Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports. — Wake her, with music, from this mimic death. [Music sounds.] Song Tell' me, Phillis, tell me why, You appear so wond'rous coy. When that glow, and sparkling eye, 25 Speak you want to taste the joy ? Prithee give this fooling 'o'er. Nor torment your lover more. AVhile youth is warm within our veins. And nature tempts us to be gay, 30 Give to pleasure loose the reins, Love and youth fly swift away. THOMAS GODFREY 65 Youth in pleasure should be spent, Age will come, we'll then repent. EvANTHE (waking) I come ye lovely shades — Ha! am I here? Still in the tyrant's palace? Ye bright pow'rs ! 35 Are all my blessings then but vis'onary? Methought I was arriv'd on that blest shore Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown'd with Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through The flow'ry groves, while all around me gleam'd 40 Thousand and thousand shades, who vvelcom'd me With pleasing songs of joy — Vardanes, ha! — Vardanes. Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye Against thy sighing slave? Is love a crime? Oh ! if to dote, with such excess of passion 45 As rises e'en to mad extravagance Is criminal, I then am so, indeed, EvANTHE. Away ! vile man ! — Vardanes. • If to pursue thee e'er With all the humblest offices of love, 50 If ne'er to know one single thought that does Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn — EvANTHE. Hence from my sight — nor let me, thus, pollute Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee. Thou cause of all my ills ; I sicken at 55 Thy loathsome presence — Vardanes. 'Tis not always thus, Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love With rage and fierce disdain : Arsaces, soon. Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast. 60 Evanthe. Ha ! does it gall thee ? Yes, he could, he could ; Oh ! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon His accents, all my soul dissolves to love, And warm desire ; such truth and beauty join'd I His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness 05 Such virtue swells his bosom ! in his eye Sits majesty, commanding ev'ry heart. Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove, 66 AMERICAN LITERATURE More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, 70 Than asphodels or roses infant sweets. Oh! I could dwell forever on his praise. Yet think eternity was scarce enough To tell the mighty theme ; here in my breast His image dwells, but one dear thought of him, 75 When fancy paints his Person to my eye, As he was wont in tenderness dissolv'd, Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet, Wipes off all mem'ry of my wretchedness. Vardaxes. I know this brav'ry is affected, yet 80 It gives me joy, to think my rival only Can in imagination taste thy beauties. Let him, — 'twill ease him in his solitude. And gild the horrors of his prison-house. Till death shall — 85 EvANTHE. Ha! what was that? till death — ye Gods 1 Ah, now I feel distress's tort'ring pang — Thou canst not villain — darst not think his death — O mis'ry ! — Vardanes. Naught but your kindness saves him, 90 Yet bless me with your love, and he is safe; But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, Gives him to death. CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN A Mysterious Voice (From Wieland, Chap. IX) T returned to the closet, and once more put my hand upon the lock. Oh, may my ears lose their sensibility ere they be again assailed by a shriek so terrible 1 Not merely my understanding was subdued by the sound ; it acted on my 5 nerves like an edge of steel. It appeared to cut asunder the fibres of my brain and rack every joint with agony. CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 67 The cry, loud and ])iercing as it was, was nevertheless human. No articulation was ever more distinct. The breath which accompanied it did not fan my hair, yet did every circumstance combine to persuade me that the lips lo which uttered it touched my very shoulder. '' Hold ! hold ! " were the words of this tremendous pro- hibition, in whose tone the whole soul seemed to be wrapped up, and every energy converted into eagerness and terror. Shuddering, I dashed myself against the wall, and, by 15 the same involuntary impulse, turned my face backward to examine the mysterious monitor. The moonlight streamed into each window, and every corner of the room was con- spicuous, and yet I beheld nothing! The interval was too brief to be artificially measured, be- 20 tween the utterance of these words and my scrutiny directed to the quarter whence they came. Yet, if a human being had been there, could he fail to have been visible ? Which of my senses was the prey of a fatal illusion ? The shock which the sound produced was still felt in every part of my 25 frame. The sound, therefore, could not but be a genuine commotion. But that I had heard it was not more true than that the being who uttered it was stationed at my right ear ; yet my attendant was invisible. I cannot describe the state of my thoughts at that 30 moment. Surprise had mastered my faculties. My frame shook, and the vital current was congealed. I was conscious only to the vehemence of my sensations. This condition could not be lasting. Like a tide, which suddenly mounts to an overwhelming height and then gradually subsides, my 35 confusion slowly gave place to order, and my tumults to a calm. I was able to deliberate and move. I resumed my feet, and advanced into the midst of the room. Upward, and behind, and on each side, I threw penetrating glances. I was not satisfied with one examination. He that hitherto 40 68 AMERICAN LITERATURE refused to be seen might change his purpose, and on the next survey be clearly distinguishable. Solitude imposes least restraint upon the fancy. Dark is less fertile of images than the feeble lustre of the moon. I 45 was alone, and the walls were checkered by shadowy forms. As the moon passed behind a cloud and emerged, these shadows seemed to be endowed with life, and to move. The apartment was open to the breeze, and the curtain was occasionally blown from its ordinary position. This motion 50 was not unaccompanied with sound. I failed not to snatch a look and to listen when this motion and this sound occurred. My -belief that my monitor was posted near was strong, and instantly converted these appearances to tokens of his presence ; and yet I could discern nothing. PHILIP FRENEAU A Political Litany Libera nos, Domine — Deliver us, O Lord, Not only from British dependence, but also, From a junto that labor for absolute power, Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour ; 5 From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom Who still follow on where delusion shall lead 'em. From groups at Saint eJames's who slight our Petitions, And fools that are waiting for further submissions ; From a nation whose manners are rough and abrupt, 10 From scoundrels and rascals whom gold can corrupt. From pirates sent out by command of the king To murder and phmder,but never to swing; From Wallace, and Graves, and Vipors, and Roses, Whom, if Heaven pleases, we'll give bloody noses. PHILIP FRENEAU 69 From the valiant Duinuore, with his crew of banditti 15 Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city, From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear, The little fat man with his pretty white hair. From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne, 20 From assemblies that vote against Congress' proceedings (Who now see the fruit of their stupid, misleadings). From Tryon, the mighty, who flies from our city, And swelled with importance, disdains the committee (But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes, 25 What the devil care we where the devil he goes). From the caitiff, Lord North, who would bind us in chains. From our noble King Log, with his toothful of brains, Who dreams, and is certain (when taking a nap). He has conquered our lands as they lay on his map. 30 From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears, I send up to Heaven my wishes and prayers That we, disunited, may freemen be still. And Britain go on — to be damn'd if she will. Eutaw Springs At Eutaw Springs the valiant died ; Their limbs with dust are covered o'er — Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide ; How many heroes are no more ! If in this wreck of ruin, they 5 Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite your gentle breast, and say The friends of freedom slumber here ! Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, 10 Sigh for the wasted rural reign ; Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest ! 70 AMERICAN LITERATURE Stranger, their humble graves adorn; You too may fall, and ask a tear ; 15 'Tis not the beauty of the inoru That proves the evening shall be clear. — They sav^^ their injured country's woe ; The flaming town, the wasted field ; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe ; 20 They took the spear — but left the shield. Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, Tlie Britons they compelled to fly ; None distant viewed the fatal plain. None grieved, in such a cause to die — 25 But, like the Parthian, famed of old. Who, flying, still their arrows threw, These routed Britons, full as bold, Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace, our patriot band ; 30 Though far from nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A brighter sunshine of their own. The Wild Honey Suckle Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet : 5 No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature's self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade, 10 And sent soft waters murmuring by ; Thus quietly thy summer goes. Thy days declining to repose. PHILIP FRENEAU 71 Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see yom* future doom ; They died — nor were those flowers more gay, 15 The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power Shall leave no vestige of this flower. From morning suns and evening dews At first thy little being came : 20 If nothing once, you nothing lose. For when you die you are the same ; The space between is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower. The Death Song of a Cherokee Indian The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away. Begin, ye tormentors : your threats are in vain For the son of Alknomock can never complain. Remember the woods, where in ambush he lay, 5 And the scalps which he bore from your nation away ! Why do ye delay ? — 'till I shrink from my pain ? Know the son of Alknomock can never complain. Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low, 10 The flame rises high, you exult in my pain ? Know the son of Alknomock will never complain. I go to the land where my father is gone : His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son, Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain, 15 And thy. son, O Alknomock, has scorned to complain. 72 AMERICAN LITERATURE May to April Without your showers, I breed no flowers, Each field a barren waste appears ; If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep. They take such pleasures in your tears. 5 As your decay made room for May, So I must part with all that's mine : My balmy breeze, my blooming trees To torrid suns their sweets resign ! O'er April dead, my shades I spread : 10 To her I owe my dress so gay — Of daughters three, it falls on me To close our triumphs on one day ; Thus to repose, all Nature goes ; Month after month must find its doom: 15 Time on the wing, May ends the Spring, And Summer dances on her tomb ! WASHINGTON IRVING The Character of Peter Stuyvesant {From Knickerbocker's History of New York, Book V, Chap. I) Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, the best, of our ancient Dutch governors. Wouter having surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, or Piet, as he was sociably called by the old Dutch burghers, 5 who were ever proud to familiarize names, having never been equaled by any successor. He was in fact the man fitted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes of her beloved province, had not the fates, those most potent and unrelenting of all ancient spinsters, destined them to 10 inextricable confusion. WASHINGTON IRVING * 73 To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him great injustice: he was in truth a combination^ of heroes; for he was of a sturdy, raw-boned make, like Ajax Telamon, with, a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would have given his hide for (meaning his lion's hide) when he 15 undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, more- over, as Plutarch describes Ccriolanus, not only terrible for the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and, like the self- same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the 20 sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake with terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly heightened by an accidental advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer 25 nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he had gained in bravely fighting the battles of his country, but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard to declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put 30 together ; indeed, so highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related in divers histories and legends that he wore a silver leg.^ Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was somewhat 35 subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were rather unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose percep- tions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illus- trious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their shoulders with his walking-staff. 40 • Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, or Hobbes, or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, 1 See the histories of Masters Josselyn and Blome. (Irving's note.) 74 * AMERICAN LITERATURE yet did he sometimes manifest a shrewdness and sagacity in his measures, that one would hardly expect from a man 45 who did not know Greek, and had* never studied the an- cients. True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he had an unreasonable aversion to experiments, and was fond of governing his province after the simplest manner; but then he contrived to keep it in better order than did the 50 erudite Kieft, though he had all the philosophers, ancient and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise own that he made but very few laws ; but then, again, he took care that those few were rigidly and impartially en- forced; and I do not know but justice, on the whole, was 55 as well administered as if there had been volumes of sage acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected and for- gotten. He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, be- ing neither tranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor 60 restless and fidgeting, like William the Testy, — but a man, or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity and de- cision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the advice of others, — depending bravely upon his single head, as would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to carry him 65 through all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, he wanted nothing to complete him as a statesman than to think always right ; for no one can say but that he always acted as he thought. He was never a man to flinch when he found himself in a scrape, but to dash forward 70 through thick and thin, trusting, by hook or by crook, to make all things straight in the end. In a word, he pos- sessed, in an eminent degree, that great quality in a states- man, called perseverance by the polite, but nicknamed obstinancy by the vulgar, — a wonderful salve for official 75 blunders, since he who perseveres 'in error without flinch- ing gets the credit of boldness and consistency, while he WASHINGTON IRVING 75 who wavers iiT seeking to do what is right gets stigmatized as a trimmer. This much is certain; and it is a maxim well worthy the attention of all legislators, great and small, who stand shaking in the wind, irresolute which way to 80 steer, that a ruler who follows his own will pleases himself, while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of others runs great risk of pleasing nobody. There is noth- ing, too, like putting down one's foot resolutely when in doubt, and letting things take their course. The clock that 85 stands still points right twice in the four-and-twenty hours, while others may keep going continuall}^ and be continually going wrong. Nor did this magnanimous quality escape the discern- ment of the good people of Nieuw Nederlands ; on the con- 90 trary, so much were they struck with the independent will and vigorous resolution displayed on all occasions by their new governor, that they universally called him Hard-Koppig Piet, or Peter the Headstrong, — a great compliment to the strength of his understanding. 95 If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion- hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have written to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing con- 100 elusions. The Devil and Tom Walker {From Tales of a Traveler) A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the country from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; on the oppttsite side the land rises 5 76 AMERICAN LITERATURE abruptly from the water's edge into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, there was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the 10 pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill ; the elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be kept that no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be 15 found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devil presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his guardianship ; but this, it is well known, he always does with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill- gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 20 his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and there hanged for a pirate. About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a 25 meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly as himself : they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 30 Her husband was continually prying about to detect her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the conflicts that took place about what ought to have been common property. They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood alone, and had an air of starvation. A few straggling savin trees, 35 emblems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever curled from its chimney; no travelers stopped at its door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of puddingstone, WASHINGTON IRVING 77 tantalized and balked his hunger; and sometimes he would 40 lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the passerby, and seem to petition deliverance from this land of famine. The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in 45 wordy warfare with her husband ; and his face sometimes showed signs that their conflicts were not confined to words. No one ventured, however, to interfere between them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance ; and 50 hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in his celibacy. One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut homeward, through the swamp. Like most short cuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 55 with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high, which made it dark at noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses, where the green surface often betrayed the traveler into a gulf of 60 black, smothering mud : there were also dark and stagnant pools, the abode of the tadpole, the bull-frog, and the water- snake ; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half- drowned, half-rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. 65 Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded precarious footholds among deep sloughs ; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate , trunks of trees ; startled now and then by the sudden 70 screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At length he arrived at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a penin- 78 AMERICAN LITERATURE sula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one 75 of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars with the first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, and had used as a place of refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing remained of the old Indian fort but a few embank- 80 ments, gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and other forest trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 85 reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- QOserted that the savages held incantations here, and made sacrifices to the evil spirit. Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the bod- 95 ing cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walking-staff into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against something hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mould, and lo ! a cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk buried deep in it, 100 lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the time that had elapsed since this death-blow had been given. It was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken place in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. " Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to 105 shake the dirt from it. " Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly WASHINGTON IRVING 79 opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one approach ; and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as the no gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his body ; but his face was neither black nor copper-color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as if he had us been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, and bore an axe on his shoulder. He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great red eyes. 120 " What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the black man, with a hoarse growling voice. " Your grounds ! " said Tom with a sneer ; " no more your grounds than mine ; they belong'to Deacon Peabody." " Deacon Peabody be d — d," said the stranger, " as I flat- 125 ter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring." Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but 130 rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind was likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains with the Indians. He now looked 135 around, and found most of the tall trees marked with the name of some great man of the colony, and all more or less scored by the axe. The one on which he had been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the name of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich 140 man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth. 80 AMERICAN LITERATURE which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneer- ing. " He's just ready for burning ! " said the black man, with 145 a growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have a good stock of firewood for winter." " But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut down Deacon Peabody's timber ? " '^ The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This wood- 150 land belonged to me long before one of your whitefaced race put foot upon the soil." " And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold ? " said Tom. " Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman in some countries ; the blaclv miner in others. In this neigh- 155 borhood I am known by the name of the black woodsman. I am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in honor of whom they now and then roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the red men have been exterminated by you white savages, I amuse myself by 160 presiding at the persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists ; I am the great patron and promoter of slave-dealers, and the grand-master of the Salem witches." " The upshot of all which is, if I mistake not," said Tom, sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old Scratch." 165 " The same, at your service ! " replied the black man, with a half civil nod. Such was the opening of this interview, according to the old story ; though it has almost too familiar an air to be cred- ited. One would think that to meet with such a singular 170 personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any man's nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife that he did not even fear the devil. It is said that after this commencement they had a long 175 and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned home- WASHINGTON IRVING 81 ward. The black man told him of great sums of money buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on the high ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his command, and protected by his power, so that none could find them but such as propitiated his favor. These he 180 offered to place within Tom Walker's reach, having con- ceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to be had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were may be easily surmised, though Tom never disclosed them publicly. They must have been very hard, for he required 185 tinre to think of them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles when money was in view. W^hen they had reached the edge of the swamp, the stranger paused — " What proof have I that all you have been telling me is true ? " said Tom. " There's my signature," said the black man, pressing his 190 finger on Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally disappeared. 195 When Tom reached home he found the black print of a finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing could obliterate. The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 200 was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that "A great man had fallen in Israel." Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just hewn down, and which was ready for burning. " Let the freebooter roast," said Tom, " who cares ? " He now felt 205 convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of hid- 82 AMERICAN LITERATURE » 210 den gold, ^nd she urged her husband to comply with the black man's terms, and secure what would make them wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do so to oblige his wife; so he flatly refused, out of the mere 215 spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quarrels they had on the subject ; but the more she talked, the more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. 220 Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, she* set off for the old Indian fort towards the close of a summer's day. She was many hours absent. When she came back, she was reserved and sullen in her replies. She spoke something of a black man, whom she had met about twilight, 225 hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, and would not come to terms : she was to go again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she forebore to say. The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, 230 but in vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her ap- pearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she did not' come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver tea- pot and spoons, and every portable article of value. An- 235 other night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. In a word, she was never heard of more. What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 240 Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough; others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with the household booty, and made off to some other province ; WASHINGTON IRVING 83 while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat was 245 found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a^ bundle tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph. The most current and probable story, however, observes, 250 that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and his property, that he set out at length to seek them both at the Indian fort. During a long summer's afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was to be seen. He- called her name repeatedly, but she was nowhere 255 to be heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as he flew screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the 260 clamor of carrion crows hovering about a cypress-tree. He looked up, and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and hanging in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy ; for he recognized his wife's apron, and supposed 265 it to contain the household valuables. " Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to himself, ^'and we will endeavor to do without the woman." As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of 270 the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but woeful sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! Such, according to this most authentic old story, was all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably at- tempted to deal with the black man as she had been accus- 275 tomed to deal with her husband ; but though a female scold is generally considered a match for the devil, yet in this 84 AMERICAN LITERATURE instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She must have died game, however ; for it is said Tom noticed many 280 prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess .by experience. He shrugged his . shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-claw- 285 ing. " Egad," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must have had a tough time of it ! " Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He even felt something like gratitude towards the black wood- 290 man, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. He sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with him, but for some time without success ; the old black-legs played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not always to be had for calling for : he knows how to play his cards 295 when pretty sure of his game. At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any- thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met the black man one evening in his usual woodman's dress, 300 with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's ad- vances with great indifference, made brief replies, and went on humming his tune. By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and 305 they began to haggle about the terms on which the former was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one condition which need not be mentioned, being generally understood in all cases where the devil grants favors; but there were others about which, though of less importance, he was in- 310 flexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found through his means should be employed in his service. He ' WASHINGTON IRVING 85 proposed, therefore, that Tom shoukl employ it in the black traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit put a slave-ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused : he was bad enough in all conscience ; but the devil himself could not tempt him 315 to turn slave-trader. Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not in- sist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for the increase of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people, 320 To this no objections v^ere made, for it was just to Tom's taste. " You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next month," said the black man. " I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 325 "You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." " Egad, I'll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. " You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the merchant to bankruptcy " ■ '•' I'll drive him to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 330 " You are the usurer for my money ! " said the black-legs with delight. " When will you want the rhino ? " # " This very night." " Done ! " said the devil. " Done ! " said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and 335 struck a bargain. A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his desk in a counting-house in Boston. His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend money out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. 340 Everybody remembers the time of Governor Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. It was a time of paper credit. The country had been deluged with government bills, the famous Land Bank had been established; there had been a rage for speculating ; the people had run mad 345 86 . AMERICAN LITERATURE with schemes for new settlements ; for building cities in the wilderness; lan^-jobbers went about with maps of grants, and townships, and Eldorados, lying nobody knew where, but which everybody was ready to purchase. In a word, 350 the great speculating fever which breaks out every now and then in the country had raged to an alarming degree, and everybody was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from nothing. As usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had gone off, and the imaginar}^ fortunes with it ; the patients 355 were left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded with the consequent cry of " hard times." At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged by customers. The needy and adventurous ; the gambling 360 speculator ; the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades- man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, every one driven to raise money by desperate means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and 365 acted like a " friend in need " ; that is to say, he always * exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his terms. He accumulated bonds and mortgages: gradually squeezed his customers closer and closer ; and sent them at length, 370 dry as a sponge, from his door. In this way he made money hand over hand ; became a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon ^Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of ostentation ; but left the greater part of it unfinished and 375 unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage in the fullness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved the horses which drew it; and as the ungreased wheels groaned and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing. WASHINGTON IRVING 87 As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having 380 secured the good things of this world, he began to feel anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set his wits to work to cheat him out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent church-goer. 385 He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he had sinned most during the week, by the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had been modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward were 390 struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed to think every sin entered up to their account became a 395 credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of the expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and Anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious as his riches. Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, 400 Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, there- fore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his coat- pocket. He had also a. great folio Bible on his counting- house desk, and would frequently be found reading it when 405 people called on business ; on such occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the book, to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his 410 horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost; because he supposed that at the last day the world would be turned upside down ; in which case he 88 AMERICAN LITERATURE should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he 415 was determined at the worst to give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives' fable. If he really did take such a precaution, it was totally super- fluous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which closes his story in the following manner. 420 One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as a terrible black thundergust was coming up, Tom sat in his counting-house in his white linen cap and India silk morning- gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin of an. unlucky land 425 speculator for whom he had professed the greatest friend- ship. The poor land-jobber begged him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy and irritated, and refused another day. " My family will be ruined, and brought upon the parish," 430 said the land-jobber. " Charity begins at home," replied Tom ; " I must take care of myself in these hard times." " You have made so much money out of me," said the speculator. Tom lost his patience and his piety — " The devil take 435 me," said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " Just then there were three loud knocks at the street door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man was holding a black horse, w^hich neighed and stamped with impatience. 440 " Tom, you're come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to fore- close : never was sinner taken more unawares. The black 445 man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave the horse the lash, and he galloped, with Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks stuck WASHINGTON IRVING 89 their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the streets; his white cap bobbing up and down; his morning- 450 gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks turned to look for the black man he had disappeared. Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. A countryman who lived on the border of the swamp re- 455 ported that in the height of the thundergust he had heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, and running to the window caught sight of a figure, such as I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad across the fields, over the hills, and down into the black 460 hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort ; and that shortly after a thunderbolt falling in that direction seemed to set the whole forest in a blaze. The* good peoj)le of Boston shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to 465 witches, and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in all kinds of shapes, from the first settlement of the colony, that they were not so much horror-struck as might have been ex- pected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of Tom's ef- fects. There was nothing, however, to administer upon. 470 On searching his coffers all his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and silver his iron chest was filled with chips and shavings ; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half-starved horses, and the very next day his great house took fire and was burnt to the 475 ground. Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very hole under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd's money, is to be 480 seen to this day ; and the neighboring swamp and old Indian 90 AMERICAN LITERATURE fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horse- back, in morning-gown and white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved 485 itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular say- ing, so prevalent throughout New England of '' The Devil and Tom Walker." WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT Thanatopsis To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer houi-s She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 5 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 10 Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — Go forth, under the open sky, and list 15 To Nature's teachings, while from all around — ■ Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more • In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 20 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 1 The poems of Bryant are reprinted by permission of D. Appleton & Co. the authorized publishers of his works. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 91 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25 To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30 Yet not ifo thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the' earth — the wise, the good, 35 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move 40 In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all. Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 45 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 50 Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first 55 The flight of years began, have laid them doM^n In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 60 92 AMERICAN LITERATURE When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 65 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 70 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves 75 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night. Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 80 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. To a Waterfowl Whither, midst falling dew. While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? 5 Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky. Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink 10 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side ? WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 93 There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — ^^ Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. ^ i^O And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend. Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given. And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone. Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 In the long way that I must tread alone. Will lead my steps aright. A Forest Hymn The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back ^ The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood. Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down. And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences 10 Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 94 AMERICAN LITERATURE Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 15 All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 20 Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thy hand 25 Hath reared these venerable columns. Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 30 And shot toward heaven. The century -living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 35 Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here — Thou fill'st 40 The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, 45 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here. In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around. From perch to perch, the solitary bird WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 95 Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 50 Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in the shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 55 Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated — not a prince, In all that proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 60 Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath and look 'so like a smile, 55 Seems, as it issues from the shapelejs mould. An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe. My heart is awed within me when I think 70 Of the great miracle that still goes on. In silence, round me — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. 75 Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors _, 80 Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries. The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 85 Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre. 96 AMERICAN LITERATURE And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 90 From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed 95 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them; — and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure 100 My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. O God ! when Thou Dost scare the world with tempest, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 105 With all the waters of the firmament. The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms 110 Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power. His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 115 Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 97 The Death of the Flowers The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; ' They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 5 And from the wood top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. lo The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind flower and the violet, they perished long ago. And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, 15 And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood. Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 20 When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still. And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore. And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 25 The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 98 AMERICAN LITERATURE In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, 30 So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. To the Fringed Gentian Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night, 5 Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen. Or columbines, in purple dressed. Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 10 When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, 15 Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. T would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, 20 May look to heaven as I depart. The Gladness of Nature Is this a time to be cloudy and sad. When our mother Nature laughs around ; When even the deep blue heavens look glad. And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT 99 There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 5 And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ; The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azui-e space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 10 And here they stretch to the frolic chase. And there they roll on the easy gale. »'' There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 15 And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 20 Robert of Lincoln Merrily swinging on brier and weed. Near to the nest of his little dame. Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 5 Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours. Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest. Hear him call in his merry note : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; ^^ Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. 100 AMERICAN LITERATURE Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 20 Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life. Broods in the grass while her husband sings Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; 25 Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. 30 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man ; 35 Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay. Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, 40 Robert is singing with all his might : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. 45 Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food : Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well. Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 50 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 101 Robert of Lincoln at length is made 55 Sober with work, and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; 60 Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 65 Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, 70 Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. The Hurricane Lord of the winds ! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky ! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane ! And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, 5 Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ; Silent, and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along. Like the dark eternity to come ; While the world below, dismayed and dumb, 10 Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. They darken fast — and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze. And he sends through the shade a funeral ray — 15 A glare that is neither night nor day. 102 AMERICAN LITERATURE A beam that touches, with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, 20 While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and ansv^^er the sound. He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 25 Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! — How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; How his huge and writhing arms are bent. To clasp the zone of the firmament. And fold, at length, in their dark embrace, 30 From mountain to mountain the visible space. Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air: And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 35 You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where'er they dart. As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow. What roar is that? — 'tis the rain that breaks 40 In torrents away from the airy lakes. Heavily poured on the shuddering ground. And shedding a nameless horror round. Ah ! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies, With the very clouds ! — ye are lost to my eyes. 45 I seek ye vainly and see in your place The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, A whirling ocean that fills the wall Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. And I, cut off from the world, remain 50 Alone with the terrible hurricane. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 103 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER The Fight Between the Ariel and the Alacrity {From The Pilot, Chapter i8) The English cutter held her way from the land, until she got an offing of more than two miles, when she reduced her sails to a yet smaller number; and heaving into the wind, she fired a gun in a direction opposite to that which pointed to the Ariel. 5 " jS"ow I would wager a quintal of codfish, Master Coffin," said Barnstable, " against the best cask of porter that was ever brewed in England, that fellow believes a Yankee schooner can fly in the wind's eye ! If he wishes to speak to us, why don't he give his cutter a little sheet, and come lO down ? " The cockswain had made his arrangements for the com- bat, with much more method and philosophy than any other man in the vessel. When the drum beat to quarters, he threw aside his jacket, vest, and shirt, with as little 15 hesitation as if he stood under an American sun, and with all the discretion of a man who had engaged in an under- taking that required the free use of his utmost powers. As he was known to be a privileged individual in the Ariel, and one whose opinions, in all matters of seamanship, were 20 regarded as oracles by the crew, and were listened to by his commander with no little demonstration of respect, the question excited no surprise. He was standing at the breech of his long gun, with his brawny arms folded on a breast that had been turned to the color of blood by long 25 exposure, his grizzled locks fluttering in the breeze, and his tall form towering far above the heads of all near him. " He hugs the wind, sir, as if it was his sweetheart," was 104 AMERICAN LITERATURE his answer ; " but he'll let go his hold soon ; and if he don't, 30 we can find a way to make him fall to leeward." " Keep a good full ! " cried the commander, in a stern voice ; " and let the vessel go through the water. That fel- low walks well, long Tom ; but we are too much for him on a bowline ; though, if he continue to draw ahead in this 35 manner, it will be night before we can get alongside him." " Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain ; " them cutters carries a press of canvas when they seem to have but little ; their gaffs are all the same as young booms, and spread a broad head to their mainsails. But it's no hard matter to 40 knock a few cloths out of their bolt-ropes, when she will drop astarn and to leeward." " I believe there is good sense in your scheme, this time," said Barnstable ; " for I am anxious about the frigate's people — though I hate a noisy chase; speak to him, Tom, 45 and let us see if he will answer." "Ay, ay, sir," cried the cockswain, sinking his body in such a manner as to let his head fall to a level with the cannon that he controlled, when, after divers orders, and sundry movements to govern the direction of the piece, he 50 applied a match, with a rapid motion, to the priming. An immense body of white smoke rushed from the muzzle of the cannon, followed by a sheet of vivid fire, until, losing its power, it yielded to the wind, and as it rose from the water, spread like a cloud, and, passing through the masts 55 of the schooner, was driven far to leeward, and soon blended in the lists which were swiftly scudding before the fresh breezes of the ocean. Although many curious eyes were watching this beautiful sight from the cliffs, there was too little of novelty in the 60 exhibition to attract a single look of the crew of the schooner, from the more important examination of the effect of a shot on their enemy. Barnstable sprang lightly on a gun, and JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 105 watched the instant when the ball would strike with keen interest, while long Tom threw himself aside from the line of the smoke with a similar intention ; holding one of his 65 long arms extended towards his namesake, with a finger on the vent, and supporting his frame by placing the hand of the other on the deck, as his eyes glanced through an opposite port-hole, in an attitude that most men might have despaired of imitating with success. 70 " There go the chips ! " cried Barnstable. " Bravo ! Master Coffin, you never planted iron in the ribs of an Englishman with more judgment. Let him have another piece of it ; and if he likes the sport, we'll play a game of long bowls with him ! " 75 "Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain, who, the instant he witnessed the effects of his shot, had returned to superin- tend the reloading of his gun ; " if he holds on half an hour longer, I'll dub him down to our own size, when we can close and make an even fight of it." 80 The drum of the Englishman was now, for the first time, heard, rattling across the waters, and echoing the call to quarters, that had already proceeded from the Ariel. " Ah ! you have sent him to his guns ! " said Barnstable ; " we shall now hear more of it ; wake him up, Tom — wake 85 him up ! " " We shall start him on end, or put him to sleep altogether, shortly," said the deliberate cockswain, who never allowed himself to be at all hurried, even by his commander. " My shot are pretty much like a shoal of porpoises, and com- 90 monly sail in each other's wake. Stand by — heave her breech forward — so ; get out of that, you damned young reprobate, and let my harpoon alone ! " " What are you at, there, Master Coffin ? " cried Barn- stable ; ^' are you tongue-tied ? " 95 " Here's one of the boys skylarking with my harpoon in 106 AMERICAN LITERATURE the lee-scuppers, and by-aiid-by, when I shall want it most, there'll be a no-man's-land to hunt for it in." " Never juind the boy, Tom ; send him aft here to me, and 100 I'll polish his behavior; give the Englishman some more iron." " I want the little villain to pass up my cartridges," re- turned the angry old seaman ; " but if you'll be so good, sir, as to hit him a crack or two, now and then, as he goes by 105 you to the magazine, the monkey will learn his manners, and the schooner's work will be all the better done for it. A young herring-faced monkey ! to meddle with a tool ye don't know the use of. If your parents had spent more of their money on your education, and less on your outfit, you'd ha' been a 110 gentleman to what ye are now." " Hurrah ! Tom, hurrah ! " cried Barnstable, a little im- patiently ; " is your namesake never to open his throat again ! " "Ay, ay, sir; all ready," grumbled the coxswain; "de- press a little ; so — so ; a damned young baboon-behaved cur- ilSmudgeon; overhaul that forward fall more; stand by with your match — but I'll pay him ! — fire ! " This was the actual commencement of the fight ; for as the shot of Tom Coffin trayelled, as he had intimated, very much in the same direction, their enemy found the sport becoming too hot to 120 be endured in silence, and the report of the second gun from the Ariel was instantly followed by that of the whole broad- side of the Alacrity. The shot of the cutter flew in a very good direction, but her guns were too light to give them efficiency at that distance ; and as one or two were heard to 125 strike against the bends of the schooner, and fall back, in- nocuously, into the water, the cockswain, whose good-humor became gradually restored as the combat thickened, re- marked with his customary apathy, — " Them count for no more than love-taps — does the 130 Englishman think that we are firing salutes ! " JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 107 " Stir him up, Tom ! every blow you give him will help to open his eyes," cried Barnstable, rubbing his hands with glee as he witnessed the success of his efforts to close. Thus far the cockswain and his crew had the fight, on the part of the Ariel, altogether to themselves, the men 135 who were stationed at the smaller and shorter guns stand- ing in perfect idleness by their sides ; but in ten or fifteen minutes the commander of the Alacrity, who had been staggered by the weight of the shot that had struck him, found that it was no longer in his power to tetreat, if he 140 wished it; when he decided on the only course that was left for a brave man to pursue, and steered boldly in such a direction as would soonest bring him in contact with his enemy, without exposing his vessel to be raked by his fire. Barnstable watched each movement of his foe with 145 eagle eyes, and when the vessel had got within a lessened distance, he gave the order for a general fire to be opened. The action now grew warm and spirited on both sides. The power of the wind was counteracted by the constant explosion of the cannon ; and, instead of driving rapidly 150 to leeward, a white canopy of curling smoke hung above the Ariel, or rested on the water, lingering in her wake, so as to mark the path by which she was approaching to a closer and still deadlier struggle. The shouts of the young sailors, as they handled their instruments of death, 155 became more animated and fierce, while the cockswain pursued his occupation with the silence and skill of one who labored in a regular vocation. Barnstable was unusu- ally composed and quiet, maintaining the grave deportment of a commander on whom rested the fortunes of the con- 160 test, at the same time that his dark eyes were dancing with the fire of suppressed animation. " Give it them ! " he occasionally cried, in a voice that might be heard amid the bellowing of the cannon ; " never 108 AMERICAN LITERATURE 165 mind their cordage, my lads ; drive home their bolts, and make your marks below their ridge-ropes." In the meantime the Englishman played a manful game. He had suffered a heavy loss by the distant cannonade, which no metal he possessed could retort upon his enemy ; 170 but he struggled nobly to repair the error in judgment with which he had begun the contest. The two vessels gradu- ally drew nigher to each other, until they both entered into the common cloud created by their fire, which thickened and spread around them in such a manner as to conceal 175 their dark hulls from the gaze of the curious and interested spectators on the cliffs. The heavy reports of the cannon were now mingled with the rattling of muskets and pistols, and streaks of fire might be seen glancing like flashes of lightning through the white cloud which enshrouded the 180 combatants ; and many minutes of painful uncertainty followed, before the deeply interested soldiers, who were gazing at the scene, discovered on whose banners victory had alighted. We shall follow the combatants into their misty wreath, 185 and display to the reader the events as they occurred. The fire of the Ariel was much the most quick and deadly, both because she had suffered less, and her men were less exhausted ; and the cutter stood desperately on to decide the combat, after grappling, hand to hand. Barn- 190 stable anticipated her intention, and well understood her commander's reason for adopting this course ; but he was not a man to calculate coolly his advantages, when pride and daring invited him to a more severe trial. Accord- ingly, he met the enemy halfway, and as the vessels rushed 195 together, the stern of the schooner was secured to the bows of the cutter, by the joint efforts of both parties. The voice of the English commander was now plainly to be heard, in the uproar, calling to his men to follow him. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 109 " Away there, boarders ! repel boarders on the starboard quarter ! " shouted Barnstable through his trumpet. 200 This was the last order that the gallant young sailor gave with this instrument ; for, as he spoke, he cast it from him, and, seizing his sabre, flew to the spot where the enemy was about to make his most desperate effort. The shouts, execrations, and tauntings of the combatants, now succeeded 205 to the roar of the cannon, which could be used no longer with effect, though the fight was still maintained with spirited discharges of the small arms. " Sweep him from his decks ! " cried the English com- mander, as he appeared on his own bulwarks, surrounded 210 by a dozen of his bravest men ; '' drive the rebellious dogs into the sea ! " "Away there, marines !" retorted Barnstable, firing his pistol at the advancing enemy ; " leave not a man of them to sup his grog again." 215 The tremendous and close volley that succeeded this order, nearly accomplished the command of Barnstable to the letter, and the commander of the Alacrity, perceiving that he stood alone, reluctantly fell back on the deck of his own vessel, in order to bring on his men once more. 220 " Board her ! gray-beards and boys, idlers and all ! " shouted Barnstable, springing in advance of his crew ; a powerful arm arrested the movement of the dauntless sea- man, and . before he had time to recover himself, he was drawn violently back to his own vessel by the irresistible 225 grasp of his cockswain. " The fellow's in his flurry," said Tom, " and it wouldn't be wise to go within reach of his flukes ; but I'll just step ahead and give him a set with my harpoon." Without waiting for a reply, the cockswain reared his 230 tall frame on the bulwarks, and was in the attitude of step- ping on board of his enemy, when a sea separated the no AMERICAN LITERATURE • vessels, and he fell with a heavy dash of the waters into the ocean. As twenty muskets and pistols were discharged 235 at the instant he appeared, the crew of the Ariel supposed his fall to be occasioned by his wounds, and were rendered doubly fierce by the sight, and the cry of their commander to — " Revenge long Tom ! board her ! long Tom or death ! " 240 They threw themselves forward in irresistible numbers, and forced a passage, with much bloodshed, to the fore- castle of the Alacrity. The Englishman was overpowered, but still remained undaunted — he rallied his crew, and bore up most gallantly to the fray. Thrusts of pikes and 245 blows of sabres were becoming close and deadly, while . muskets and pistols were constantly discharged by those who were kept at a distance by the pressure of the throng of closer combatants. Barnstable led his men in advance, and became a mark 250 of peculiar vengeance to his enemies, as they slowly yielded before his vigorous assaults. Chance had placed the two commanders on opposite sides of the cutter's deck, and the victory seemed to incline towards either party, wherever these daring officers directed the struggle in person. But 255 the Englishman, perceiving that the ground he maintained in person was lost elsewhere, made an effort to restore the battle, by changing his position, followed by one or two of his best men. A marine, who preceded him, levelled his musket within a few feet of the head of the American com- 260mander, and was about to fire, when Merry glided among the combatants, and passed his dirk into the body of the man, who fell at the blow ; shaking his piece, with horrid imprecations, the wounded soldier prepared to deal his vengeance on his youthful assailant, when the fearless boy 265 leaped within its muzzle, and buried his own keen weapon in his heart. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 111 "Hurrah!'' shouted the unconscious Barnstable, from the edge of the quarter-deck, where, attended by a few men, he was driving all before him. "Revenge! — long Tom and victory ! " 270 " We have them ! " exclaimed the Englishman ; " handle your pikes ! we have them between two fires." The battle would probably have terminated very differ- ently from what previous circumstances had indicated, had not a wild looking figure appeared in the cutter's channels 275 at that moment, issuing from the sea, and gaining the deck at the same instant. It was long Tom, with his iron visage rendered fierce by his previous discomfiture, and his grizzled locks drenched with the briny element from which he had risen, looking like Neptune with his trident. Without 280 speaking, he poised his harpoon, and, with a powerful effort, pinned the unfortunate Englishman to the mast of his own vessel. " Starn all! " cried Tom by a sort of instinct, when the blow was struck ; and catching up the musket of the fallen 285 marine, he dealt out terrible and fatal blows with its butt, on all who approached him, utterly disregarding the use of the bayonet on its muzzle. The unfortunate commander of the Alacrity brandished his sword with frantic gestures, while his eyes rolled in horrid wildness, when he writhed 290 for an instant in his passing agonies, and then, as his head dropped lifeless upon his gored breast, he hung against the spar, a spectacle of dismay to his crew. A few of the Englishmen stood chained to the 'spot in silent horror at the* sight, but most of them fled to their lower deck, or hastened 295 to conceal themselves in the secret parts of the vessel, leav- ing to the Americans the undisputed possession of the Alacrity. 112 AMERICAN LITERATURE FITZ-GREENE HALLECK On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. 5 Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts, whose truth was proven, 10 Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth ; And I who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine, 15 Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine ; It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow. But I've in vain essayed it, 20 And feel I cannot now. While memory bids me weep thee. Nor thoughts nor words are free, — The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee. Marco Bozzaris At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 113 In dreams, through camp and court he bore 5 The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet-ring ; Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king: As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 10 djk As Eden's garden-bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. 15 There had the Persian's thousands stood. There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platsea's day : And now there breathed that haunted air, The sons of sires who conquered there, 20 With arms to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last : He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 25 " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, And shout and groan, and sabre-stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 30 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band : " Strike ! — till the last armed foe expires ; " Strike ! — for your altars and your fires ; " Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires ; 35 God — and your native land ! " They fought — like brave men, long and well; They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell. Bleeding at every vein. 40 114 AMERICAN LITERATURE His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud — " hurrah,' And the red field was won : Then saw in death his eyelids close, 45 Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun . Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ; Come to the mother's, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath'; 50 Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 55 Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; And thou art terrible — the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear 60 Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; And in its hollow tones are heard 65 The thanks of millions yet to be. Come, when his task of fame is wrought — Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought — Come in her crowning hour — and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 70 To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; Thy summons welcome as the cry 75 That told the Indian isles were nigh FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 115 To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land wind, from woods of palm, And orange groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 80 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee — there is no prouder grave. Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral-weeds for thee. Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume gS Like torn branch from death's leafless tree In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb ; But she remembers thee as one Long loved and for a season gone ; 90 For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed. Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; For thee she rings the birthday bells. Of thee her babe's first lisping tells; For thine her evening prayer is said 95 At palace-couch and cottage-bed ; Her soldier, closing with the foe. Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him the joy of her young years, 100 Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak. The memory of her buried joys ; 105 And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth. Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's : One of 'the few, the immortal names, 110 That were not born to die. 116 AMERICAN LITERATURE JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE The American Flag When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. 5 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun 10 She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud. Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 15 To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm. And rolls the thunder drum of heaven, Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 20 To guard the banner of the free. To hover in the sulphur smoke. To ward away the battle stroke. And bid its blendings shine afar. Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 25 The harbingers of victory ! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high. When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. 30 Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 117 Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn, And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 35 And when the cannon mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 40 And cowering foes shall shrink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 45 When death, careering on the gale. Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea 50 Shall look at once to heaven and thee. And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel hands to valor given ; 55 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us. With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 60 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? 118 AMERICAN LITERATURE JOHN C. CALHOUN The Real Character of the Union {From On Nullification) Notwithstanding all that has been said, I may say that neither the Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clayton), nor any other who has spoken on the same side, has directly and fairly met the great question at issue: Is this a Fed- 5 eral Union ? a union of States, as distinct from that of in- dividuals ? Is the sovereignty in the several States, or in the American people in the aggregate ? The very language which we are compelled to use when speaking of our politi- cal institutions affords proof conclusive as to its real 10 character. The terms union, federal, united, all imply a combination of sovereignties, a confederation of States. They never apply to an association of individuals. Who ever heard of the United State of New York, of Massachu- setts, or of Virginia ? Who ever heard the term federal or 15 union applied to the aggregation of individuals into one community ? Nor is the other point less clear — that the sovereignty is in the several States, and that our system is a union of twenty-four sovereign powers, under a constitu- tional compact, and not of a divided sovereignty between the 20 States severally and the United States. In spite of all that has been said, I maintain that sovereignty is in its nature indi- visible. It is the supreme power in a State, and we might just as well speak of half a square, or half of a triangle, as of half a sovereignty. It is a gross error to confound the 25 exercise of sovereign powers with sovereignty itself, or the delegation of such powers with the surrender of them. A sovereign may delegate his powers to be exercised by as many agents as he may think proper, under such conditions and with such limitations as he may impose ; but to sur- JOHN C. CALHOUN 119 render any portion of his sovereignty to another is to an- 30 nihilate the wliole. The Senator from Delaware calls this metaphysical reasoning, which he says he cannot comprehend. If by metaphysics he means that scholastic refinement which makes distinctions without difference, no one can hold it in more utter contempt than I do; but if, on the contrary, he 35 means the power of analysis and combination — that power which reduces the most complex idea into its elements, which traces causes to their first principle, and, by the power of generalization and combination, unites the whole in one system — then, so far from deserving contempt, it is 40 the highest attribute of the human mind. It is the power which raises man above the brute — which distinguishes his faculties from mere sagacity, which he holds in common with the inferior animals. It is the power which has raised the astronomer from being a mere gazer at the stars to the high 45 intellectual eminence of a Newton or a Laplace, and astron- omy itself from a mere observation of isolated facts into that noble science which displays to our admiration the system of the universe. And shall this high power of the mind, which has effected such wonders when directed to the laws which 50 control the material world, be forever prohibited, under a senseless cry of metaphysics, from being applied to the high purposes of political science and legislation ? I hold them to be subject to laws as fixed as matter itself, and to be as fit a subject for the application of the highest intellectual 55 power. Denunciation may, indeed, fall upon the philosophi- cal inquirer into these first princij^les, as it did upon Galileo and Bacon, when they first unfolded the great discoveries which have immortalized their names; but the time will come when truth will prevail in spite of prejudice and de-60 nunciation, and when politics and legislation will be consid- ered as much a science as astronomy and chemistry. In connection with this part of the subject, I understood 120 AMERICAN LITERATURE the senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) to say that sov- 65 ereignty was divided, and that a portion remained with the States severally, and that the residue was vested in the Union. By Union, I suppose the senator meant the United States. If such be his meaning — if he intended that the sovereignty was in the twenty-four States, in whatever 70 light he may view them, our opinions will not disagree; but, according to my conception, the whole sovereignty is in the several States, while the exercise of sovereign powers is divided — a part being exercised under compact, through this general government, and the residue through the sepa- 75 rate State governments. But if the senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) means to assert that the twenty-four States form but one community, with a single sovereign power as to the objects of the Union, it will be but a revival of the old question, of whether the Union is a union between 80 States, as distinct communities, or a mere aggregate of the American people, as a mass of individuals ; and in this light his opinions would lead directly to consolidation. DANIEL WEBSTER On the Language of Calhoun's Resolutions {From The Constitution Not a Compact) The first two resolutions of the honorable member affirm these propositions, viz. : — 1. That the political system under which we live, and under which Congress is now assembled, is a compact, to 5 which the people of the several States, as separate and sov- ereign communities, are the parties. 2. That these sovereign parties have a right to judge, each for itself, of any alleged violation of the Constitution by Congress ; and, in case of such violation, to choose, each 10 for itself, its own mode and measure of redress. DANIEL WEBSTER 121 It is true. Sir, that the honorable member calls this a ^* constitutional " compact; but still he affirms it to be a compact between sovereign States. What precise meaning, then, does he attach to the term constitution? When ap- plied to compact between sovereign States, the term consti- 15 tutional affixes to the word compact no definite idea. Were we to hear of a constitutional league or treaty between England and France, or a constitutional convention between Austria and Eussia, we should not understand what could be intended by such a league, such a treaty, or such a con- 20 vention. In these connections, the word is void of all meaning; and yet. Sir, it is easy, quite easy, to see why the honorable gentleman has used it in these resolutions. He cannot open the book, and look upon our written frame of government, without seeing that it is called a constitution. 25 This may well be appalling to him. It threatens his whole doctrine of compact, and its darling derivatives, nullifica- tion and secession, with instant confutation. Because, if he admits our instrument of government to be a constitution, then, for that very reason, it is not a co^ipact between 30 sovereigns; a constitution of government and a compact between sovereign powers being things essentially unlike in their very natures, and incapable of ever being the same. Yet the word constitution is on the very front of the instru- ment. He cannot overlook it. He seeks, therefore, to 35 compromise the matter, and to sink all the substantial sense of the word, while he retains a resemblance of its sound. He introduces a new word of his own, viz. compact, as importing the principal idea, and designed to play the principal part, and degrades constitution into an insignificant, 40 idle epithet, attached to comp)act. The whole then stands as a ^^constitutional compact !^^ And in this way he hopes to pass off a plausible gloss, as satisfying the words of the instrument. But he will find himself disappointed. Sir, I 122 AMERICAN LITERATURE 45 must say to the honorable gentleman, that, in our American political grammar, CONSTITUTION is a noun substantive ; it imports a distinct and clear idea of itself; and it is not to lose its importance and dignity, it is not to be turned into a poor, ambiguous, senseless, unmeaning adjective, for 50 the purpose of accommodating any new set of political notions. Sir, we reject his new rules of syntax altogether. We will not give up our forms of political speech to the grammarians of the school of nullification. By the Con- stitution, we mean, not a "constitutional compact," but, 55 simply and directly, the Constitution, the fundamental law ; and if there be one word in the language which the people of the United States understand, this is that word. We know no more of a constitutional compact between sovereign powers, than we know of a constitutional indenture of co- 60 partnership, a constitutional deed of conveyance, or a con- stitutional bill of exchange. But we know what the Con- stitution is ; we know what the plainly written fundamental law is ; we know what the bond of our Union and the security of ouf liberties is; and we mean to maintain and 65 to defend it, in its plain sense and unsophisticated meaning. The sense of the gentleman's proposition, therefore, is not at all affected, one way or the other, by the use of this word. That proposition still is, that our system of govern- 70 ment is but a compact between the people of separate and sovereign States. Was it Mirabeau, Mr. President, or some other master of the human passions, who has told us that words are things ? They are indeed things, and things of mighty influence, not 75 only in addresses to the passions and high-wrought feelings of mankind, but in the discussion of legal and political questions also ; because a just conclusion is often avoided, or a false one reached, by the adroit substitution of one DANIEL WEBSTER 123 phrase, or one word, for another. Of this we have, I think, another example in the resohitions before us. 80 The first resolution declares that the people of the sev- eral States " acceded " to the Constitution, or to the consti- tutional compact, as it is called. This word ''accede," not found either in the Constitution itself, or in the ratification of it by any one of the States, has been chosen for use here, 85 doubtless, not without a well-considered purpose. The natural converse of accession is secession; and, there- fore, when it is stated that the people of the States acceded to the Union, it may be more plausibly argued that they may secede from it. If, in adopting the Constitution, noth-90 ing was done but acceding to a compact, nothing would seem necessary, in order to break it up, but to secede from the same compact. But the term is wholly out of place. jlccession, as a word applied to political associations, im- plies coming into a league, treaty, or confederacy, by one 95 hitherto a stranger to it; and secession implies departing from such league or confederacy. The people of the United States have used no such form of expression in establishing the present government. They do not say that they accede to a league, but they declare that they ordain and establish 100 a Constitution. Such are the very words of the instrument itself; and in all the States, without an exception, the language used by their conventions was, that they " ratified the Constitution " ; some of them employing the additional words " assented to " and " adopted," but all of them '' rati- 105 fying." There is more importance than may, at first sight, appear, in the introduction of this new word, by the honorable mover of these resolutions. Its adoption and use are indis- pensable to maintain those premises from which his main no conclusion is to be afterwards drawn. But before showing that, allow me to remark, that this phraseology tends to 124 AMERICAN LITERATURE keep out of sight the just view of a previous political his- tory, as well as to suggest wrong ideas as to what was 115 actually done when the present Constitution was agreed to. In 1789, and before this Constitution was adopted, the United States had already been in a union, more or less close, for fifteen years. At least as far back as the meeting of the first Congress, in 1774, they had been in some 120 measure, and for some national purposes, united together. Before the Confederation of 1781, they had declared independence jointly, and had carried on the war jointly, both by sea and land ; and this not as separate States, but as one people. When, therefore, they formed that Con- 125 federation, and adopted its articles as articles of perpetual union, they did not come together for the first time; and therefore they did not speak of the States as acceding to the Confederation, although it was a league, and nothing but ^ league, and rested on nothing but plighted faith for its per- 130 formance. Yet, even then, the States were not strangers to each other ; there was a bond of union already subsisting between them ; they were associated, united States ; and the object of the Confederation was to make a stronger and better bond of union. Their representatives deliberated to- 135 gether on these proposed Articles of Confederation, and be- ing authorized by their respective States, finally " ratified and confirmed^'' them. Inasmuch as they were already in union, they did not speak of acceding to the new Articles of Confederation, but of ratifying and confirming them ; and 140 this language was not used inadvertently, because, in the same instrument, accession is used in its proper sense, when applied to Canada, which was altogether a stranger to the existing union. "Canada," says the eleventh article, ^'ac- ceding to the Confederation, and joining in the measures of 145 the United States, shall be admitted into the Union." Having thus used the terms ratify and confirm^ even in ABRAHAM LINCOLN 125 regard to the old Confederation, it would have been strange indeed, if the people of the United States, after its forma- tion, and when they came to establish the present Constitu- tion, had spoken of the States, or the people of the States, 150 as acceding to this Constitution. Such language would have been ill-suited to the occasion. It would have implied an existing separation or disunion among the States, such as never has existed since 1774. No such language, there- fore, was used. The language actually employed is, adopts 155 ratify, establish, ordain. Therefore, Sir, since any State, before she can prove her right to dissolve the Union, must show her authority to undo what has been done, no State is at liberty to secede, on the ground that she and other States have done nothing but I6O accede. She must show that she has a right to reverse what has been ordained, to unsettle and overthrow what has been established, to reject what the people have adopted, and to break up what they have ratified; because these are the terms which express the transactions which have actually 165 taken place. In other words, she must show her right to make a revolution. ABRAHAM LINCOLN ." Showing His Hand " (A Letter to the Sangamon Journal) New Salem, June 13, 1836. To THE Editor of the Journal: In your paper of last Saturday I see a communication, over the signature of " Many voters," in which the candidates who are announced in the Journal are called upon to "show their hands." 5 Agreed. Here's mine. I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who 126 AMERICAN LITERATURE assist in bearing its burdens. Consequently, I go for ad- mitting all whites to the right of suffrage who pay taxes or 10 bear arms (by no means excluding females). If elected, 1 shall consider the whole people of Sangamon my constituents, as well those that oppose as those that support me. While acting as their representative, I shall be governed 15 by their will on all subjects upon which I have the means of knowing what their will is ; and upon all others I shall do what my own judgment teaches me will best advance their interests. Whether elected or not, I go for distributing the proceeds of the sales of the public lands to the several States, 20 to enable our State, in common with others, to dig canals and construct railroads without borrowing money and pay- ing the interest on it. If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for Hugh L. White for President. A. Lincoln. Speech on Leaving Springfield in i86i My Friends : No one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of- sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a 5 young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I 10 cannot succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail. Trust- ing in him who can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To his care commending you, as I hope ABRAHAM LINCOLN 127 in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affec- tionate farewell. 15 Lincoln's Shortest Speech (Address at Utica, New York, February i8, i86i) Ladies and Gentlemen : I have no speech to make to you, and no time to speak in. I appear before you that 1 may see you, and that you may see me ; and I am willing to admit, that so far as the ladies are concerned, I have the best of the bargain, though I wish it to be understood that 5 I do not make the same acknowledgment concerning the men. {From the First Inaugural) In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Govern- ment will not assail you. You can have no conflict, without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath regis- tered in Heaven to destroy the government, while / shall 5 have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and de- fend it." I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The lo mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. 15 The Gettysburg Address Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 128 AMERICAN LITERATURE Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 5 nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper 10 that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or de- tract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what 15 we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the un- finished work which they who fought here have thus so far nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, — that from these 20 honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, — and that government of the people, by the 25 people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. Letter to Mrs. Bixby Washington, November 21, 1864. Dear Madam : I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who 5 have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so over- whelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the HENRY TIMROD 129 Republic they died to save. I pray that our heavenly 10 Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. HENRY TIMROD 1 A Cry to Arms Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain side ! Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! Ho ! ye who by the chafing tide Have roughened in the gales ! Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 5 Lay by the bloodless spade ; Let desk, and case, and counter rot, And burn your books of trade. The despot roves your fairest lands ; And till he flies or fears, 10 Your fields must grow but armed bands, Your sheaves be sheaves of spears ! Give up to mildew and to rust The useless tools of gain ; And feed your country's sacred dust 15 With floods of crimson rain ! Come, with the weapons at your call — With musket, pike, or knife ; He wields the deadliest blade of all W^ho lightest holds his life. 20 The arm that drives its unbought blows With all a patriot's scorn. Might brain a tyrant with a rose, Or stab him with a thorn. 1 The poems by Henry Timrod inchided in this book are used by special permission of the B. F. Johnson Publishing Co., Richmond, Va., the authorized publishers of his works. 130 AMERICAN LITERATURE 25 Does any falter? let him turn To some brave maiden's eyes, And catch the holy fires that burn In those sublunar skies. Oh ! could you like your women feel, 30 And in their spirit march, A day might see your lines of steel Beneath the victor's arch. What hope, O God ! would not grow warm When thoughts like these give cheer? 35 The Lily calmly braves the storm, And shall the Palm-tree fear? No ! rather let its branches court The rack that sweeps the plain ; And from the Lily's regal port 40 Learn how to breast the strain ! Ho! woodsmen of the mountain side! Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! Ho ! ye who by the roaring tide Have roughened in the gales ! 45 Come ! flocking gayly to the fight, From forest, hill, and lake ; We battle for our Country's right, And for the Lily's sake ! Ode (Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead, at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C., 1867) Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause ; Though yet no marble column craves The pilgrim here to pause. 5 In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown. And somewhere, waiting for its birth. The shaft is in the stone ! HENRY TIMROD 131 Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, jq Behold! your sisters bring their tears, And these memorial blooms. Small tributes! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile 15 Shall overlook this bay. Stoop, angels, hither from the skies ! There is no holier spot of ground Than where defeated valor lies, By mourning beauty crowned ! 20 Flower-Life I think that, next to your sweet eyes, And pleasant books, and starry skies, I love the world of flowers ; Less for their beauty of a day, Than for the tender things they say, 5 And for a creed I've held alway. That they are sentient powers. It may be matter for a smile — And I laugh secretly the while I speak the fancy out — 10 But that they love, and that they woo. And that they often marry too, And do as noisier creatures do, I've not the faintest doubt. And so, I cannot deem it right 15 To take them from the glad sunlight. As I have sometimes dared ; Though not without an anxious sigh Lest this should break some gentle tie. Some covenant of friendship, I 20 Had better far have spared. 132 AMERICAN LITERATURE And when, in wild or thoughtless hours, My hand hath crushed the tiniest flowers, I ne'er could shut from sight 25 The corpses of the tender things, With other drear imaginings, And little angel-flowers with wings Would haunt me through the night. Oh ! say you, friend, the creed is fraught 30 With sad, and even with painful thought, Nor could you bear to know That such capacities belong To creatures helpless against wrong, At once too weak to fly the sti-ong 35 Or front the feeblest foe ? So be it always, then, with you ; So be it — whether false or true — I press my faith on none ; If other fancies please you more, 40 The flowers shall blossom as before, Dear as the Sibyl-leaves of yore, But senseless, every one. Yet, though I give you no reply, It were not hard to justify 45 My creed to partial ears ; But, conscious of the cruel part, My rhymes would flow with faltering art, I could not plead against your heart, Nor reason with your tears. Why SUent Why am I silent from year to year? Needs must I sing on these blue March days? What will you say, when I tell you hei-e, That already, I think, for a little praise, 5 I have paid too dear ? PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 133 For, I know not why, when I tell my thought, It seems as though I fling it away; And the charm wherewith a fancy is frauglit. When secret, dies with the fleeting lay Into which it is wrought. 10 So my butterfly -dreams their golden wings But seldom unfurl from their chrysalis; And thus I retain my loveliest things. While the world, in its worldliness, does not miss What a poet sings. 15 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE i Beauregard's Appeal Yea ! since the need is bitter, Take down those sacred bells, Whose music speaks of hallowed joys, And passionate farewells ! But ere ye fall dismantled, 5 Ring out, deep bells ! once more : And pour on the waves of the passing wind The symphonies of yore. Let the latest born be welcomed By pealings glad and long, 10 Let the latest dead in the churchyard bed Be laid with solemn song. And the bells above them throbbing, Should sound in mournful tone, As if, in grief for a human death. They prophesied their own. 1 The selections from Paul Hamilton Hay ne are used by permission of Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, publishers of Hayne's Complete Poems. 134 AMERICAN LITERATURE Who says 'tis a desecration To strip the temple towers, And invest the metal of peaceful notes 20 With death-compelling powers? A truce to cant and folly ! Our peoj)le's all at stake, Shall we heed the cry of the shallow fool. Or pause for the bigot's sake ? 25 Then crush the struggling sorrow ! Feed high your furnace fires, And mould into deep-mouthed guns of bronze. The bells from a hundred spires. Methinks no common vengeance, 30 No transient war eclipse, Will follow the awful thunder-burst From their adamantine lips. A cause like ours is holy, And it useth holy things ; 35 While over the storm of a righteous strife, May shine the angel's wings. Where'er our duty leads us, The grace of God is there. And the lurid shrine of war may hold 40 The Eucharist of prayer. Forgotten Forgotten ! Can it be a few swift rounds Of Time's great chariot wheels have crushed to naught The memory of those fearful sights and sounds. With speechless misery fraught — Wherethro' we hope to gain the Hesperian height. Where Freedom smiles in light ? PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 135 Forgotten ! scarce have two dim autumns veiled With merciful mist those dreary burial sods, Whose coldness (when the high-strung pulses failed, Of men who strove like gods) 10 Wrapped in a sanguine fold of senseless dust Dead hearts and perished trust! Forgotten ! While in far-off woodland deli, By lonely mountain tarn and murmuring stream, Bereaved hearts with sorrowful passion swell — 15 Their lives one ghastly dream Of hope outwearied and betrayed desire. And anguish crowned with fire ! Forgotten ! while our manhood cursed with chains, And pilloried high for all the world to view, 20 Writhes in its fierce, intolerable pains. Decked with dull wreaths of rue. And shedding blood for tears, hands waled with scars. Lifts to the dumb, cold stars ! Forgotten ! Can the dancer's jocund feet 25 Flash o'er a charnel-vault, and maidens fair Bend the white lustre of their eyelids sweet. Love-weighed, so nigh despair. Its ice-cold breath must freeze their blushing brows? And hush love's tremulous vows? 30 Forgotten ! Nay : but all the songs we sing Hold under-burdens, wailing chords of woe; Our lightest laughters sound with hollow ring, Our bright wit's freest flow, Quavers to sudden silence of affright, 35 Touched by an untold blight ! Forgotten ! No ! we cannot all forget, Or, when we do, farewell to Honor's face, To Hope's sweet tendance. Valor's unpaid debt, And every noblest Grace, 40 136 AMERICAN LITERATURE Which nursed in Love, might still benignly bloom Above a nation's tomb ! Forgotten ! Tho' a thousand years should pass, Methinks our air will throb with memory's thrills, 45 A conscious grief weigh down the faltering grass, A pathos shroud the hills, Waves roll lamenting, autumn sunsets yearn For the old time's return ! The Axe and Pine All day, on bole and limb the axes ring. And every stroke upon my startled brain Falls with the power of sympathetic pain ; I shrink to view each glorious forest-king 5 Descend to earth, a wan, discrowned thing. Ah, Heaven! beside these foliaged giants slain, How small the human dwarfs, whose lust for gain Hath edged their brutal steel to smite and sting ! Hark ! to those long-drawn murmurings, strange and drear ! 10 The wails of Dryads in their last distress ; O'er ruined haunts and ravished loveliness Still tower those brawny arms ; tones coarsely loud Rise still beyond the greenery's waning cloud, While falls the insatiate steel, sharp, cold and sheer ! Aspects of the Pines Tall, sombre, grim, against the morning sky They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs, Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully, As if from realms of mystical despairs. 5 Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams Brightening to gold within the woodland's core. Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams — But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. EDGAR ALLAN POE 137 A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable. Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, jq And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell Rests the mute rapture of deep hearted peace. Last, sunset comes — the solemn joy and might Borne from the West when cloudless day declines — Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light, 15 And lifting dark green tresses of the pines, Till every lock is luminous — gently float. Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar To faint when twilight on her virginal throat Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. 20 Poets Some thunder on the heights of song, their race Godlike in power, while others at their feet Are breathing measures scarce less strong and sweet Than those which peal from out that loftiest place ; Meantime, just midway on the mount, his face 5 Fairer than April heavens, when storms retreat, And on their edges rain and sunshine meet. Pipes the soft lyrist lays of tender grace ; But where the slopes of bright Parnassus sweep Near to the common ground, a various throng 10 Chant lowlier measures, — yet each tuneful strain (The silvery minor of earth's perfect song) Blends with that music of the topmost steep. O'er whose vast realm the master minstrels reign ! EDGAR ALLAN POE To Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore. That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. 5 138 AMERICAN LITERATURE On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. Thy Naiad airs have brought nje home To the glory that was Greece, 10 And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand. The agate lamp within thy hand ! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 15 Are Holy-Land ! Israfel In Heaven a spirit doth dwell ' Whose heart-strings are a lute ; ' None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, 5 And the giddy stars (so legends tell) Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, 10 The enamored moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) 15 Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre 20 By which he sits and sings — The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. EDGAR ALLAN POE 139 But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty — Where Love's a grown-up God — 25 Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore, thou art not wrong, Lsrafeli, who despisest 30 An unimpassioned song; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest ! Merrily live, and long ! The ecstasies above ^^ With thy burning measures suit — Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervor of thy lute — Well may the stars be mute ! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this 40 Is a world of sweets and sours ; Our flowers are merely — flowers. And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I could dwell 45 Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell 50 From n)y lyre within the sky. 140 AMERICAN LITERATURE The Haunted Palace In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace — Radiant palace — reared its head. 5 In the monarch Thought's dominion — It stood there ! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair ! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 10 On its roof did float and flow, (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied. In that sweet day, 15 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, 20 To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting, (Porphyrogene !) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. 25 And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 30 Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty. The wit and wisdom of their king. EDGAR ALLAN POE 141 But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow 35 Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. 40 And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, 45 Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh — but smile no more. The Raven Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapj)ing, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. * 'Tis some visiter,' I muttered, ' tapping at my chamber door — 5 Only this and nothing niore.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December ; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — lo For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 15 ' 'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door ; — This it is and nothing more.' 142 AMERICAN LITERATURE Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 20 ' Sir,' said I, ' or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door. That I scarce was sure I heard you ' — here I opened wide the door ; Darkness there and nothing more. 25 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing. Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token. And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ' Lenore ! ' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word ' Lenore ! ' 30 Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. ' Surely,' said I, ' surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — 35 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ; — 'Tis the wind and nothing more ! ' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the faintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 40 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 45 ' Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, ' art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ! ' Quoth the Raven, ' Nevermore.' EDGAR ALLAN POE 143 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; 50 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as ' Nevermore.' But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 55 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered ' Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said ' Nevermore.' 60 Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, ' Doubtless,' said I, ' what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 Of " Never — nevermore." ' But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door ; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 70 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 75 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore ! 144 AMERICAN LITERATURE Then, methought, the ah- grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 80 Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. * Wretch,' I cried, ' thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and, forget this lost Lenore ! ' Quoth the Raven ' Nev^ermore.' 85 ' Prophet ! ' said I, ' thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! ' 90 Quoth the Raven ' Nevermore.' ' Prophet ! ' said I, ' thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 95 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.' Quoth the Raven ' Nevermore.' ' Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! ' I shrieked, upstarting — 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 100 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! ' Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore.' And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 105 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore ! EDGAR ALLAN POE 145 Ulalume The skies they were ashen and sober ; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere ; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year ; 5 It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir — It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir Here once, through an alley Titanic. 10 Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriae rivers that roll — As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole — That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 But our thoughts they were palsied and sere — Our memories were treacherous and sere — For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year — (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 25 We noted not the dim lake of Auber — (Though once we had journeyed down here) — Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent 30 And star-dials pointed to morn — As the star-dials hinted of morn — At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, 146 AMERICAN LITERATURE 35 Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn — Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said — ' She is warmer than Dian : 40 She rolls through an ether of sighs — She revels in a region of sighs : She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies And has come past the stars of the Lion 45 To point us the path to the skies — To the Lethean peace of the skies — Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes — Come up through the lair of the Lion, 50 With love in her luminous eyes.' But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said — ' Sadly this star I mistrust — Her pallor I strangely mistrust : — Oh, hasten ! — oh, let us not linger ! 55 Oh, fly ! — let us fly ! — for we must.' In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust — In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust — 60 Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied — ' This is nothing but dreaming : Let us on by this tremulous light ! Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming 65 With Hope and in Beauty to-night : — See ! — it flickers up the sky through the night ! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming. And be sure it will lead us aright — We safely may trust to a gleaming EDGAR ALLAN POE 147 That cannot but guide us aright, 70 Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.' Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom — And conquered her scruples and gloom ; And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 But were stopped by the door of a tomb — By the door of a legended tomb ; And I said — ' What is written, sweet sister. On the door of this legended tomb ?' She replied — < Ulalume — Ulalume — 80 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! ' Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere — As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried — ' It was surely October 85 On this very night of last year That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — That I brought a dread burden down here — On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 90 Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber — This misty mid region of Weir — Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.' Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee ; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. 148 AMERICAN LITERATURE / was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love — 10 I and my Annabel Lee — With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, 15 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee ; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre 20 In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven. Went envying her and me — Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men know. In this kingdom by the sea) 25 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we — Of many far wiser than we — 30 And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea. Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 35 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 40 In the sepulchre there by the sea — In her tomb by the sounding sea. EDGAR ALLAN POE 149 Morella AvTO rpff avTO fxeO' avTOv, aovo etSc? atet av. Itself, by itself solely, one everlastingly, and single. — Plato, Sympos. With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I re- garded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her 5 society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never before known ; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner de- fine their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague in- 10 tensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the altar ; and I never spoke of passion, nor thought of love. She however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream. 15 Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of no common order — her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this and, in many matters, became her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on ac- count of her Presburg education, she placed before me a 20 number of those mystical writings which are usually con- sidered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her fa- vorite and constant study — and that, in process of time they became my own, should be attributed to the simple 25 but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read, to be discovered, unless I am greatly mis- 30 taken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded 150 AMERICAN LITERATURE df this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And then — then, when, poring 35 over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling within me — would Morella place her cold hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in upon my memory. And then, hour after 40 hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her voice — until, at length, its melody was tainted with terror, — and there fell a shadow upon my soul — and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and the 45 most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon be- came the Gehenna. It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole 60 conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fichte ; the modified IlaAtyyeveo-ta of Pythagoreans ; and, above all, 55 the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were gener- ally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the saneness of a rational being. And since by person we un- eoderstand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call our- selves — thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the princi- 65 pium individuationis — the notion of that identity which at EDGAR ALLAN POE 151 death is or is not lost forever — was to me, at all times, a con- sideration of intense interest ; not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery 70 of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly and, smiling, called it 75 Fate. She seemed, also, conscious of a cause, to me un- known, for the gradual alienation of my regard ; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, and pined away daily. In time, the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale 80 forehead became prominent; and, one instant, my nature melted into pity but, in the next, I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss. 85 Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and con- suming desire for the moment of Morella's decease ? I did ; but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days — for many weeks and irksome months — until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my 'mind, and 1 90 grew furious through delay, and with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days, and the hours, and the bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life ^ declined — like shadows in the dying of the day. But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in 95 heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and, amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. 152 AMERICAN LITERATURE 100 " It is a day of days," she said, as I approached ; " a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the sons of earth and life — ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and death ! " I kissed her forehead, and she continued : 105 " I am dying, yet shall I live." " Morella ! " "The days have never been when thou couldst love me — but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore." 110 "Morella!" "I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection — ah, how little ! which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs, shall the child live — thy child and mine, Morella's. But thy days shall 115 be days of sorrow — that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over; and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Psestum twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with 120 time but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca." " Morella ! " I cried, " Morella ! how knowest thou this ? " — but she turned away her face upon the pillow, and, a 125 slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more. * Yet, as she had foretold, her child — to which in dying she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no more — her child, a daughter, lived. And she 130 grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed ; and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth. EDGAR ALLAN POE 153 But, erelong, the heaven of this pure affection became darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it 135 in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid increase in bodily size — but terrible, oh ! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the de- velopment of her mental being ! Could it be otherwise, uo when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman ? — when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy ? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye ? When, i45 I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses — when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it — is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts 150 fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the entombed Morella ? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigorous seclusion of my home watched, with an agonizing anxiety, over all which concerned the beloved. 155 And, as years rolled away, and I gazed, day after day, upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and pored over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy and 'the dead. And, hourly, grew darker these shadows of 160 similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more per- plexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother's I could bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity. That her eyes were like Morella' s I could endure ; but then they too often 165 looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella's own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the con- 154 AMERICAN LITERATURE tour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves there- 170 in, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above all — oh ! above all — in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror — for a worm that ivould not die. 175 Thus passed away two lustra of her life and, as yet, my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. "My child," and " my love " were the designations usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella's name died with 180 her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter ; — it was impossible to speak. Indeed, dur- ing the brief period of her existence, the latter had received no impressions from the outer world, save such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. 185 But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal fount I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my 190 own and foreign lands came thronging to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the good. What prompted me, then, to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which, in its very recollection, was won't to 195 make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart ? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when, amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man the syllables — Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the 200 features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned 'EDGAR ALLAN POE 155 her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven and, falling pros- trate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded — " I am here ! " Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple 205 sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead, rolled hissingly into my brain. Years — years may pass away, but the memory of that epoch — never ! Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine — but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept 210 no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me, like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only — Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and 215 the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore — Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first, in the charnel where I laid the second, Morella. 220 The Short-Story (From revieio of Twice-Told Tales) The tale proper, in our opinion, affords unquestionably the fairest field for the exercise of the loftiest talent, which can be afforded by the wide domains of mere prose. Were we bidden to say how the highest genius could be most ad- vantageously employed for the best display of its own powers, 5 we should answer, without hesitation — in the composition of a rhymed poem, not to exceed in length what might be perused in an hour. Within this limit alone can the highest order of true poetry exist. We need only here say, upon this topic, that, in almost all classes of composition, the lO unity of effect or impression is a point of the greatest im- 156 AMERICAN LITERATURE portance. It is clear, moreover, that this unity cannot be thoroughly preserved in productions whose perusal cannot be completed at one sitting. We may continue the reading 15 of a prose composition, from the very nature of prose it- self, much longer than we can persevere, to any good pur- pose, in the perusal of a poem. This latter, if truly fulfill- ing the demands of the poetic sentiment, induces an exaltar tion of the soul which cannot be long sustained. All high 20 excitements are necessarily transient. Thus a long poem is a parodox. And, without unity of impression, the deepest effects cannot be brought about. Epics were the offspring of an imperfect sense of Art, and their reign is no more. A poem too brief may produce a vivid, but never an intense or 25 enduring impression. Without a certain continuity of ef- fort — without a certain duration or repetition of purpose — ■ the soul is never deeply moved. There must be the drop- ping of the water upon the rock. De Beranger has wrought brilliant things — pungent and spirit-stirring — but, like im- 30 massive bodies, they lack momeiitum, and thus fail to satisfy the Poetic Sentiment. They sparkle and excite, but, from want of continuity, fail deeply to impress. Extreme brevity will degenerate into epigrammatism ; but the sin of extreme length is even more unpardonable. In medio tutissimus ibis. 35 Were we called upon, however, to designate that class of composition, which, next to such a poem as we have suggested, should best fulfil the demands of high genius — should offer it the most advantageous field of exertion — we should un- hesitatingly speak of the prose tale, as Mr. Hawthorne has 40 here exemplified it. We allude to the short prose narrative, requiring from a half-hour to one or two hours in its perusal. The ordinary novel is objectionable, from its length, for reasons already stated in substance. As it cannot be read at one sitting, it deprives itself, of course, of the immense 45 force derivable from totality. Worldly interests intervening EDGAR ALLAN POE 157 during the pauses of perusal, modify, annul, or counteract, in a greater or less degree, the impressions of the book. But simple cessation in reading, would, of itself, be sufficient to destroy the true unity. In the brief tale, however, the author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his intention, 50 be it what it may. During the hour of perusal the soul of the reader is at the writer's control. There are no external or extrinsic influences — resulting from weariness or inter- ruption. A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, 55 he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his inci- dents ; but having conceived with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents — he then combines such events as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If his very 60 initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composi- tion there should be no word written, of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one pre-established design. And by such means, with such care and skill, a picture is at 65 length painted which leaves in the mind of him who con- templates it with a kindred art, a sense of the fullest satis- faction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblem- ished, because undisturbed ; and this is an end unattainable by the novel. Undue brevity is just as exceptionable here 70 as in the poem ; but undue length is yet more to be avoided. We have said that the tale has a point of superiority even over the poem. In fact, while the rhythm of this latter is an essential aid in the development of the poet's highest idea — the idea of the Beautiful — the artificialities of this 75 rhythm are an inseparable bar to the development of all points of thought or expression which have their basis in Truth. But Truth is often, and in very great degree, the aim of the tale. Some of the finest tales are tales of 158 AMERICAN LITERATURE 80 ratiocination. Thus the field of this species of composition, if not in so elevated a region on the mountain of Mind, is a table-land of far vaster extent than the domain of the mere poem. Its products are never so rich, but infinitely more numerous, and more appreciable by the mass of mankind. 85 The writer of the prose tale, in short, may bring to his theme a vast variety of modes or inflections of thought and expression — (the ratiocinative, for example, the sarcastic, or the humorous) which are not only antagonistical to the nature of the poem, but absolutely forbidden by one of its 90 most peculiar and indispensable adjuncts; we allude, of course, to rhythm. It may be added here, par parentMse, that the author who aims at the purely beautiful in a prose tale is laboring at great disadvantage. For Beauty can be better treated in the poem. Not so with terror, or passion, 95 or horror, or a multitude of such other points. And here it will be seen how full of prejudice are the usual animadver- sions against those tales of effect, many fine examples of which were found in the earlier numbers of Blackwood. The im- pressions produced were wrought in a legitimate sphere of 100 action, and constituted a legitimate although sometimes an exaggerated interest. They were relished by every man of genius : although there were found many men of genius who condemned them without just ground. The true critic will but demand that the design intended be accomplished, 105 to the fullest extent, by the means most advantageously applicable. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 159 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE i The May-Pole of Merry Mount There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance, in the curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, or Merry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists have wrought themselves, almost spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries, and festive customs, described in the text are in accordance with the manners of the age. Authority on these points may be found in Strutt's Book of English Sports and Pastimes. Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the May- Pole was the banner staff of that gay colony ! They who reared it, should their banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New England's rugged hills, and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom were 5 contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap, of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of Spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount, sporting with the Summer months, and revelling lo with Autumn, and basking in the glow of Winter's fireside. Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dream- like smile, and came hither to find a home among the light- some hearts of Merry Mount. Never had the May-Pole been so gayly decked as at 15 sunset on midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was a pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it equaled the loftiest height of the old wood mon- archs. From its top streamed a silken banner, colored like the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground, the pole was 20 dressed with birchen boughs, and others of the liveliest 1 The selections from Hawthorne, Emerson, Thoreau, Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, and Holmes are used by permission of, and by special arrange- ment with, Houghton Mifflin Company, publishers of their works. 160 AMERICAN LITERATURE green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened by ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, but no sad ones. Garden flowers and blossoms of the 25 wilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy, that they must have grown by magic on that happy pine-tree. AVhere this green and flowery splendor terminated, the shaft of the May-Pole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the 30 lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses, some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists had reared from English seed. people of the Golden Age, the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers ! 35 But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand about the May-Pole ? It could not be, that the fauns and nymphs, when driven from their classic groves and homes of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the persecuted did, in the fresh woods of the West. These were Gothic 40 monsters, though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. On the shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head and branching antlers of a stag ; a second, human in all other points, had the grim visage of a wolf ; a third, still with the trunk and limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a 45 venerable he-goat. There was the likeness of a bear erect, brute in all but his hind legs, which were adorned with pink silk stockings. And here again, almost as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending each of his fore- paws to the grasp of a human hand, and as ready for the 50 dance as any in that circle. His inferior nature rose half- way, to meet his companions as they stooped. Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted or extravagant, with red noses pendulous before their mouths, which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to 55 ear in an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 161 Salvage Man, well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, and girdled with green leaves. By his side, a nobler figure, but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter, with feathery crest and wampum belt. Many of this strange company wore foolscaps, and had little bells appended to 60 their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, responsive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits. Some youths and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their places in the irregular throng, by the expression of wild revelry upon their features. Such were the colonists of 65 Merry Mount, as they stood in the broad smile of sunset, round their venerated May-Pole. Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, heard their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he might have fancied them the crew of Comus, some already 70 transformed to brutes, some midway between man and beast, and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy jollity that fore-ran the change. But a band of Puritans, who watched the scene, invisible themselves, compared the masques to those devils and ruined souls with whom their superstition 75 peopled the black wilderness. Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest forms that had ever trodden on any more solid footing than a purple and golden cloud. One was a youth in glistening apparel, with a scarf of the rainbow pattern crosswise on 80 his breast. His right hand held a gilded staff, the ensign of high dignity among the revelers, and his left grasped the slender fingers of a fair maiden, not less gaily decorated than himself. Bright roses glowed in contrast with the dark and glossy curls of each, and were scattered round 85 their feet, or had sprung up spontaneously there. Behind this lightsome couple, so close to the May-Pole that its boughs shaded his jovial face, stood the figure of an Eng- lish priest, canonically dressed, yet decked with flowers, 162 AMERICAN LITERATURE 90 in heathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the native vine-leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye, and the pagan decorations of his holy garb, he seemed the wildest monster there, and the very Comus of the crew. " Votaries of the May -Pole," cried the flower-decked 95 priest, " merrily, all day long, have the woods echoed to your mirth. But be this your merriest hour, my hearts ! Lo, here stand the Lord and Lady of the May, whom I, a clerk of Oxford, and high priest of Merry Mount, am pres- ently to join in holy matrimony. Up with your nimble 100 spirits, ye morrice-dancers, green men, and glee-maidens, bears and wolves, and horned gentlemen ! Come ; a chorus now, rich with the old mirth of Merry England, and the wilder glee of this fresh forest ; and then a dance, to show the youthful pair what life is made of, and how airily they 105 should go through it ! All ye that love the May-Pole, lend your voices to the nuptial song of the Lord and Lady of the May!" This wedlock was more serious than most affairs of Merry Mount, where jest and delusion, trick and fantasy, 110 kept up a continual carnival. The Lord and Lady of the May, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, were really and truly to be partners for the dance of life, begin- ning the measure that same bright eve. The wreath of roses, that hung from the lowest green bough of the May -Pole, 115 had been twined for them, and would be thrown over both their heads, in symbol of their flowery union. When the priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproar burst from the rout of monstrous figures. " Begin you the stave, reverend Sir," cried they all ; 120 ^' and never did the woods ring to such a merry peal, as we of the May -Pole shall send up ! " Immediately a prelude of pipe, cithern, and viol, touched with practised minstrelsy, began to play from a neighboring NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 163 thicket, in such a mirthful cadence that the boughs of the May-Pole quivered to the sound. But the May Lord, he of 125 the gilded staff, chancing to look into his Lady's eyes, was wonder-struck at the almost pensive glance that met his own. " Edith, sweet Lady of the May," whispered he reproach- fully, " is yon wreath of roses a garland to hang above our 130 graves, that you look so sad ? Edith, this is our golden time! Tarnish it not by any pensive shadow of the mind; . for it may be that nothing of futurity will be brighter than the mere remembrance of what is now passing." . '^ That was the very thought that saddened me ! How 135 came it in your mind too ? " said Edith, in a still lower tone than he ; for it was high treason to be sad at Merry Mount. " Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. And besides, dear Edgar, I struggle as with a dream, and fancy that these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary, and their 140 mirth unreal, and that we are no true Lord and Lady of the May. What is the mystery in my heart ? " Just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came a little shower of withering rose-leaves from the May-Pole. Alas, for the young lovers ! No sooner had their hearts 145 glowed with real passion, than they were sensible of some- thing vague and unsubstantial in their former pleasures, and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change. From the moment that they truly loved, they had subjected themselves to earth's doom of care and sorrow and troubled 150 joy, and had no more a home at Merry Mount. That was Edith's mystery. Now leave we the priest to marry them, and the masquers to sport round the May-Pole, till the last sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit, and the shadows of the forest mingle gloomily in the dance. Meanwhile, we 155 may discover who these gay people were. Two hundred years ago, and more, the Old World and its 164 AMERICAN LITERATURE inhabitants became mutually weary of each other. Men voyaged by thousands to the West; some to barter glass 160 beads, and such like jewels, for the furs of the Indian hunter ; some to conquer virgin empires ; and one stern band to pray. But none of these motives had much weight with the colonists of Merry Mount. Their leaders were men who had sported so long with life, that when Thought 165 and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome guests were led astray by the crowd of vanities which they should have put to flight. Erring Thought and perverted Wisdom were made to put on masques, and play the fool. The men of whom we speak, after losing the heart's fresh gaiety, 170 imagined a wild philosophy of pleasure, and came hither to act out their latest day-dream. They gathered followers from all that giddy tribe, whose whole life is like the festal days of soberer men. In their train were minstrels, not unknown in London streets; wandering players, whose 175 theatres had been the halls of noblemen, mummers, rope- dancers, and mountebanks, who would long be missed at wakes, church ales, and fairs ; in a word, mirth-makers of every sort, such as abounded in that age, but now began to be discountenanced by the rapid growth of Puritanism. 180 Light had their footsteps been on land, and as lightly they came across the sea. Many had been maddened by their previous troubles into a gay despair ; others were as madly gay in the flush of youth, like the May Lord and his Lady ; but whatever might be the quality of their mirth, old and 185 young were gay at Merry Mount. The young deemed themselves happy. The elder spirits, if they knew that mirth was but the counterfeit of happiness, yet followed the false shadow wilfully, because at least her garments glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of a lifetime, they would 190 not venture among the sober truths of life, not even to be truly blest. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 165 All the hereditary pastimes of Old England were trans- planted hither. The King of Christmas was duly crowned, and the Lord of Misrule bore potent sway. On the eve of Saint John, they felled whole acres of the forest to make 195 bonfires, and danced by the blaze all night, crowned with garlands, and throwing flowers into the flame. At harvest- time, though their crop was of the smallest, they made an image with the sheaves of Indian corn, and wreathed it with autumnal garlands, and bore it home triumphantly. 200 But what chiefly characterized the colonists of Merry Mount was their veneration for the May-Pole. It has made their true history a poet's tale. Spring decked the hallowed emblem with young blossoms and fresh green boughs ; Summer brought roses of the deepest blush, and the per- 205 f ected foliage of the forest ; Autumn enriched it with that red and yellow gorgeousness, which converts each wildwood leaf into a painted flower ; and Winter silvered it with sleet, and hung it round with icicles, till it flashed in the cold sunshine, itself a frozen sunbeam. Thus each alternate 210 season did homage to the May-Pole, and paid it a tribute of its own richest splendor. Its votaries danced round it, once, at least, in every month ; sometimes they called it their religion, or their altar ; but always, it was the banner staff of Merry Mount. 215 Unfortunately, there were men in the New World of a sterner faith than these May-Pole worshippers. Not far from Merry Mount was a settlement of Puritans, most dis- mal wretches, who said their prayers before daylight, and then wrought in the forest or the cornfield till evening 220 made it prayer-time again. Their weapons were always at hand, to shoot down the straggling savage. When they met in conclave, it was never to keep up the old English mirth, but to hear sermons three hours long, or to proclaim bounties on the heads of wolves and the scalps of Indians. 225 166 AMERICAN LITERATURE Their festivals were fast-days, and their chief pastime the singing of psahns. AVoe to the youth or maiden who did but dream of a dance! The selectman nodded to the con- stable; and there sat the light-heeled reprobate in the 230 stocks ; or if he danced, it was round the whipping-post, which might be termed the Puritan May -Pole. A party of these grim Puritans, toiling through the diffi- cult woods, each with a horse-load of iron armor to burthen his footsteps, would sometimes draw near the sunny pre- 235 cints of Merry Mount. There were the silken colonists, sporting round their May-Pole ; perhaps teaching a bear to dance, or striving to communicate their mirth to the grave Indian ; or masquerading in the skins of deer and wolves, which they had hunted for that especial purpose. Often, 240 the whole colony were playing at blind-man's buff, magis- trates and all with their eyes bandaged, except a single scape-goat, whom the blinded sinners pursued by the tink- ling of the bells at his garments. Once, it is said, they were seen following a flower-decked corpse, with merriment and 245 festive music, to his grave. But did the dead man laugh ? In their quietest times, they sang ballads and told tales, for the edification of their pious visitors ; or perplexed them with juggling tricks ; or grinned at them through horse- collars ; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made 250 game of their own stupidity, and began a yawning match. At the very least of these enormities, the men of iron shook their heads and frowned so darkly, that the revelers looked up, imagining that a momentary cloud had overcast the sunshine, which was to be perpetual there. On the 255 other hand, the Puritans affirmed, that, when a psalm was pealing from their place of worship, the echo which the forest sent them back seemed often like the chorus of a jolly catch, closing with a roar of laughter. Who but the fiend, and his bond-slaves, the crew of Merry Mount, had NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 167 thus disturbed them ? In due time, a feud arose, stern and 260 bitter on one side, and as serious on the other as anything could be among such light spirits as had sworn allegiance to the May-Pole. The future complexion of New England was involved in this important quarrel. Should the grizzly saints establish their jurisdiction over the gay sinners, then 265 would their spirits darken all the clime, and make it a land of clouded visages, of hard toil, of sermon and psalm for ever. But should the banner-staff of Merry Mount be fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills and flowers would beautify the forest, and late posterity do homage to 270 the May-Pole. After these authentic passages from history, we return to the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas ! we have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too sud- denly. As we glance again at the May-Pole, a solitary sun- 275 beam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint, golden tinge, blended with the hues of the rainbow banner. Even that dim light is now withdrawn, relinquishing the whole domain of Merry Mount to the evening gloom, which has rushed so instantaneously from the black surrounding 280 woods. But some of these black shadows have rushed forth in human shape. Yes ; with the setting sun, the last day of mirth had passed from Merry Mount. The ring of gay masquers was disordered and broken ; the stag lowered his antlers in dis- 285 may ; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb ; the bells of the morrice-dancers tinkled with tremulous affright. The Puri- tans had played a characteristic part in the May -Pole mum- meries. Their darksome figures were intermixed with the wild shapes of their foes, and made the scene a picture of 290 the moment, when waking thoughts start up amid the scattered fantasies of a dream. The leader of the hostile party stood in the centre of the circle, while the rout of 168 AMERICAN LITERATURE monsters cowered around him, like evil spirits in the pres- 295 ence of a dread magician. No fantastic foolery could look him in the face. So stern was the energy of his aspect, that the whole man, visage, frame, and soul, seemed wrought of iron, gifted with life and thought, yet all of one substance with his head-piece and breast-plate. It was the Puritan 300 of Puritans ; it was Endicott himself ! " Stand off, priest of Baal ! " said he, with a grim frown, and laying no reverent hand upon the surplice. " I know thee, Blackstone ! Thou art the man who couldst not abide the rule even of thine own corrupted church, and hast come 305 hither to preach iniquity, and to give example of it in thy life. But now shall it be seen that the Lord hath sanctified this wilderness for his peculiar people. Woe unto them that would defile it! And first, for this flower-decked abomination, the altar of thy worship ! " 310 And with his keen sword Endicott assaulted the hallowed May-Pole. Nor long did it resist his arm. It groaned with a dismal sound ; it showered leaves and rosebuds upon the remorseless enthusiast ; and finally, with all its green ■ boughs, and ribbons, and flowers, symbolic of departed •3l!5 pleasures, down fell the banner-staff of Merry Mount. As it sank, tradition says, the evening sky grew darker, and the woods threw forth a more sombre shadow. "There," cried Endicott, looking triumphantly on his work, — " there lies the only May-Pole in New England ! 320 The thought is strong within me, that, by its fall, is shad- owed forth the fate of light and idle mirth-makers, amongst us and our posterity. Amen, saith John Endicott." " Amen ! " echoed his followers. But the votaries of the May-Pole gave one groan for their 325 idol. At the sound, the Puritan leader glanced at the crew of Com us, each a figure of broad mirth, yet, at this moment, strangely expressive of sorrow and dismay. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 169 " Valiant captain," quoth Peter Palfrey, the Ancient of the band, "what order shall be taken with the prisoners ? " " I thought not to repent me of cutting down a May- 330 Pole," replied Endicott, " yet now I could find in my heart to plant it again, and give each of these bestial pagans one other dance round their idol. It would have served rarely for a whipping-post ! " " But there are pinetrees enow," suggested the lieutenant. 335 "True, good Ancient," said the leader. "Wherefore, bind the heathen crew, and bestow on them a small matter of stripes apiece, as earnest of our future justice. Set some of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves, so soon as Providence shall bring us to one of our own well-ordered 340 settlements, where such accommodations may be found. Further penalties, such as branding and cropping of ears, shall be thought of hereafter." " How many stripes for the priest ? " inquired Ancient Palfrey. 345 "None as yet," answered Endicott, bending his iron frown upon the culprit. "It must be for the Great and* General Court to determine whether stripes and long im- prisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone for his transgressions. Let him look to himself ! For such as vio- 350 late our civil order, it may be permitted us to show mercy. But woe to the wretch that troubleth our religion ! " " And this dancing bear," resumed the officer. " Must he share the stripes of his fellows ? " " Shoot him through the head ! " said the energetic Puri- 355 tan. "I suspect witchcraft in the beast." " Here be a couple of shining ones," continued Peter Pal- frey, pointing his weapon at the Lord and Lady of the May. "They seem to be of high station among these misdoers. Methinks their dignitj'- will not be fitted with less than a 360 double share of stripes." 170 AMERICAN LITERATURE Endicott rested on his sword, and closely surveyed the dress and aspect of the hapless pair. There they stood, pale, downcast, and apprehensive. Yet there w^as an air of 365 mutual support, and of pure affection, seeking aid and giv- ing it, that showed them to be man and wife, with the sanc- tion of a priest upon their love. The youth, in the peril of the moment, had dropped his gilded staff, and thrown his arm about the Lady of the May, who leaned against his 370 breast, too lightly to burthen him, but with weight enough to express that their destinies were linked together, for good or evil. They looked first at each other, and then into the grim captain's face. There they stood, in the first hour of wedlock, while the idle pleasures, of which their com- 375 panions were the emblems, had given place to the sternest cares of life, personified by the dark Puritans. But never had their youthful beauty seemed so pure and high, as when its glow was chastened by adversity. " Youth," said Endicott, " ye stand in an evil case, thou 380 and thy maiden wife. Make ready presently; for I am minded that ye shall both have a token to remember your wedding-day ! " " Stern man," cried the May Lord, " how can I move thee ? Were the means at hand, I would resist to the death. Be- 385 ing powerless, I entreat ! Do with me as thou wilt, but let Edith go untouched ! " "Not so," replied the immitigable zealot. "We are not wont to show an idle courtesy to that sex, which requireth the stricter discipline. What sayest thou, maid? Shall 390 thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share of the penalty, be- sides his own ? " " Be it death," said Edith, " and lay it all on me! " Truly, as Endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in a woful case. Their foes were triumphant, their friends cap- 395 tive and abased, their home desolate, the benighted wilder- NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 171 ness around them, and a rigorous destiny, in the shape of the Puritan leader, their only guide. Yet the deepening twilight could not altogether conceal that the iron man was softened ; he smiled at the fair spectacle of early love ; he almost sighed for the inevitable blight of early hopes. 400 "The troubles of life have come hastily on this young couple," observed Endicott. " We will see how they com- port themselves under their present trials, ere we burthen them with greater. If, among the spoil, there be any gar- ments of a more decent fashion, let them be put upon this 405 May Lord and his Lady, instead of their glistening vanities. Look to it, some of you." " And shall not the youth's hair be cut ? " asked Peter Palfrey, looking with abhorrence at the love-lock and long glossy curls of the young man. 410 " Crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell fashion," answered the captain. " Then bring them along with us, but more gently than their fellows. There be qualities in the youth, which may make him valiant to fight, and sober to toil, and pious to pray ; and in the maiden, 415 that may fit her to become a mother in our Israel, bringing up babes in better nurture than her own hath been. Nor think ye, young ones, that they are the happiest, even in our lifetime of a moment, who misspend it in dancing round a May-Pole ! " 420 And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the rock-foundation of New England, lifted the wreath of roses from the ruin of the May-Pole, and threw it, with his own gauntleted hand, over the heads of the Lord and Lady of the May. It was a deed of prophecy. As the moral gloom of 425 the world overpowers all systematic gaiety, even so was their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest. They returned to it no more. But, as their flowery garland was wreathed of the brightest roses that had grown there, 172 AMERICAN LITERATURE 430 SO, in the tie that united them, were intertwined all the purest and best of their early joys. They went heaven- ward, supporting each other along the difficult path which it was their lot to tread, and never wasted one regretful thought on the vanities of Merry Mount. Drowne's Wooden Image One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of Boston, a young carver in wood, well known by the name of Drowne, stood contemplating a large oaken log, which it was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a vessel. 5 And while he discussed within his own mind what sort of shape or similitude it were well to bestow upon this excellent piece of timber, there came into Drowne's workshop a cer- tain Captain Hunnewell, owner and commander of the good brig called the Cynosure, which had just returned from her 10 first voyage to Fayal. " Ah ! that will do, Drowne, that will do ! " cried the jolly captain, tapping the log with his rattan. " I bespeak this very piece of oak for the figure-head of the Cynosure. She has shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated, 15 and I mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest image that the skill of man can cut out of timber. And, Drowne, you are the fellow to execute it." " You give me more credit than I deserve. Captain Hunne- well," said the carver, modestly, yet as one conscious of 20 eminence in his art. " But, for the sake of the good brig, I stand ready to do my best. And which of these designs do you prefer? Here," — pointing to a staring, half-length figure, in a white wig and scarlet coat, — " here is an ex- cellent model, the likeness of our gracious king. Here is 25 the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or, if you prefer a female figure, what say you to Britannia with the trident ? " NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 173 "All very fine, Drowne ; all very fine," answered the mariner. " But as nothing like the brig ever swam the ocean, so I am determined she shall have such a figure-head as old Neptune never saw in his life. And what is more, 30 as there is a secret in the matter, you must pledge your credit not to betray it." " Certainly," said Drowne, marvelling, however, what possible mystery there could be in reference to an affair so open, of necessity, to the inspection of all the world as the 35 figure-head of a vessel. " You may depend, captain, on my being as secret as the nature of the case will permit." Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button, and communicated his wishes in so low a tone that it would be unmannerly to repeat what was evidently intended for the 40] carver's private ear. We shall, therefore, take the opportu- nity to give the reader a few desirable particulars about Drowne himself. He was the first American who is known to have at- tempted — in a very humble line, it is true — that art in 45 which we can now reckon so many names already distin- guished, or rising to distinction. From his earliest boyhood he had exhibited a knack — for it would be too proud a word to call it genius — a knack, therefore, for the imitation of the human figure in whatever material came most readily 50 to hand. The snows of a New England winter had often supplied him with a species of marble as dazzlingly white, at least, as the Parian or the Carrara, and if less durable, yet sufficiently so to correspond with any claims to permanent existence possessed by the boy's frozen statues. Yet they 55 won admiration from maturer judges than his school-fellows, and were indeed, remarkably clever, though destitute of the native warmth that might have made the snow melt beneath his hand. As he advanced in life, the young man adopted pine and oak as eligible materials for the display of his 60 174 AMERICAN LITERATURE skill, which now began to bring him a return of solid silver as well as the empty praise that had been an apt reward enough for his productions of evanescent snow. He became noted for carving ornamental pump heads, and wooden urns 65 for gate posts, and decorations, more grotesque than fanci- ful, for mantelpieces. No apothecary would have deemed himself in the way of obtaining custom without setting up a gilded mortar, if not a head of Galen or Hippocrates, from the skilful hand of Drowne. 70 Bat the great scope of his business lay in the manu- facture of figure-heads for vessels. Whether it were the monarch himself, or some famous British admiral or general, or the governor of the province, or perchance the favorite daughter of the ship-owner, there the image stood 75 above the prow, decked out in gorgeous colors, magnificently gilded, and staring the whole world out of countenance, as if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority. These specimens of native sculpture had crossed the sea in all directions, and been not ignobly noticed among the 80 crowded shipping of the Thames and wherever else the hardy mariners of New England had pushed their ad- ventures. It must be confessed that a family likeness pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne's skill ; that the benign countenance of the king resembled those of his 85 subjects, and that Miss' Peggy Hobart, the merchant's daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to Britannia, Vic- tory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, finally, that they all had a kind of wooden aspect which proved an intimate relationship with the unshaped blocks 90 of timber in the carver's workshop. But at least there was no inconsiderable skill of hand, nor a deficiency of any attribute to render them really works of art, except that deep quality, be it of soul or intellect, which bestows life upon the lifeless and warmth upon the cold, and which, NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 175 had it been present, would have made Drowne's wooden 95 image instinct with spirit. The captain of the Cynosure had now finished his in- structions. '• And Drowne," said he, impressively, '• you must lay aside all other business and set about this forthwith. And lOO as to the price, only do the job in first-rate style, and you shall settle that point yourself." "Very well, captain," answered the carver, who looked grave and somewhat perplexed, yet had a sort of smile upon his visage ; " depend upon it, I'll do my utmost to 105 satisfy you." From that moment the men of taste about Long Wharf and the Town Dock who were wont to show their love for the arts by frequent visits to Drowne's workshop, and admira- tion of his wooden images, began to be sensible of a mystery no in the carver's conduct. Often he was absent in the day- time. Sometimes, as might be judged by gleams of light from the shop windows, he was at work until a late hour of the evening ; although neither knock nor voice, on such occasions, could gain admittance for a visitor, or elicit any 115 word of response. Nothing remarkable, however, was ob- served in the shop at those hours when it was thrown open. A fine piece of timber, indeed, which Drowne was known to have reserved for some work of especial dignity, was seen to be gradually assuming shape. What shape it was 120 destined ultimately to take w^as a problem to his friends and a point on which the carver himself preserved a rigid silence. But day after day, though Drowne was seldom noticed in the act of working upon it, this rude form began to be developed until it became evident to all observers 125 that a female figure was growing into mimic life. At each new visit they beheld a larger pile of wooden chips and a nearer approximation to something beautiful. It seemed 176 AMERICAN LITERATURE as if the hamadryad of the oak had sheltered herself 130 from the unimagmative world within the heart .of her native tree, and that it was only necessary to remove the strange shapelessness that had incrusted her, and reveal the grace and loveliness of a divinity. Imperfect as the design, the attitude, the costume, and especially the face 135 of the image still remained, there was already an effect that drew the eye from the wooden cleverness of Browne's earlier productions and fixed it upon the tantalizing mys- tery of this new project. Copley, the celebrated painter, then a young man and a 140 resident of Boston, came one day to visit Drowne ; for he had recognized so much of moderate ability in the carver as to induce him, in the dearth of professional sympathy, to cultivate his acquaintance. On entering the shop, the artist glanced at the inflexible image of king, commander, 145 dame, and allegory, that stood around, on the best of which might have been bestowed the questionable praise that it looked as if a living man had here been changed to wood, and that not only the physical, but the intellectual and spiritual part, partook of the stolid transformation. But 150 in not a single instance did it seem as if the wood were im- bibing the ethereal essence of humanity. What a w4de distinction is here ! and how far would the slightest portion of the latter merit have outvalued the utmost degree of the former ! 155 "My friend Drowne," said Copley, smiling to himself, but alluding to the mechanical and wooden cleverness that so invariably distinguished the images, "you are really a remarkable person ! I have seldom met with a man in your line of business that could do so much ; for one other touch 160 might make this figure of General Wolfe, for instance, a breathing and intelligent human creature." "You would have me think that you are praising me NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 177 highly, Mr. Copley," answered Drowne, turning his back upon Wolfe's image in apparent disgust. " But there has come a light into my mind. I know, what you know as 165 well, that the one touch which you speak of as deficient is the only one that would be truly valuable, and that with- out it these works of mine are no better than worthless abortions. There is the same difference between them and the works of an inspired artist as between a sign-post daub 170 and one of your best pictures." " This is strange," cried Copley, looking him in the face, which now, as the painter fancied, had a singular depth of intelligence, though hitherto it had not given him greatly the advantage over his owm family of wooden images. 175 " What has come over you ? How is it that, possessing the idea which you have now uttered, you should produce only such works as these ? " The carver smiled, but made no reply. Copley turned again to the images, conceiving that the sense of deficiency 180 which Drowne had just expressed, and which is so rare in a merely mechanical character, must surely imply a genius, the tokens of which had heretofore been overlooked. But no ; there was not a trace of it. He was about to withdraw when his eyes chanced to fall upon a half-developed figure 185 which lay in a corner of the workshop, surrounded by scat- tered chips of oak. It arrested him at once. " What is here ? Who has done this ? " he broke out, after contemplating it in speechless astonishment for an instant. " Here is the divine, the life-giving touch. What 190 inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live ? Whose work is this ?" " No man's work," replied Drowne. " The figure lies within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it." "Drowne," said the true artist, grasping the carver fer- 195 vently by the hand, " you are a man of genius ! " 178 AMERICAN LITERATURE As Copley departed, happening to glance backward from the threshold, he beheld Drowne bending over the half- created shape, and stretching forth his arms as if he would 200 have embraced and drawn it to his heart ; while, had such a miracle been possible, his countenance expressed passion enough to communicate warmth and sensibility to the life- less oak. " Strange enough ! " said the artist to himself. " Who 205 would have looked for a modern Pygmalion in the person of a Yankee mechanic ! " As yet, the image was but vague in its outward present- ment ; so that, as in the cloud shapes around the western sun, the observer rather felt, or was led to imagine, than 210 really saw what was intended by it. Day by day, however, the work assumed greater precision, and settled its irregu- lar and misty outline into distincter grace and beauty. The general design was now obvious to the common eye. It was a female figure, in what appeared to be a foreign dress ; 215 the gown being laced over the bosom, and opening in front so as to disclose a skirt or petticoat, the folds and inequali- ties of which were admirably represented in the oaken substance. She wore a hat of singular gracefulness, and abundantly laden with flowers, such as never grew in the 220 rude soil of New England, but which, with all their fanci- ful luxuriance, had a natural truth that it seemed impossi- ble for the most fertile imagination to have attained without copying from real prototypes. There were several little appendages to this dress, such as a fan, a pair of ear- 225 rings, a chain about the neck, a watch in the bosom, and a ring upon the finger, all of which would have been deemed beneath the dignity of sculpture. They were put on, how- ever, with as much taste as a lovely woman might have shown in her attire, and could therefore have shocked none 230 but a judgment spoiled by artistic rules. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 179 The face was still imperfect ; but gradually, by a magic touch, intelligence and sensibility brightened through the features, with all the effect of light gleaming forth from within the solid oak. The face became alive. It was a beautiful, though not precisely regular and somewhat 235 haughty aspect, but with a certain piquancy about the eyes and mouth, which, of all expressions, would have seemed the most impossible to throw over a wooden countenance. And now, so far as carving went, this wonderful production was complete. 240 " Drowne," said Copley, who had hardly missed a single day in his visits to the carver's workshop, " if this work were in marble it would make you famous at once ; nay, I would almost affirm that it would make an era in the art. It is as ideal as an antique statue, and yet as real as any 245 lovely woman whom one meets at a fireside or in the street. But I trust you do not mean to desecrate this exquisite creature with paint, like those staring kings and admirals yonder ? " " Not paint her ! " exclaimed Captain Hunnewell, who 250 stood by; "not paint the figure-head of the Cynosure! And what sort of a figure should I cut in a foreign port with such an unpainted oaken stick as this over my prow ! She must, and she shall, be painted to the life, from the topmost flower in her hat down to the silver spangles on 255 her slippers." " Mr. Copley," said Drowne, quietly, " I know nothing of marble statuary, and nothing of the sculptor's rules of art ; but of this wooden image, this work of my hands, this creature of my heart," — and here his voice faltered and 260 choked in a very singular manner, — "of this — of her — I may say that I know something. A well-spring of inward wisdom gushed within me as I wrought upon the oak with my whole strength, and soul, and faith. Let others do 180 AMERICAN LITERATURE 265 what they may with marble, and adopt what rules they choose. If I can produce my desired effect by painted wood, those rules are not for me, and I have a right to dis- regard them." "The very spirit of genius,'^ muttered Copley to himself. 270 " How otherwise should this carver feel himself entitled to transcend all rules, and make me ashamed of quoting them ? " He looked earnestly at Drowne, and again saw that ex- pression of' human love which, in a spiritual sense, as the 275 artist could not help imagining, was the secret of the life that had been breathed into this block of wood. The carver, still in the same secrecy that marked all his operations upon this mysterious image, proceeded to paint the habiliments in their proper colors, and the countenance 280 with Nature's red and white. When all was finished he threw open his workshop, and admitted the townspeople to behold what he had done. Most persons, at their first en- trance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and pay such rev- erence as was due to the richly-dressed and beautiful young 285 lady who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with oaken chips and shavings scattered at her feet. Then came a sensation of fear ; as if, not being actually human, yet so like humanity, she must therefore be something preternat- ural. There was, in truth, an indefinable air and expres- 290 sion that might reasonably induce the query. Who and from what sphere this daughter of the oak should be ? The strange, rich flowers of Eden on her head ; the complexion so much deeper and more brilliant than those of our native beauties ; the foreign, as it seemed, and fantastic garb, yet 295 not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the street ; the delicately wrought embroidery of the skirt ; the broad gold chain about her neck ; the curious ring upon her finger ; the fan, so exquisitely sculptured in open work, and painted to NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 181 resemble pearl and ebony ; — where could Drowne, in his sober walk of life, have beheld the vision here so match- 300 lessly embodied ! And then her face ! In the dark eyes, and around the voluptuous mouth, there played a look made up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam of mirthfulness, which impressed Copley with the idea that the image was secretly enjoying the perplexing admiration of himself and other 305 beholders. " And will you," said he to the carver, " permit this mas- terpiece to become the figure-head of a vessel ? Give the honest captain yonder figure of Britannia — it will answer his purpose far better — and send this fairy queen to Eng- 310 land, where, for aught I know, it may bring you a thousand pounds." " I have not wrought it for money," said Drowne. " What sort of a fellow is this ! " thought Copley. " A Yankee, and throw away the chance of making his fortune ! 315 He has gone mad ; and thence has come this gleam of genius." There was still further proof of Drowne's lunacy, if credit were due to the rumor that he had been seen kneeling at the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing with a lover's pas- 320 sionate ardor into the face that his own hands had created. The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of surprise if an evil spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful form, and seduce the carver to destruction. The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabit- 325 ants visited it so universally, that after a few days of ex- hibition there was hardly an old man or a child who had not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had the story of Drowne's wooden image ended here, its celebrity might have been prolonged for many years by the reminis-330 cences of those who looked upon it in their childhood, and saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town 182 AMERICAN LITERATURE was now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has formed itself into one of the most singular legends that are 335 yet to be met with in the traditionary chimney corners of the New England metropolis, where old men and women sit dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers of the present and the future. One fine morning, just before the departure of the Cyno- 340 sure on her second voyage to Fayal, the commander of that gallant vessel was seen to issue from his residence in Han- over Street. He was stylishly dressed in a blue broadcloth coat, witli gold lace at the seams and button-holes, an em- broidered scarlet waistcoat, a triangular hat, with a loop 345 and broad binding of gold, and wore a silver-hilted hanger at his side. But the good captain might have been arrayed in the robes of a prince or the rags of a beggar, without in either case attracting notice, while obscured by such a com- panion as now leaned on his arm. The people in the street 350 started, rubbed their eyes, and either leaped aside from their path, or stood as if transfixed to wood or marble in astonishment. " Do you see it ? — do you see it ? " cried one, with trem- ulous eagerness. " It is the very same ! " 355 " The same ? " answered another, who had arrived in town only the night before. " Who do you mean ? I see only a sea-captain in his shore-going clothes, and a young lady in a foreign habit, with a bunch of beautiful flowers in her hat. On my word, she is as fair and bright a damsel as 360 my eyes have looked on this many a day ! '' " Yes ; the same ! — the very same ! " repeated the other. " Drowne's wooden image has come to life !*" Here was a miracle indeed ! Yet, illuminated by the sun- shine, or darkened by the alternate shade of -the houses, and 365 with its garments fluttering lightly in the morning breeze, there passed the image along the street. It was exactly and NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 183 minutely the shape, the garb, and the face which the towns- people had so recently thronged to see and admire. Not arich flower upon her head, not a single leaf, but had had its proto- type in Drowne's wooden workmanship, although now their 370 fragile grace had become flexible, was shaken by every foot- step that the wearer made. The broad gold chain upon the neck was identical with the one represented on the image, and glistened with the motion imparted by the rise and fall of the bosom which it decorated. A real diamond sparkled 375 on her finger. In her right hand she bore a pearl and ebony fan, which she flourished with a fantastic and bewitching coquetry, that was likewise expressed in all her movements as well as in the style of her beauty and the attire that so well harmonized with it. The face with its brilliant depth 380 of complexion had the same piquancy of mirthful mischief that was fixed upon the countenance of the image, but which was here varied and continually shifting, yet always essen- tially the same, like the sunny gleam upon a bubbling fountain. On the whole, there was something so airy and 385 yet so real in the figure, and withal so perfectly did it rep- resent Drowne's image, that people knew not whether to suppose the magic wood etherealized into a spirit or warmed and softened into an actual woman. "One thing is certain," muttered a Puritan of the old 390 stamp, "Drowne has sold himself to the devil; and doubt- less this gay Captain Hunnewell is a party to the bargain." " And I," said a young man who overheard him, " would almost consent to be the third victim, for the liberty of saluting those lovely lips." 395 "And so would I," said Copley, the painter, "for the privilege of taking her picture." The image, or the apparition, whichever it might be, still escorted by the bold captain, proceeded from Hanover Street through some of the cross lanes that make this portion of 400 184 AMERICAN LITERATURE the town so intricate, to Ann Street, thence into Dock Square, and so downward to Browne's shop, which stood just on the water's edge. The crowd still followed, gathering volume as it rolled along. Never had a modern miracle occurred in 405 such broad daylight, nor in the presence of such a multitude of witnesses. The airy image, as if conscious that she was the object of the murmurs and disturbance that swelled be- hind her, appeared slightly vexed and flustered, yet still in a manner consistent with the light vivacity and sportive 410 mischief that were written in her countenance. She was observed to flutter her fan with such vehement rapidity that the elaborate delicacy of its workmanship gave way, and it remained broken in her hand. Arriving at Drowne's door, while the captain threw it 415 open, the marvellous apparition paused an instant on the threshold, assuming the very attitude of the image, and casting over the crowd that glance of sunny coquetry which all remembered on the face of the oaken lady. She and her cavalier then disappeared. 420 " Ah ! " murmured the crowd, drawing a deep breath, as with one vast pair of lungs. "The world looks darker now that she has vanished,'^ said some of the young men. But the aged, whose recollections dated as far back as 425 witch times, shook their heads, and hinted that our fore- fathers would have thought it a pious deed to burn the daughter of the oak with fire. " If she be other than a bubble of the elements," exclaimed Copley, '' I must look upon her face again." 430 He accordingly entered the shop ; and there, in her usual corner, stood the image, gazing at him, as it might seem, with the very same expression of mirthful mischief that had been the farewell look of the apparition when, but a moment before, she turned her face towards the crowd. The carver NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 185 stood beside his creation mending the beautiful fan, which 435 by some accident was broken in her hand. But there was no longer any motion in the lifelike image, nor any real woman in the workshop, nor even the witchcraft of a sunny shadow, that might have deluded people's eyes as it flitted along the street. Captain Hunnewell, too, had vanished. 440 His hoarse sea-breezy tones, however, were audible on the other side of a door that opened upon the water. " Sit down in the stern sheets, my lady," said the gallant captain. " Come, bear a hand, you lubbers, and set us on board in the turning of a minute-glass." 445 And then was heard the stroke of oars. " Drowne," said Copley with a smile of intelligence, "you have been a truly fortunate man. What painter or statuary ever had such a subject ! No wonder that she inspired a genius into you, and first created the artist who afterwards 450 created her image." Drowne looked at him with a visage that bore the traces of tears, but from which the light of imagination and sen- sibility, so recently illuminating it, had departed. He was again the mechanical carver that he had been known to be 455 all his lifetime. " I hardly understand what you mean, Mr, Copley," said he, putting his hand to his brow. " This image ! Can it have been my work ? Well, I have wrought it in a kind of dream ; and now that I am broad awake I must set about 460 finishing yonder figure of Admiral Vernon." And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid coun- tenance of one of his wooden progeny, and completed it in his own mechanical style, from which he was never known afterwards to deviate. He followed his business indus-465 triously for many years, acquired a competence, and in the latter part of his life attained to a dignified station in the church, being remembered in records and traditions as 186 AMERICAN LITERATURE Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an 470 Indian chief, gilded all over, stood during the better part of a century on the cupola of the Province House, bedazzling the eyes of those who looked upward, like an angel of the sun. Another work of the good deacon's hand — a reduced likeness of his friend Captain Hunnewell, holding a tel- 475escope and quadrant — may be seen to this day, at the cor- ner of Broad and State streets, serving in the useful capacity of sign to the shop -of a nautical instrument maker. We know not how to account for the inferiority of this quaint old figure, as compared with the recorded excellence of the 480 Oaken Lady, unless on the supposition that in every human spirit there is imagination, sensibility, creative' power, gen- ius, which, according to circumstances, may either be de- veloped in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dulness until another state of being. To our friend Drowne there 485 came a brief season of excitement, kindled by love. It ren- dered him a genius for that one occasion, but, quenched in disappointment, left him again the mechanical .carver in wood, without the power even of appreciating the work that his own hands had wrought. Yet who can doubt that the 490 very highest state to which a human spirit can attain, in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state, and that Drowne was more consistent with himself when he wrought the admirable figure of the mysterious lady, than when he perpetrated a whole progeny of blockheads ? 495 There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a young Portuguese lady of rank, on some occasion of political or domestic disquietude, had fled from her home in Fayal and put herself under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, on board of whose vessel, and at whose residence she was 500 sheltered until a change of affairs. This fair stranger must have been the original of Drowne's Wooden Image. JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 187 JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY Tour of William the Silent through Holland (From The Rise of the Dutch Republic, Part V, Chap. IH) At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour through the little provinces, honoring every city with a brief visit. There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, no banners, no theatrical pageantry — nothing but the choral anthem from thousands of grateful hearts. " Father William 5 has come! Father William has come!" cried men, women, and children to each other when the news of his arrival in town or village was announced. He was a patriarch visiting his children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate display- ing himself to his admirers. Happy were they who heard 10 his voice, happier they who touched his hands, for his words were full of tenderness, his hand was offered to all. There were none so humble as to be forbidden to approach him, none so ignorant as not to know his deeds. He found time, notwithstanding the congratulating crowds 15 who thronged his footsteps, to direct the labors of the states- general, who still looked more than ever to his guidance, as their relations with Don John became more complicated and unsatisfactory. In a letter addressed to them, on the 20th of June, from Harlem, he warned them most eloquently 20 to hold to the Ghent Pacification as to their anchor in the storm. He assured them, if it was torn from them, that their destruction was inevitable. He reminded them that hitherto they had got but the shadow, not the substance of the treaty ; that they had been robbed of that which was to 25 have been its chief fruit — union among themselves. He and his brothers, with their labor, their wealth, and their blood, had laid down the bridge over which the country had stepped to the Pacification of Ghent. It was for the nation 188 AMERICAN LITERATURE 30 to maintain what had been so painfully won ; yet he pro- claimed to them that the government were not acting in good faith, that secret preparations were making to annihilate the authority of the states, to restore the edicts, to put strangers into high places, and to set up again the scaffold 35 and the whole machinery of persecution. In consequence of the seizure of Namur Castle, and the accusations made by Don John against Orange, in order to justify that act, the Prince had already despatched Taffin and Saint Aldegonde to the states-general with a commission to 40 declare his sentiments upon the subject. He addressed, moreover, to the same body a full letter of sincere and simple eloquence. " The Seigneur Don John," said he, " has accused me of violating the peace, and of countenancing attempts against his life, and is endeavouring to persuade you into 45 joining him in a declaration of war against me and against Holland and Zealand ; but I pray you, most affectionately, to remember our mutual and solemn obligations to maintain the treaty of Ghent." He entreated the states, therefore, to beware of the artifices employed to seduce them from the 50 only path which led to the tranquillity of their common country, and her true splendor and prosperity. " I believe there is not one of you," he continued, " who can doubt me, if he will weigh carefully all my actions, and consider closely the course which I am pursuing and have always 55 pursued. Let all these be confronted with the conduct of Don John, and any man will perceive that all my views of happiness, both for my country and myself, imply a peace- able enjoyment of the union, joined with the legitimate restoration of our liberties, to which all good patriots aspire, 60 and towards which all my designs have ever tended. As all the grandeur of Don John, on the contrary, consists in war, as there is nothing which he so abhors as repose, as he has given ample proof of these inclinations in all his designs JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 189 and enterprises, both before and after the treaty of Marche en Famine, both within the country and beyond its borders, 65 as it is most manifest that his purpose is, and ever has been, to embroil us with our neighbors of England and Scotland in new dissensions, as it must be evident to every one of you that his pretended accusations against me are but colors and shadows to embellish and to shroud his own desire for war, 70 his appetite for vengeance, and his hatred not only to me but to yourselves, and as his determination is, in the words of Escovedo, to chastize some of us by means of the rest, and to excite the jealousy of one portion of the country against the other — therefore, gentlemen, do I most affec-75 tionately exhort you to found your decision, as to these matters, not upon words, but upon actions. Examine care- fully my conduct in the points concerning which the charges are made ; listen attentively to what my envoys will com- municate to you in my behalf ; and then, having compared it 80 with all the proceedings of Seigneur Don John, you will be able to form a resolution worthy the rank which you occupy, and befitting your obligations to the whole people, of whom you have been chosen chiefs and protectors by God and by men. Put away all considerations which might obscure your 85 clear eye-sight ; maintain with magnanimity, and like men, the safety of yourselves, your wives, your children, your es- tates, your liberties ; see that this poor people, whose eyes are fixed upon you, does not perish ; preserve them from the greediness of those who would grow great at your expense ; 90 guard them from the yoke of miserable servitude ; let not all our posterity lament that, by our pusillanimity, they have lost the liberties which our ancestors had conquered for them, and bequeathed to them as well as to us, and that they have been subjugated by the proud tyranny of strangers. 95 " Trusting," said the Prince, in conclusion, " that you will accord faith and attention to my envoys, I will only add an 190 AMERICAN LITERATURE expression of my sincere determination to employ myself incessantly in your service, and for the welfare of the whole 100 people, without sparing any means in my power, nor my life itself." The vigilant Prince was indeed not slow to take advantage of the Governor's false move. While in reality intending peace, if it were possible, Don John had thrown the gaunt- 105 let; while affecting to deal openly and manfully, like a warrior and an emperor's son, he had involved himself in petty stratagems and transparent intrigues, by all which he had gained nothing but the character of a plotter, whose word could not be trusted. Saint Aldegonde expressed the 110 hope that the seizure of Namur Castle would open the eyes of the people, and certainly the Prince did his best to sharpen their vision. While in North Holland, William of Orange received an urgent invitation from the magistracy and community of 115 Utrecht to visit that city. His authority, belonging to him under his ancient commission, had not yet been recognized over that province, but there was no doubt that the contem- plated convention of " Satisfaction " was soon to be arranged, for his friends there were numerous and influential. His 120 princess, Charlotte de Bourbon, who accompanied him on his tour, trembled at the danger to which her husband would expose himself by venturing thus boldly into a territory which might be full of his enemies, but the Prince deter- mined to trust the loyalty of a province which he hoped 125 would be soon his own. With anxious forebodings, the Princess followed her husband to the ancient episcopal city. As they entered its gates, where an immense concourse was waiting to receive him, a shot passed through the carriage window, and struck the Prince upon the breast. The af- 130 frighted lady threw her arms about his neck, shrieking that they were betrayed, but the Prince, perceiving that the RALPH WALDO EMERSON 191 supposed shot was but a wad from one of the cannon, which were still roaring their welcome to him, soon succeeded in calming her fears. The carriage passed slowly through the streets, attended by the vociferous greetings of the raulti- 1,35 tude ; for the whole population had come forth to do him honor. The citizens of Utrecht became more than ever in- clined to accept the dominion of the Prince, and it was cer- tain before he took his departure that the treaty of " Satis- faction " would not be long delayed. It was drawn up, 140 accordingly, in the autumn of the same year, upon the basis of that accepted by Harlem and Amsterdam — a basis wide enough to support both religions, with a nominal supremacy to the ancient Church. RALPH WALDO EMERSON The Rhodora: ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool," 5 Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 10 Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing. Then Beauty is its own excuse for being : Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! I never thought to ask, I never knew : But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 15 The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. 192 AMERICAN LITERATURE The Apology Think me not unkind and rude That I walk alone in grove and glen; I go to the god of the wood To fetch his word to men. 5 Tax not my sloth that I Fold my arms beside the brook ; Each cloud that floated in the sky Writes a letter in my book. Chide me not, laborious band, 10 For the idle flowers I brought; Every aster in my hand Goes home loaded with a thought. There was never mystery But 'tis figured in the flowers ; 15 Was never secret history But birds tell it in the bowers. One harvest from thy field Homeward brought the oxen strong ; A second crop thine acres yield, 20 Which I gather in a song. Concord Hymn (Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837) By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled. Here once the embattled farmers stood And fired the shot heard round the world. 5 . The foe long since in silence slept ; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. RALPH WALDO EMERSON 193 On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone : 10 That memory may their deed redeem. When like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free. Bid Time and Nature gently spare 15 The shaft we raise to them and thee. The Humble-Bee Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek ; I will follow thee alone, 5 Thou animated torrid-zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer. Singing over shrubs and vines. lo Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air ; Voyager of light and noon ; 15 Epicurean of June; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, 20 With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall. And with softness touching all. 194 AMERICAN LITERATURE Tints the luiman countenance 25 With a color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets. Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, 30 The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, 35 Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found ; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 40 Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen ; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and daffodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, 45 Succory to match the sky. Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony. Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among; 50 All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher! Seeing only what is fair, 55 Sipping only what is sweet. Thou dost mock at fate and care. Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, RALPH WALDO EMERSON 195 Thou already sluiriberest deep ; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous. Terminus It is time to be old. To take in sail : — The god of bounds, Who sets to seas a shore, Came to me in his fatal rounds, 5 And said : ' No more ! No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. Fancy departs : no more invent ; Contract thy firmament 10 To compass of a tent. There's not enough for this and that. Make thy option which of two ; Economize the failing river. Not the less revere the Giver, 15 Leave the many and hold the few. Timely wise accept the terms, Soften the fall with wary foot ; A little while Still plan and smile, . 20 And, — fault of novel germs, ^- Mature the unfallen fruit. Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires. Bad husbands of their fires, Who, when they gave thee breath, 25 Failed to bequeath The needful sinew stark as once, The Baresark marrow to thy bones. But left a legacy of ebbing veins, Inconstant heat and nerveless reins, — 30 196 AMERICAN LITERATURE Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.' As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time, 35 I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime : 'Lowly faithful, banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed ; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, 40 And every wave is charmed.' The Nature of Government {From Politics) In this country, we are very vain of our political institu- tions, which are singular in this, that they sprung, within the memory of living men, from the character and condition of the people, which they still express w^ith sufficient fidel- sity, — and we ostentatiously prefer them to any other in • history. They are not better, but only fitter for us. We may be wise in asserting the advantage in modern times of the democratic form, but to other states of society, in which religion consecrated the monarchical, that and not this was 10 expedient. Democracy is better for us, because the religious sentiment of the present time accords better with it. Born democrats, we are nowise qualified to judge of monarchy, which, to our fathers living in the mjonarchical idea, was also relatively right. But our institutions, though in coin- 15 cidence with the spirit of the age, have not any exemption from the practical defects which have discredited other forms. Every actual State is corrupt. Good men must not obey the laws too well. What satire on government can equal the severity of censure conveyed in the wordj^oZ- RALPH WALDO EMERSON 197 itic, which now for ages has signified cunning, intimating 20 that the State is a trick ? The same benign necessity and the same practical abuse appear in the parties into which each State divides itself, of opponents and defenders of the administration of the government. Parties are also founded on instincts, and 25 have better guides to their own humble aims than the sagac- ity of their leaders. They have nothing perverse in their origin, but rudely mark some real and lasting relation. We might as wisely reprove the east wind, or the frost, as a political part}^, whose members, for the most part, could 30 give no account of their position, but stand for the defense of those interests in which they find themselves. Our quarrel with them begins, when they quit this deep natural ground at the bidding of some leader, and, obeying personal considerations, throw themselves into the maintenance and 35 defense of points nowise belonging to their system. A party is perpetually corrupted by personality. While we absolve the association from dishonesty we cannot extend the same charity to their leaders. They reap the rewards of the docility and zeal of the masses which they direct. 40 Ordinarily our parties are parties of circumstance and not of principle; as the planting interest in conflict with the commercial ; the party of capitalists, and that of operatives ; parties which are identical in their moral character, and which can easily change ground with each other, in the 45 support of many of their measures. Parties of principle, as religious sects, or the party of free-trade, of universal suf- frage, of abolition of slavery, of abolition of capital punish- ment, degenerate into personalities, or would inspire enthu- siasm. The vice of our leading parties in this country 50 (which may be cited as a fair specimen of these societies of opinion) is, that they do not plant themselves on the deep and necessary grounds to which they are respectively en- 198 AMERICAN LITERATURE titled, but lash themselves to fury in the carrying of some 55 local and momentary measure, nowise useful to the common- wealth. Of the two great parties, which, at this hour, almost share the nation between them, I should say, that one has the best cause, and the other contains the best men. The philosopher, the poet, or the religious man, will, of 60 course, wish to cast his vote with the democrat, for free- trade, for wide suffrage, for the abolition of legal cruelties in the penal code, and for facilitating in . every manner the access of the young and the poor to the sources of wealth and power. But he can rarely accept the persons whom 65 the so-called popular party proposes to him as representatives of these liberalities. They have not at heart the ends which give to the name of democracy what hope and virtue are in it. The spirit of our American radicalism is destruc- tive and aimless : it is not loving ; it has no ulterior and 70 divine ends ; but is destructive only out of hatred and selfishness. On the other side, the conservative party, com- posed of the most moderate, able, and cultivated part of the population, is timid, and merely defensive of property. It vindicates no right, it aspires to no real good, it brands no 75 crime, it proposes no generous policy, it does not build, nor write, nor cherish the arts, nor foster religion, nor establish schools, nor encourage science, nor emancipate the slave, nor befriend the poor, or the Indian, or the immigrant. From neither party, when in power, has the world any benefit to 80 expect in science, art, or humanity at all commensurate with the resources of the nation. I do not for these defects despair of our republic. We are not at the mercy of any waves of chance. In the strife of ferocious parties, human nature always finds itself cher- 85 ished, as the children of the convicts at Botany Bay are found to have as healthy a moral sentiment as other children. Citizens of feudal states are alarmed at our democratic insti- RALPH WALDO EMERSON 199 tutions lapsing into anarchy ; and the older and more cau- tious among ourselves are learning from Europeans to look with some terror at our turbulent freedom. It is said that 90 in our license of construing the Constitution, and in the des- potism of public opinion, we have no anchor ; and one foreign observer thinks he has found the safeguard in the sanctity of Marriage among us ; and another thinks he has found it in our Calvinism. Fisher Ames expressed the popular secu- 95 rity more wisely, when he compared a monarchy and a republic, saying, " that a monarchy is a merchantman, which sails well, but will sometimes strike on a rock, and go to the bottom ; whilst a republic is a raft, which would never sink, but then your feet are always in water." No forms can lOO have any dangerous importance, whilst we are befriended by the laws of things. It makes no difference how many tons' weight of atmosphere presses on our heads, so long as the same pressure resists it within the lungs. Augment the mass a thousand fold, it cannot begin to crush us, as long as 105 reaction is equal to action. The fact of two poles, of two forces, centripetal and centrifugal, is universal, and each force by its own activity develops the other. Wild liberty develops iron conscience. Want of liberty, by strengthening law and decorum, stupefies conscience. "Lynch-law'' pre- no vails only where there is greater hardihood and self-subsist- ency in the leaders. A mob cannot be a permanency : everybody's interest requires that it should not exist, and only justice satisfies all. We must trust infinitely to the beneficent necessity which lis shines through all laws. Human nature expresses itself in them as characteristically as in statues, or songs, or railroads, and an abstract of the codes of nations would be a transcript of the common conscience. Governments have their origin in the moral identity of men. Reason for one is seen to be 120 reason for another, and for every other. There is a middle 200 AMERICAN LITERATURE measure which satisfies all parties, be they never so many, or so resolute for their own. Every man finds a sanction for his simplest claims and deeds in decisions of his own 125 mind, which he calls Truth and Holiness. In these decisions all the citizens find a perfect agreement, and only in these ; not in what is good to eat, good to wear, good use of time, or what amount of land, or of public aid, each is entitled to claim. This truth and justice men presently endeavor to 130 make application of, to the measuring of land, the apportion- ment of service, the protection of life and property. Their first endeavors, no doubt, are very awkward. Yet absolute right is the first governor ; or, every government is an impure theocracy. The idea, after which each community is aiming 135 to make and mend its law, is the will of the wise man. The wise man, it cannot find in nature, and it makes awkward but earnest efforts to secure his government by contrivance ; as, by causing the entire people to give their voices on every measure ; or, by a double choice to get the representation of 140 the whole; or, by a selection of the best citizens; or, to secure the advantages of efficiency and internal peace, by confiding the government to one, who may himself select his agents. All forms of government symbolize an immortal government, common to all dynasties and independent of 145 numbers, perfect where two men exist, perfect where there is only one man. HENRY DAVID THOREAU The Coming of the Birds {From Early Spring in Massachusetts) March 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few birds make the fields ! At the end of the winter, when the fields are bare, and there is nothing to relieve the monotony of withered vegetation, our life seems reduced to its lowest HENRY DAVID THOREAU 201 terms. But let a bluebird come and warble over them, and 5 what a change ! The note of the first bluebird in the air answers to the purling rill of melted snow beneath. It is evidently soft and soothing, and, as surely as the thermom- eter, indicates a higher temperature. It is the accent of the south wind, its vernacular. It is modulated by the south lo wind. The song-sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes with the rustling of the brush along the water sides, but it is at the same time more terrene than the bluebird. The first woodpecker comes screaming into the empty house, and 15 throws open doors and windows wide, calling out each of them to let the neighbors know of its return. But heard farther off it is very suggestive of ineffable associations, which cannot be distinctly recalled, of long-drawn summer hours, and thus it also has the effect of music. I was not 20 aware that the capacity to hear the woodpecker had slum- bered within me so long. When the blackbird gets to a con- queree he seems to be dreaming of the sprays that are to be and on which he will perch. The robin does not come singing, but utters a somewhat anxious or inquisitive peep at first. 25 The songsparrow is immediately most at home of those I have named. Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear it again, it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a 30 previous state of -existence. How happens it that the asso- ciations it awakens are always pleasing, never saddening, reminiscences of our sanest hours. The voice of nature is always encouraging. When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round, and am 35 for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the river valley and the horizon with its distant blue-scalloped rim. It is a spring landscape, and as impossible a fortnight 202 AMERICAN LITERATURE ago as the song of birds. It is a deeper and warmer blue than 40 in winter, methinks. The snow is off the mountains, which seem even to have come again like the birds. The undu- lating river is a bright blue channel between sharp-edged shores of ice retained by the willows. The wind blows strong but warm from west by north (so that I have to hold 45 my paper tight while I write this), making the copses creak and roar, but the sharp tinkle of a song-sparrow is heard through it all. But, ah ! the needles of the pine, how they shine, as I look down over the Holden wood and westward ! Every third tree is lit with the most subdued, but clear, 50 ethereal light, as if it were the most delicate frost-work in a winter morning, reflecting no heat, but only light. And as they rock and wave in the strong wind, even a mile off, the light courses up and down them as over a field of grain, i.e., they are alternately light and dark, like looms above 55 the forest, when the shuttle is thrown between the light woof and the dark web. At sight of this my spirit is like a lit tree. It runs or flashes over their parallel boughs as when you play with the teeth of a comb. Not only osiers, but pine needles, shine brighter, I think, in the spring, and 60 arrowheads and railroad rails, etc., etc. Anacreon noticed this spring shining. Is it not from the higher sun and cleansed air and greater animation of nature ? There is a warmer red on the leaves of the shrub oak and on the tail of the hawk circling over them. Maimed Nature {From Early Spring in Massachusetts) March 23, 1856. I spend a considerable portion of my time observing the habits of the wild animals, my brute neigh- bors. By their various movements and migrations they fetch the year about to me. Very significant are the flight of geese HENRY DAVID THOREAU 203 and the migration of suckers, etc. But when I consider that 5 the nobler animals have been exterminated here, the cougar, panther, lynx, wolverine, wolf, bear, moose, deer, beaver, turkey, etc., etc., I cannot but feel as if I lived in a tamed and, as it were, emasculated country. Would not the mo- tions of those larger and wilder animals have been more lO significant still ? Is it not a maimed and imperfect nature that I am conversant with ? As if I were to study a tribe of Indians that had lost all its warriors. Do not the forest and the meadow now lack expression ? now that I never see nor think of the moose with a lesser forest on his head in 15 the one, nor of the beaver in the other ? When I think what were the various sounds and notes, the migrations and works, and changes of fur and plumage, which ushered in the spring and marked the other seasons of the year, I am reminded that this my life in nature, this particular round of natural 20 phenomena which I call a year, is lamentably incomplete. I listen to a concert in which so many parts are wanting. The whole civilized country is, to some extent, turned into a city, and I am that citizen whom I pity. Many of those animal migrations and other phenomena by which the 25 Indians marked the season are no longer to be observed. I seek acquaintance with Nature to know her moods and manners. Primitive nature is the most interesting to me. I take infinite pains to know all the phenomena of the springy for instance, thinking that I have here the entire poem, and 30 then, to my chagrin, I learn tha,t it is but an imperfect copy that I possess and have read, that my ancestors have torn out many of the first leaves and grandest passages, and mutilated it in many places. I should not like to think that some demigod had come before me and picked out some of 35 the best of the stars. I wish to know an entire heaven and an entire earth. All the great trees and beasts, fishes and fowl are gone ; the streams perchance are somewhat shrunk. 204 AMERICAN LITERATURE HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW The Beleaguered City I have read, m some old, marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 5 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead. There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound, ^0 The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice nor sound was there. No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 15 The mist-like banners clasped the air As clouds with clouds embrace. But when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer. The white pavilions rose and fell 20 On the alarmed air. Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled ; Up rose the glorious morning star. The ghastly host was dead. 25 I have read, in the marvellous heart of man. That strange and mystic scroll. That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 205 Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, 30 Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen. And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 35 Flows the River of Life between. No other voice nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave." 40 And when the solemn and deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 45 The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead. The Building of the Ship * Build me straight, O worthy Master ! Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel. That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' The merchant's word 6 Delighted the Master heard ; For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every Art. A quiet smile played round his lips. As the eddies and dimples of the tide lO Play round the bows of ships That steadily at anchor ride. 206 AMERICAN LITERATURE And with a voice tliat was full of glee, He answered, ' Erelong we will launch 15 A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, As ever weathered a wintry sea ! ' And first with nicest skill and art, Perfect and finished in every part, A little model the Master wrought, 20 Which should be to the larger plan What the child is to the man, Its counterpart in miniature ; That with a hand more swift and sure The greater labor might be brought 25 To answer to his inward thought. And as he labored, his mind ran o'er The various ships that were built of yore. And above them all, and strangest of all Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, 30 Whose picture was hanging on the wall, With bows and stern raised high in air, And balconies hanging here and there, And signal lanterns and flags afloat. And eight round towers, like those that frown 35 From some old castle, looking down Upon the drawbridge and the moat. And he said with a smile, ' Our ship, I wis, Shall be of another form than this ! ' It was of another form, indeed ; 40 Built for freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft ; Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast. Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; 45 Broad in the beam, but sloping aft With graceful curve and slow degrees. That she might be docile to the helm, And that the currents of parted seas, Closing behind, with mighty force, 50 Might aid and not impede her course. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 207 In the ship-yard stood the Master, With the model of the vessel, That should laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whiilwind wrestle ! Covering many a rood of ground, 55 Lay the timber piled around ; Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak. And scattered here and there, with these. The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; Brought from regions far away, 60 From Pascagoula's sunny bay. And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is To note how many wheels of toil One thought, one word, can set in motion! 65 There's not a ship that sails the ocean. But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small. And help to build the wooden wall ! The sun was rising o'er the sea, 70 And long the level shadows lay, As if they, too, the beams would be Of some great, airy argosy. Framed and launched in a single day. That silent architect, the sun, 75 Had hewn and laid them every one, Ere the work of man was yet begun. Beside the Master, when he spoke, A youth, against an anchor leaning. Listened, to catch his slightest meaning, 80 Only the long waves, as they broke In ripples on the pebbly beach. Interrupted the old man's speech. Beautiful they were, in sooth, The old man and the fiery youth ! 85 208 AMERICAN LITERATURE The old man, in whose busy brain Many a ship that sailed the main Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; The fiery youth, who was to be 90 The heir of his dexterity, The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, When he had built and launched from land What the elder head had planned. ' Thus,' said he, ' will we build this ship ! 95 Lay square the blocks upon the slip, And follow well this plan of mine. Choose the timbers with greatest care ; Of all that is unsound beware ; For only what is sound and strong 100 To this vessel shall belong. Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine Here together shall combine. A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, And the Union be her name ! 105 For the day that gives her to the sea Shall give my daughter unto thee ! ' The Master's word Enraptured the young man heard ; And as he turned his face aside, 110 With a look of joy and a thrill of pride Standing before Her father's door, He saw the form of his promised bride. The sun shone on her golden hair, 115 And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, With the breath of morn and the soft sea air Like a beauteous barge was she, Still at rest on the sandy beach, Just beyond the billow's reach ; 120 But he Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 209 Ah, how skilful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command ! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain, j^25 And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all the rest ! Thus with the rising of the sun Was the noble task begun, And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds 130 Were heard the intermingled sounds Of axes and of mallets, plied With vigorous arms on every side ; Plied so deftly and so well, That, ere the shadows of evening fell, J35 The keel of oak for a noble ship. Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, Was lying ready, and stretched along The blocks, well placed upon the slip. Happy, thrice happy, every one ^^q Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and multiplied. By idly waiting for time and tide ! And when the hot, long day was o'er. The young man at the Master's door 145 Sat with the maiden calm and still, And within the porch, a little more Removed beyond the evening chill. The father sat, and told them tales Of wrecks in the great September gales, 150 Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, And ships that never came back again, The chance and change of a sailor's life. Want and plenty, rest and strife, His roving fancy, like the wind, 155 That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 210 AMERICAN LITERATURE And the magic charm of foreign lands, With shadows of pahns, and shining sands, Where the tumbling surf, 160 O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. And the trembling maiden held her breath At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 165 With all its terror and mystery, The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, That divides and yet unites mankind ! And whenever the old man paused, a gleam From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 170 The silent group in the twilight gloom. And thoughtful faces, as in a dream; And for a moment one might mark What had been hidden by the dark. That the head of the maiden lay at rest, 175 Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! Day by day the vessel grew. With timbers fashioned strong and true, Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee. Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 180 A skeleton ship rose up to view ! And around the bows and along the side The heavy hammers and mallets plied, Till after many a week, at length. Wonderful for form and strength, 185 Sublime in its enormous bulk. Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething Caldron, that glowed, 190 And overflowed With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. And amid the clamors Of clattering hammers. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 211 He who listened heard now and then The song of the Master and his men : — 195 * Build me straight, O worthy Master, Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with yvave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' With oaken brace and copper band, 200 Lay the rudder on the sand. That, like a thought, should have control Over the movement of the whole ; And near it the anchor, whose giant hand Woiild reach down and grapple with the land, 205 And immovable and fast Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast ! And at the bows an image stood, By a cunning artist carved in wood. With robes of white, that far behind Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. It was not shaped in a classic mould, Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, Or Naiad rising from the w^ater. But modelled from the Master's daughter ! 215 On many a dreary and misty night, 'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light. Speeding along through the rain and the dark, Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, The pilot of some phantom bark, .5.,^ Guiding the vessel, in its flight, By a path none other knows aright ! Behold, at last, Each tall and tapering mast Is swung into its place ; 225 Shrouds and stays Holding it firm and fast ! 210 212 AMERICAN LITERATURE Long ago, In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 230 When upon mountain and plain Lay the snow. They fell, — those lordly pines ! Those grand, majestic pines ! 'Mid shouts and cheers 235 The jaded steers. Panting beneath the goad. Dragged down the weary, winding road Those captive kings so straight and tall, To be shorn of their streaming hair, 240 And naked and bare. To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main. Whose roar Would remind them forevermore 245 Of their native forests they should not see again. And everywhere The slender, graceful spars Poise aloft in the air. And at the mast-head, 250 White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless. In foreign harbors shall behold That flag unrolled, 255 'Twill be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land. Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless! All is finished ! and at length Has come the bridal day 260 Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched ! With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched. And o'er, the bay. HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW 213 Slowly, in all his splendors dight, The great sun rises to behold the sight. 265 The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold. 270 His beating heart is not at rest ; And far and wide, With ceaseless flow. His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 275 He waits impatient for his bride. There she stands, With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and streamers gay, In honor of her marriage day, 280 Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending. Round her like a veil descending, Ready to be The bride of the gray old sea. On the deck another bride • 285 Is standing by her lover's side. Shadows from the flags and shrouds. Like the shadows cast by clouds. Broken by many a sudden fleck, Fall around them on the deck. 290 The prayer is said, The service read. The joyous bridegroom bows his head; And in tears the good old Master Shakes the brown hand of his son, 295 Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek In silence, for he cannot speak. And ever faster Down his own the tears begin to run. 214 AMERICAN LITERATURE 300 The worthy pastor — The shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, That has the vessel for its fold. Leaping ever from rock to rock — 305 Spake, with accents mild and clear. Words of warning, words of cheer. But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. He knew the chart Of the sailor's heart, 310 AH its pleasures and its griefs, All its shallows and rocky reefs. All those secret currents, that flow With such resistless undertow. And lift and drift, with terrible force, 315 The will from its moorings and its course. Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — ' Like unto ships far off at sea, Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, 320 Floats and swings the horizon's bound. Seems at its distant rim to rise And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, As if we could slide from its outer brink. 325 Ah ! it is not the sea. It is not the sea that sinks and shelves. But ourselves That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, 330 Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring. Ever level and ever true 335 To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 215 The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be those of joy and not of fear ! ' Then the Master, 340 With a gesture of command, Waved his hand ; And at the word. Loud and sudden there was heard. All around them and below, 345 The sound of hammers, blow on blow. Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see ! she stirs ! She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel, 35O And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound. She leaps into the ocean's arms ! And lo ! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 355 That to the ocean seemed to say, ' Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray. Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth and all her charms !' How beautiful she is ! How fair 360 She lies within those arms, that press Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care ! Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! 365 The moistened eye, the trembling lip. Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity 370 Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be ! 216 AMERICAN LITERATURE For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; 375 And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives! Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of state ! Sail on O Union, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, 380 With all the hopes of future years. Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 385 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 390 'Tis but the flapping of the sail. And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 395 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! Hiawatha's Wooing {From The Song of Hiawatha) ' As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman ; Though she bends him, she obeys him. Though she draws him, yet she follows ; 5 Useless each without the other ! ' Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within himself and pondered. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 217 Much perplexed by various feelings, Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, Dream-ing still of Minnehaha, 10 Of the lovely Laughing Water, In the land of the Dacotahs. ' Wed a maiden of your people,' Warning said the old Nokoniis ; ' Go not eastward, go not westward, 15 For a stranger, whom we know not! Like a fire upon the hearth-stone Is a neighbor's homely daughter, Like the starlight or the moonlight Is the handsomest of strangers ! ' 20 Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, And my Hiawatha answered Only this : ' Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the firelight, But I like the starlight better, 25 Better do I like the moonlight ! ' Gravely then said old Nokomis : < Bring not here an idle maiden, Bring not here a useless woman, Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 30 Bring a wife with nimble fingers. Heart and hand that move together, Feet that run on willing errands ! ' Smiling answered Hiawatha : < In the land of the Dacotahs 35 Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women. I will bring her to your wigwam. She shall run upon your errands, 40 Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, Be the sunlight of my people ! ' Still dissuading said Nokomis : ' Bring not to my lodge a stranger From the land of the Dacotahs ! 45 218 AMERICAN LITERATURE Very fierce are the Dacotahs, Often is there war between us, There are feuds yet unforgotten, Wounds that ache and still may open ! ' 50 Laughing answered Hiawatha : ' For that reason, if no other, Would I wed the fair Dacotah, That our tribes might be united, That old feuds might be forgotten, 55 And old wounds be healed forever ! ' Thus departed Hiawatha To the land of the Dacotahs, To the land of handsome women ; Striding over moor and meadow, 60 Through interminable forests. Through uninterrupted silence. With his moccasins of magic. At each stride a mile he measured ; Yet the way seemed long before him, 65 And his heart outran his footsteps ; And he journeyed without resting. Till he heard the cataract's laughter. Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to him through the silence. 70 ' Pleasant is the sound ! ' he murmured, ' Pleasant is the voice that calls me ! ' On the outskirts of the forests, 'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 75 But they saw not Hiawatha ; To his bow he whispered, ' Fail not ! ' To his arrow whispered, ' Swerve not ! ' Sent it singing on its errand, To the red heart of the roebuck; 80 Threw the deer across his shoulder, And sped forward without pausing. At the doorway of his wigwam Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 219 In the land of the Dacotahs, Making arrow-heads of jasper 85 Arrow-heads of chalcedony. At his side, in all her beauty, Sat the lovely Minnehaha, Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; • 90 Of the past the old man's thoughts were. And the maiden's of the future. He was thinking, as he sat there, Of the days when with such arrows He had struck the deer and bison, 95 On the Muskoday, the meadow ; Shot the wild goose, flying southward, On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; Thinking of the great war-parties. How they came to buy his arrows, 100 Could not fight without his arrows. Ah, no more such noble warriors Could be found on earth as they were ! Now the men were all like women, Only used their to'ngues for weapons ! 105 She was thinking of a hunter, From another tribe and country. Young and tall and very handsome, Who one morning, in the Spring-time, Came to buy her father's arrows, 110 Sat and rested in the wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway. Looking back as he departed. She had heard her father praise him, Praise his courage and his wisdom; 115 Would he come again for arrows To the Falls of Minnehaha? On the mat her hands lay idle, And her eyes were very dreamy. Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 120 Heard a rustling in the branches. 220 AMERICAN LITERATURE And with glowing cheek and forehead, With the deer upon his shoulders, Suddenly from out the woodlands 125 Hiawatha stood before them. Straight the ancient Arrow-maker Looked up gravely from his labor. Laid aside the unfinished arrow, Bade him enter at the doorway, 130 Saying, as he rose to meet him, ' Hiawatha, you are welcome ! ' At the feet of Laughing Water Hiawatha laid his burden. Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 135 And the maiden looked up at him, Looked up from her mat of rushes. Said with gentle look and accent, ' You are welcome, Hiawatha ! ' Very spacious was the wigwam, 140 Made of deer-skins dressed and whitened, With the Gods of the Dacotahs Drawn and painted on its curtains, And so tall the doorway, hardly Hiawatha stooped to enter, 145 Hardly touched his eagle-feathers As he entered at the doorway. Then up rose the Laughing Water, From the ground fair Minnehaha, Laid aside her mat unfinished, 150 Brought forth food and set before them. Water brought them from the brooklet. Gave them food in earthen vessels, Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, Listened while the guest was speaking, 155 Listened while her father answered. But not once her lips she opened. Not a single word she uttered. Yes, as in a dream she listened To the words of Hiawatha, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 221 As he talked of old Nokomis, 160 Who had nursed him m his childhood, As he told of his companions, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind, And of happiness and plenty 165 In the land of the O jib ways, In the pleasant land and peaceful. ' After many years of warfare. Many years of strife and bloodshed, There is peace between the Ojibways 170 And the tribe of the Dacotahs.' Thus continued Hiawatha, And then added, speaking slowly, * That this peace may last forever, And our hands be clasped more closely, 175 And our hearts be more united. Give me as my wife this maiden, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Loveliest of Dacotah Women ! ' And the ancient Arrow-maker, 180 Paused a moment ere he answered, Smoked a little while in silence. Looked at Hiawatha proudly. Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer very gravely : 185 ' Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! ' And the lovely Laughing Water Seemed more lovely as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant, 190 As she went to Hiawatha, Softly took the seat beside him. While she said, and blushed to say it, ' I will follow you, my husband ! ' This was Hiawatha's wooing ! I95 Thus it was he won the daughter 222 AMERICAN LITERATURE Of the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs! From the wigwam he departed, 200 Leading with him Laughing Water; Hand in hand they went together, Through the woodland and the meadow, Left the old man standing lonely At the doorway of his wigwam, 205 Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to them from the distance, Crying to them from afar off, ' Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! ' And the ancient Arrow-maker 210 Turned again unto his labor. Sat down by his sunny doorway. Murmuring to himself, and saying : ' Thus it is our daughters leave us, Those we love, and those who love us ! 215 Just when they have learned to help us. When we are old and lean upon them, Comes a youth with flaunting feathers. With his flute of reeds, a stranger Wanders piping through the village, 220 Beckons to the fairest maiden. And she follows where he leads her. Leaving all things for the stranger ! ' Pleasant was the journey homeward. Through interminable forests, 225 Over meadow, over mountain. Over river, hill, and hollow. Short it seemed to Hiawatha, Though they journeyed very slowly. Though his pace he checked and slackened 230 To the steps of Laughing Water. Over wide and rushing rivers In his arms he bore the maiden; Light he thought her as a feather, As the plume upon his head-gear ; HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 223 Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 235 Bent aside the swaying branches, Made at night a lodge of branches, And a bed with boughs of hemlock. And a fire before the doorway With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 240 All the travelling winds went with them, O'er the meadows, through the forest ; All the stars of night looked at them, Watciied with sleepless eyes their slumber ; From his ambush in the oak-tree 245 Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; And the rabbit, the Wabasso, Scampered from the path before them. Peering, peeping from his burrow, 250 Sat erect upon his haunches, Watched with curious eyes the lovers. Pleasant was the journey homeward ! All the birds sang loud and sweetly Songs of happiness and heart's-ease ; 255 Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, ' Happy are you, Hiawatha, Having such a wife to love you ! ' Sang the robin, the Opechee, ' Happy are you, Laughing Water, 260 Having such a noble husband ! ' From the sky the sun benignant Looked upon them through the branches. Saying to them, ' O my children. Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 265 Life is checkered shade and sunshine. Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! ' From the sky the moon looked at them, Filled the lodge with mystic splendors. Whispered to them, 'O my children, 270 Day is restless, night is quiet, Man imperious, woman feeble ; 224 AMERICAN LITERATURE Half is mine, although I follow ; Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! ' 275 Thus it was they journeyed homeward; Thus it was that Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, Brought the sunshine of his people, 280 Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women In the land of the Dacotahs, In the land of handsome women. The Birds of Killingworth It was the season, when through all the land The merle and mavis build, and building sing Those lovely lyrics, written by his hand. Whom Saxon Ca^dmon calls the Blithe heart King ; 5 When on the boughs the purple buds expand. The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 10 Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 15 Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : ' Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread ! " Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 20 The village with the cheers of all their fleet; Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed Like foreign sailors, landed in the street HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 225 Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise Of oaths and gibberish fi-ightening girls and boys. Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 25 In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, That mingled with the universal mirth, Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 30 They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words To swift destruction the whole race of birds. And a town -meeting was convened straightway To set a price upon the guilty heads Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, 35 Levied black-mail upon the garden beds And cornfields, and beheld without dismay The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; The skeleton that waited at their feast. Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 40 Then from his house, a temple painted white, With fluted columns, and a roof of red. The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight ! Slowly descending, with majestic tread, Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 45 Down the long street he walked, as one who said, ' A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society ! ' The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere. The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 50 The wrath of God he preached from year to year, And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will ; His favorite pastime was to slay the deer In summer on some Adirondac hill; E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, 55 He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. 226 AMERICAN LITERATURE From the Academy, whose belfry crowned The hill of Science with its vane of brass, Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 60 Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, And all absorbed in reveries profound Of fair Almira in the upper class. Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, As pure as water, and as good as bread. 65 And next the Deacon issued from his door, In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; There never was so wise a man before ; 70 He seemed the incarnate ' Well, I told you so ! ' And to perpetuate his great renown There was a street named after him in town. These came together in the new town-hall. With sundry farmers from the region round. 75 The Squire presided, dignified and tall, His air impressive and his reasoning sound ; 111 fared it with the birds, both great and small ; Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found. But enemies enough, who every one 80 Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. When they had ended, from his place apart Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong. And, trembling like a steed before the start, Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ; 85 Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart To speak out what was in him, clear and strong. Alike regardless of their smile or frown, And quite determined not to be laughed down. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 227 ' Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, From his Republic banished without pity 90 The Poets ; in this little town of yours, You put to death, by means of a Committee, The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street-musicians of the heavenly city, The birds, who make sweet music for us all 95 In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. ' The thrush that carols at the dawn of day From the green steeples of the piny wood ; The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 100 The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. ' You slay them all ! and wherefore? for the gain 105 Of a scant handful more or less of wheat. Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, Scratched up at random by industrious feet, Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 110 As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. ' Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who ma'de them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies 115 Alone are the interpreters of thought ? AVhose household words are songs in many keys. Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught ! Whose habitations in the tree-tops even Are half-way houses on the road to heaven ! 120 228 AMERICAN LITERATURE ' Think, every morning when the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove. How jubilant the happy birds renew Their oldj melodious madrigals of love ! 125 And when you think of this, remember too 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore. Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. '■ Think of your woods and orchards without birds ! 130 Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds Make up for the lost music, when your teams 135 Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more The feathered gleaners follow to your door? '■ What ! would you rather see the incessant stir Of insects in the windrows of the hay, And hear the locust and the grasshopper 140 Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? Is this more pleasant to you than the whir Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake ? 145 < You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know. They are the winged wardens of your farms. Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 150 Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, And crying havoc on the slug and snail. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 229 * How can I teach your children gentleness, And mercy to the weak, and reverence For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 155 Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence. Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less The selfsame light, although averted hence, When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, You contradict the very things I teach ? ' 160 With this he closed ; and through the audience went A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 165 Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, A bounty offered for the heads of crows. There was another audience out of reach, Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 170 But in the papers read his little speech. And crowned his modest temples with applause ; They made him conscious, each one more than each. He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 175 O fair Almira at the Academy ! And so the dreadful massacre began ; O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests. The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 180 Or wounded crept away from sight of man. While the young died of famine in their nests ; A slaughter to be told in groans, not words. The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 230 AMERICAN LITERATURE 185 The summer came, and all the birds were dead ; The days were like hot coals; the very ground Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed Myriads of caterpillars, and around The cultivated fields and garden beds 190 Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found No foe to check their march, till they had made The land a desert without leaf or shade. Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 195 Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down The canker-worms upon the passers-by. Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, Who shook them off with just a little cry ; They were the terror of each favorite walk, 200 The endless theme of all the village talk. The farmers grew impatient, but a few Confessed their error, and would not complain, For after all, the best thing one can do When it is raining, is to let it rain. 205 Then they repealed the law, although they knew It would not call the dead to life again ; As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. That year in Killingworth the Autumn came 210 Without the light of his majestic look. The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, 215 While the wild wind went moaning everywhere. Lamenting the dead children of the air ! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 231 But the next spring a stranger sight was seen, A sight that never yet by bard was sung, As great a wonder as it would have been If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 220 A wagon, overarched with evergreen, Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung. All full of singing birds, came down the street, Filling the air with music wild and sweet, From all the county round these birds were brought, 225 By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought In woods and fields the places they loved best, Singing loud canticles, which many thought Were satires to the authorities addressed, 230 While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard ! But blither still and louder carolled they Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 235 And everywhere, around, above, below, When the Preceptor bore his bride away. Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow. And a new heaven bent over a new earth Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 240 The Hanging of the Crane The lights are out, and gone are all the guests That thronging came with merriment and jests To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane In the new house, — into the night are gone; But still the fire upon the hearth burns on, And I alone remain. 232 AMERICAN LITERATURE O fortunate, O happy day, When a new household finds its place Among the myriad homes of earth, 10 Like a new star just sprung to birth, And rolled on its harmonious way Into the boundless realms of space ! So said the guests in speech and song, As in the chimney, burning bright, 15 We hung the iron crane to-night, And merry was the feast and long. II And now I sit and muse on what may be, And in ray vision see, or seem to see. Through floating vapors interfused with light, 20 Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade, As shadows passing into deeper shade Sink and elude the sight. For two alone, there in the hall. Is spread the table round and small ; 25 Upon the polished silver shine The evening lamps, but, more divine, The light of love shines over all ; Of love, that says not mine and thine, But ours, for ours is thine and mine. 30 They want no guests, to come between Their tender glances like a screen. And tell them tales of land and sea. And whatsoever may betide The great, forgotten world outside ; 35 They want no guests ; they needs must be Each other's own best company. The picture fades ; as at a village fair A showman's views, dissolving into air, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 233 Again appear transfigured on the screen, So in my fancy this ; and now once more, 40 In part transfigured, through the open door Appears the selfsame scene. Seated, I see the two again, But not alone ; they entertain A little angel unaware, 45 With face as round as is the moon, A royal guest with flaxen hair, Who, throned upon his lofty chair, Drums on the table with his spoon. Then drops it careless on the floor, 60 To grasp at things unseen before. Are these celestial manners ? these The ways that win, the arts that please? Ah yes ; consider well the guest, And whatsoe'er he does seems best; 55 He ruleth by the right divine Of helplessness, so lately born In purple chambers of the morn. As sovereign over thee and thine. He speaketh not ; and yet there lies 60 A conversation in his eyes ; The golden silence of the Greek, The gravest wisdom of the wise. Not spoken in language, but in looks More legible than printed books, 65 As if he could but would not speak. And now, O monarch absolute. Thy power is put to proof ; for, lo ! Resistless, fathomless, and slow, The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 70 And pushes back thy chair and thee. And so good night to King Canute. 234 AMERICAN LITERATURE IV As one who walking in a forest sees A lovely landscape through the parted trees, 75 Then sees it not, for boughs that intervene ; Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed, So I behold the scene. There are two guests at table now; 80 The king, deposed and older grown, No longer occupies the throne, — The crown is on his sister's brow ; A Princess from the Fairy Isles, The very pattern girl of girls, 85 All covered and embowered in curls. Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers, And sailing with soft, silken sails From far-off Dreamland into ours. Above their bowls with rims of blue 90 Four azure eyes of deeper hue Are looking, dreamy with delight ; Limpid as planets that emerge Above the ocean's rounded verge, Soft-shining through the summer night. 95 Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see Beyond the horizon of their bowls ; Nor care they for the world that rolls With all its freight of troubled souls Into the days that are to be. 100 Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, Again the drifting vapors intervene. And the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite : And now I see the table wider grown. As round a pebble into water thrown 105 Dilates a ring of light. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 235 I see the table wider grown, I see it garlanded with guests, As if fair Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky had fallen down ; Maidens within whose tender breasts 110 A thousand restless hopes and fears, Forth reaching to the coming years, Flutter awhile, then quiet lie. Like timid birds that fain would fly, But do not dare to leave their nests ; — 115 And youths, who in their strength elate Challenge the van and front of fate. Eager as champions to be In the divine knight-errantry Of youth, that travels sea and land 120 Seeking adventures, or pursues, Through cities, and through solitudes Frequented by the lyric Muse, The phantom with the beckoning hand, That still allures and still eludes. 125 O sw^eet illusions of the brain ! O sudden thrills of fire and frost ! The world is bright while ye remain, And dark and dead when ye are lost ! The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, 130 Quickens its current as it nears the mill ; And so the stream of Time that lingereth In level places, and so dull appears. Runs with a swifter current as it nears The gloomy mills of Death. 135 And now, like the magician's scroll, That in the owner's keeping shrinks With every wish he speaks or thinks, Till the last wish consumes the whole. 236 AMERICAN LITERATURE 140 The table dwindles, and again I see the two alone remain. The crown of stars is broken in parts ; Its jewels, brighter than the day, Have one by one been stolen away 145 To shine in other homes and hearts. One is a wanderer now afar In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, Or sunny regions of Cathay; And one is in the boisterous camp 150 'Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, And battle's terrible array. I see the patient mother read. With aching heart, of wrecks that float Disabled on those seas remote, 155 Or of some great heroic deed On battle-fields, where thousands bleed To lift one hero into fame. Anxious she bends her graceful head Above these chronicles of pain, 160 And trembles with a secret dread Lest there among the drowned or slain She find the one beloved name. After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, 165 And, touching all the darksome woods with light. Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring Drops down into the night. What see I now ? The night is fair, 170 The storm of grief, the clouds of care. The wind, the rain, have passed away; The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, The house is full of life and light ; It is the Golden Wedding day. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 237 The guests come thronging in once more, 175 Quick footsteps sound along the floor, The trooping children crowd the stair. And in and out and everywhere Flashes along the corridor The sunshine of their golden hair. 180 On the round table in the hall Another Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky hath fallen down ; More than one Monarch of the Moon Is drumming with his silver spoon ; lg5 The light of love shines over all. O fortunate, O happy day ! The people sing, the people say. The ancient bridegroom and the bride, Smiling contented and serene 190 Upon the blithe, bewildering scene. Behold, well pleased, on every side Their forms and features multiplied. As the reflection of a light Between two burnished mirrors gleams, 195 Or lamps upon a bridge at night Stretch on and on before the sight. Till the long vista endless seems. The Cross of Snow- In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face — the face of one long dead — Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died ; and soul more white Never through martyrdom of fire was led To its repose ; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight. There is a mountain in the distant West, 238 AMERICAN LITERATURE 10 That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines Displays a cross of snow upon its side. Such is the cross I wear upon my breast These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes And seasons, changeless since the day she died. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL My Love Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear ; Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening-star, 5 And yet her heart is ever near. Great feelings hath she of her own. Which lesser souls may never know ; God giveth them to her alone. And sweet they are as any tone 10 Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. Yet in herself she dwelleth not, Although no home were half so fair ; No simplest duty is forgot. Life hath no dim and lowly spot 15 That doth not in her sunshine share. She doeth little kindnesses. Which most leave undone, or despise : For naught that sets one heart at ease, And giveth happiness or peace, 20 Is low-esteemed in her eyes. She hath no scorn of common things, And, though she seem of other birth, Round us her heart intwines and clings. And patiently she folds her wings 25 To tread the humble paths of earth. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 239 Blessing she is : God made her so, And deeds of M'eek-day holiness Fall from her noiseless as the snow, Nor hath she ever chanced to know That aught were easier than to bless. ^0 She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize ; Feeling or thought that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 35 She is a woman : one in whom The spring-time of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears. 40 I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill. Seems following its own wayward will, And yet doth ever flow aright. 45 And, on its full, deep breast serene, Like quiet isles my duties lie ; It flows around them and between. And makes them fresh and fair and green. Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 50 Stanzas on Freedom Men ! whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free, If there breathe on earth a slave. Are ye truly free and brave ? If ye do not feel the chain, 5 When it works a brother's pain, Are ye not base slaves indeed. Slaves unworthy to be freed? 240 AMERICAN LITERATURE Women ! who shall one day bear 10 Sons to breathe New England air, If ye hear, without a blush, Deeds to make the roused blood rush Like red lava through your veins, For your sisters now in chains, — 15 Answer ! are ye fit to be Mothers of the brave and free ? Is true Freedom but to break Fetters for our own dear sake. And, with leathern hearts, forget 20 That we owe mankind a debt? No ! true freedom is to share All the chains our brothers wear, And, with heart and hand, to be Earnest to make others free ! 25 They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak ; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. Rather than in silence shrink 30 From the truth they needs must think ; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three. {From Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration, July 21, 1865) II To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back Her wisest Scholars, those who understood The deeper teaching of her mystic tome, And offered their fresh lives to make it good : No lore of Greece or Rome, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 241 No science peddling with the names of things, Or reading stars to find inglorious fates, Can lift our life with wings Far from Death's idle gulf that for the many waits. And lengthen out our dates 10 With that clear fame whose memory sings In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates : Nor such thy teaching, Mother of us all ! Not such the trumpet-call Of thy diviner mood, 15 That could thy sons entice From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest Of those half-virtues which the world calls best, Into War's tumult rude ; But rather far that stern device 20 The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood In the dim, unventured wood, The Veritas that lurks beneath The letter's unprolific sheath. Life of whate'er makes life worth living, 25 Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal food. One heavenly thing whereof earth hath the giving. Ill Many loved Truth, and lavished life's best oil Amid the dust of books to find her, Content at last, for guerdon of their toil, 30 With the cast mantle she hath left behind her. Many in sad faith sought for her. Many with crossed hands sighed for her; But these, our brothers, fought for her. At life's dear peril wrought for her, 35 So loved her that they died for her, Tasting the raptured fleetness Of her divine completeness: Their higher instinct knew Those love her best who to themselves are true, 40 And what they dare to dream of, dare to do ; 242 AMERICAN LITERATURE They followed her and found her Where all may hope to find, Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind, 45 But beautiful, with danger's sweetness round her. Where faith made whole with deed Breathes its awakening breath Into the lifeless creed, They saw her plumed and mailed, 50 With sweet, stern face unveiled, And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death. Whither leads the path To ampler fates that leads ? Not down through flowery meads, 55 To reap an aftermath Of youth's vainglorious weeds. But up the steep, amid the wrath And shock of deadly-hostile creeds, W^herethe world's best hope and stay 60 By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way, And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds. Peace hath her not ignoble wreath, Ere yet the sharp, decisive word Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword 65 Dreams in its easeful sheath ; But some day the live coal behind the thought, Whether from Baal's stone obscene. Or from the shrine serene Of God's pure altar brought, 70 Bursts up in flame; the war of tongue and pen Learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught, And, helpless in the fiery passion caught, Shakes all the pillared state with shock of men : Some day the Soft Ideal that we wooed 75 Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 243 And cries reproachful : ' Was it, then, my praise. And not myself was loved ? Prove now thy truth ; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth ; Give rae thy life, or cower in empty phrase, The victim of thy genius, not its mate ! ' 80 Life may be given in many ways. And loyalty to Truth be sealed As bravely in the closet as the field. So bountiful is Fate ; But then to stand beside her, 85 When craven churls deride her. To front a lie in arms and not to yield. This shows, methinks, God's plan And measure of a stalwart man, Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 90 Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth. Not forced to frame excuses for his birth. Fed from within with all the strength he needs. vr Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, Whom late the Nation he had led, 95 With ashes on her head. Wept with the passion of an angry grief : Forgive me, if from present things I turn To speak what in my heart will beat and burn. And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. lOO Nature, they say, doth dote. And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan. Repeating us by rote : For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw, 105 And choosing sweet clay from the breast Of the unexhausted West, With stuff untainted shaped a hero new. Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 244 AMERICAN LITERATURE 110 How beautiful to see Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead ; One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, Not lured by any cheat of birth, 115 * But by his clear-grained human worth, And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! They knew that outward grace is dust ; They could not choose but trust In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 120 And supple-tempered will That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind. Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind ; 125 Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. Nothing of Europe here, Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still, 130 Ere any names of Serf and Peer Could Nature's equal scheme deface And thwart her genial will; Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. 135 I praise him not ; it were too late ; And some innative weakness there must be In him who condescends to victory Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, Safe in himself as in a fate. 140 So always firmly he : He knew to bide his time. And can his fame abide. Still patient in his simple faith sublime. Till the wise years decide. 145 Great captains, with their guns and drums. Disturb our judgment for the hour. But at last silence comes ; JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 245 These are all gone, and, standing like a tower, Our children shall behold his fame. The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 150 Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, New birth of our new soil, the first American. We sit here in the Promised Land That flows with Freedom's honey and milk ; But 'twas they won it, sword in hand, 155 Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk. We welcome back our bravest and our best ; — Ah me ! not all ! some come not with the rest. Who went forth brave and bright as any here ! I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, 160 But the sad strings complain, And will not please the ear: I sweep them for a paean, but they wane Again and yet again Lito a dirge, and die away, in pain. 165 In these brave ranks I only see the gaps. Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps. Dark to the triumph which they died to gain : Fitlier may others greet the living, For me the past is unforgiving ; 170 I with uncovered head Salute the sacred dead. Who went, and who return not. — Say not so ! 'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay. But the high faith that failed not by the way ; 175 Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave ; No ban of endless night exiles the brave ; And to the saner mind We rather seem the dead that stayed behind. 246 AMERICAN LITERATURE 180 Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow ! For never shall their aureoled presence lack : I see them muster in a gleaming row. With ever-youthful brows that nobler show ; We find in our dull road their shining track ; 185 In every nobler mood We feel the orient of their spirit glow, Part of our life's unalterable good, Of all our saintlier aspiration ; They come transfigured back, 190 Secure from change in their high-hearted ways, Beautiful evermore, and with the rays Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation ! Not in anger, not in pride, Pure from passion's mixture rude 195 Ever to base earth allied, But with far-heard gratitude, Still with heart and voice renewed, To heroes living and dear martyrs dead. The strain should close that consecrates our brave. 200 Lift the heart and lift the head ! Lofty be its mood and grave, Not without a martial ring. Not without a prouder tread And a peal of exultation : 205 Little right has he to sing Through whose heart in such an hour Beats no march of conscious power. Sweeps no tumult of elation ! 'Tis no Man we celebrate, 210 By his country's victories great, A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, But the pith and marrow of a Nation JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 247 Drawing force from all her men, Highest, humblest, weakest, all. For her time of need, and then 215 Pulsing it again through them. Till the basest can no longer cower, Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall. Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her dower ! 220 How could poet ever tower. If his passions, hopes, and fears, If his triumphs and his tears. Kept not measure with his people? Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves ! 225 Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple ! Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves ! And from every mountain-peak Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, Katahdin tell Monad nock, Whiteface he, 230 And so leap on in light from sea to sea, Till the glad news be sent Across a kindling continent, Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver : ' Be proud ! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her ! 235 She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, She of the open soul and open door. With room about her hearth for all mankind ! The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more; From her bold front the helm she doth unbind, 240 Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin, And bids her navies, that so lately hurled Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in, Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore. No challenge sends she to the elder world, . 245 Tl>at looked askance and hated ; a light scorn Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees She calls her children back, and waits the morn Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas.' 248 AMERICAN LITERATURE 250 Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release ! Thy God, in these distempered days, Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways. And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! Bow down in prayer and praise ! 255 No poorest in thy borders but may now Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. O Beautiful ! my country ! ours once more ! Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, 260 And letting thy set lips. Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, What words divine of lover or of poet Could tell our love and make thee know it, 265 Among the Nations bright beyond compare? What were our lives without thee? W^hat all our lives to save thee? We reck not what we gave thee ; We will not dare to doubt thee, 270 But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! (From Under the Old Elm) (Poem read at Cambridge on the Hundredth Anniversary of Wash- ington's taking Command of the American Army, 3d July, 1775.) Ill 1 Beneath our consecrated elm A century ago he stood. Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm : — From colleges, where now the gown To arms had yielded, from the town, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 249 Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he. No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, lo Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone To bridle others' clamors and his own, Firmly erect, he towered above them all. The incarnate discipline that was to free With iron curb that armed democracy. 15 A motley rout was that which came to stare, In raiment tanned by years of sun and storm, Of every shape that was not uniform. Dotted with regimentals here and there ; An army all of captains, used to pray 20 And stiff in fight, but serious drill's despair, Skilled to debate their orders, not obey ; Deacons were there, selectmen, men of note In half-tamed hamlets ambushed round with woods, Ready to settle Freewill by a vote, 25 But largely liberal to its private moods ; Prompt to assert by manners, voice, or pen, Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen, Nor much fastidious as to how and when : Yet seasoned stuff and fittest to create 30 A thought-staid army or a lasting state : Haughty they said he was, at first ; severe ; But owned, as all men own, the steady hand Upon the bridle, patient to command. Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear, 35 And learned to honor first, then love him, then revere. Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint. Musing beneath the legendary tree. The years between furl off : I seem to see 40 250 AMERICAN LITERATURE The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue And weave prophetic aureoles round the head That shines our beacon now nor darkens with the dead. 45 O man of silent mood, A stranger among strangers then, How art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! The winged years, that winnow praise to blame, 50 Blow many names out : they but fan and flame The self-renewing splendors of thy fame. Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 55 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 60 Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; Never seduced^through show of present good By other than unsetting lights to steer New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood 65 More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will ; Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 70 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one. Who was all this and ours, and all men's, — Washington. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 251 Virginia gave us this imperial man Cast in the massive mould Of those high-statured ages old Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran ; 75 She gave us this unblemished gentleman : What shall we give her back but love and praise As in the dear old unestranged days Before the inevitable wrong began ? Mother of States and undiminished men, 80 Thou gavest us a country, giving him, And we owe always wliat we owed thee then : The boon thou w^ouldst have snatched from us agen Shines as before with no abatement dim. A great man's memory is the only thing 85 With influence to outlast the present whim And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring; All of him that was subject to the hours Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours : Across more recent graves, 90 Where unresentf ul Nature weaves Her pennons o'er the shot-ploughed sod, Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, We from this consecrated plain stretch out Our hands as free from afterthought or doubt 95 As here the united North Poured her embrowned manhood forth In welcome of our savior and thy son. Through battle we have better learned thy worth, The long-breathed valor and undaunted will, 100 AVhich, like his own, the day's disaster done, Could, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. Both thine and ours the victory hardly won ; If ever with distempered voice or pen We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 105 And for the dead of both don common black. 252 AMERICAN LITERATURE Be to us evermore as thou wast then, As we forget thou hast not always been, Mother of States and unpolluted men, 110 Virginia, fitly named from England's manly queen ! Emerson and His Audience {From Emerson the Lecturer) It is a singular fact, that Mr. Emerson is the most steadily attractive lecturer in America. Into that some- what cold-waterish region adventurers of the sensational kind come down now and then with a splash, to become 5 disregarded King Logs before the next season. But Mr. Emerson always draws. A lecturer now for something like a third of a century, one of the pioneers of the lecturing system, the charm of his voice, his manner, and his matter has never lost its power over his earlier hearers, and con- 10 tinually winds new ones in its enchanting meshes. What they do not fully understand they take on trust and listen, saying to themselves, as the old poet of Sir Philip Sidney, — " A sweet, attractive kind of grace, 15 A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of gospel books." We call it a singular fact, because we Yankees are thought to be fond of the spread-eagle style, and nothing 20 can be more remote from that than his. We are reckoned a practical folk, who would rather hear about a new air tight stove than about Plato; yet our favorite teacher's practicality is not in the least of the Poor Richard variety. If he have any Buncombe constituency, it is that unrealized 25 commonwealth of philosophers which Plotinus proposed to establish ; and if he were to make an almanac, his directions JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 253 to farmers would be something like this : "October : Lidian Summer; now is the time to get in your early Vedas." What, then, is his secret ? Is it not that he out- Yankees us all ? that his range includes us all ? that he is equally 30 at home with the potato-disease and original sin, with pegging shoes and the Over-soul ? that, as we try all trades, so has he tried all cultures ? and above all, that his mysticism gives us a counterpoise to our super-practicality ? There is no man living to whom, as a writer, so many of 35 us feel and thankfully acknowledge so great an indebtedness for ennobling impulses, — none whom so many cannot abide. What does he mean ? ask these last. Where is his system ? What is the use of it all ? What have we to do with Brahma ? I do not propose to write an essay on Emerson 40 at this time. I will only say that one may find grandeur and consolation in a starlit night without caring to ask what it means save grandeur and consolation ; one may like Montaigne, as some ten generations before us have done, without thinking him so systematic as some more eminently 45 tedious (or shall we say tediously eminent ?) authors ; one may think roses as good in their way as cabbages, though the latter would make a better show in the witness-box if cross-examined as to their usefulness ; and as for Brahma, why, he can take care of himself, and won't bite us at any 50 rate. The bother with Mr, Emerson is, that, though he writes in prose, he is essentially a poet. If you undertake to para- phrase what he says, and to reduce it to words of one syllable for infant minds, you will make as sad work of it 55 as the good monk with his analysis of Homer in the Epistolm Ohscurorum Virorum. We look upon him as one of the few men of genius whom our age has produced, and there needs no better proof of it than his masculine faculty of fecundating other minds. Search for his eloquence in 60 254 AMERICAN LITERATURE his books and you will perchance miss it, but meanwhile you will find that it has kindled all your thoughts. Eor choice and pith of language he belongs to a better age than ours, and might rub shoulders with Fuller and Browne, — 65 though he does use that abominable word reliable. His eye for a fine, telling phrase that will carry true is like that of a backwoodsman for a rifle; and he will dredge you up a choice word from the mud of Cotton Mather himself. A diction at once so rich and so homely as his I know not 70 where to' match in these days of writing by the page; it is like homespun cloth-of-gold. The many cannot miss his meaning, and only the few can find it. It is the open secret of all true genius. It is wholesome to angle in those pro- found pools, though one be rewarded with nothing more 75 than the leap of a fish that flashes his freckled side in the sun, and as suddenly absconds in the dark and dreamy waters again. There is keen excitement, though there be. no ponderable acquisition. If we carry nothing home in our baskets, there is ample gain in dilated lungs and stimu- 80 lated blood. What does he mean, quotha ? He means inspiring hints, a divining-rod to your deeper nature. No doubt Emerson, like all original men, has his peculiar audience, and yet I know none that can hold a promiscuous crowd in pleased attention so long as he. As in all original 85 men, there is something for every palate. "Would you know," says G-oethe, " the ripest cherries ? Ask the boys and the blackbirds." The announcement that such a pleasure as a new course of lectures by him is coming, to people as old as I am, is 90 something like those forebodings of spring that prepare us every year for a familiar novelty, none the less novel, when it arrives, because it is familiar. We know perfectly well what we are to expect from Mr. Emerson, and yet what he says always penetrates and stirs us, as is apt to be the case JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 255 with genius, in a very unlooked-for fashion. Perhaps 95 genius is one of the few things which we gladly allow to repeat itself, — one of the few that multiply rather than weaken the force of their impression by iteration. Perhaps some of us hear more than the mere words, are moved by something deeper than the thoughts. If it be so, we are loo quite right, for it is thirty years and more of " plain living and high thinking" that speak to us in this altogether unique lay-preacher. We have shared in the beneficence of this varied culture, this fearless impartiality in criticism and speculation, this masculine sincerity, this sweetness of i05 nature which rather stimulates than cloys, for a generation long. If ever there was a standing testimonial to the cumulative power and value of Character (and we need it sadly in these days), we have it in this gracious and dignified presence. What an antiseptic is a pure life! At no sixty-five (or two years beyond his grand climacteric, as he would prefer to call it) he has that privilege of soul which abolishes the calendar, and presents him to us always the unwasted contemporary of his own prime. I do not know if he seem old to his younger hearers, but we who haveii5 known him so long wonder at the tenacity with which he maintains himself even in the outposts of youth. I suppose it is not the Emerson of 1868 to whom we listen. For us the whole life of the man is distilled in the clear drop of every sentence, and behind each word we divine the force 120 of a noble character, the weight of a large capital of think- ing and being. We do not go to hear what Emerson says so much as to hear Emerson. Not that we perceive any falling off in anything that ever was essential to the charm of Mr. Emerson's peculiar style of thought or phrase. The 125 first lecture, to be sure, was more disjointed even than com- mon. It was as if, after vainly trying to get his paragraphs into sequence and order, he had at last tried the desperate 256 AMERICAN LITERATURE expedient of shuffling them. It was chaos come again, but 130 it was a chaos full of shooting-stars, a jumble of creative forces. The second lecture, on Criticism and Poetry, was quite up to the level of old times, full of that power of strangely subtle association whose indirect approaches startle the mind into almost painful attention, of those 135 flashes of mutual understanding between speaker and hearer that are gone ere one can say it lightens. The vice of Emerson's criticism seems to be, that while no man is so sensitive to what is poetical, few men are less sensible than he of what makes a poem. He values the solid meaning of 140 thought above the subtler meaning of style. He would prefer Donne, I suspect, to Spenser, and sometimes mis- takes the queer for the original. To be young is surely the best, if the most precarious, gift of life; yet there are some of us who would hardly con- 145 sent to be young again, if it were at the cost of our recollec- tion of Mr. Emerson's first lectures during the consulate of Van Buren. We used to walk in from the country to the Masonic Temple (I think it was), through the crisp winter night, and listen to that thrilling voice of his, so charged with 150 subtle meaning and subtle music, as shipwrecked men on a raft to the hail of a ship that came with unhoped-for food and rescue. Cynics might say what they liked. Did our own imaginations transfigure dry remainder-biscuit into ambrosia ? At any rate, he brought us life, which, on the 155 whole, is no bad thing. Was it all transcendentalism? magic-lantern pictures on mist? As you will. Those, then, were just what we wanted. But it was not so. The delight and the benefit were that he put us in communica- tion with a larger style of thought, sharpened our wits with 160 a more pungent phrase, gave us ravishing glimpses of an ideal under the dry husk of our New England; made us conscious of the supreme and everlasting originality of JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 257 whatever bit of soul might be in any of us ; freed us, in short, from the stocks of prose in which we had sat so long that we had grown wellnigh contented in our cramps. And 165 who that saw the audience will ever forget it, where every one still capable of fire, or longing to renew in. them the half-forgotten sense of it, was gathered ? Those faces, young and old, agleam with pale intellectual light, eager with pleased attention, flash upon me once more from the 170 deep recesses of the years with an exquisite pathos. Ah, beautiful young eyes, brimming with love and hope, wholly vanished now in that other world we call the Past, or peer- ing doubtfully through the pensive gloaming of memory, your light impoverishes these cheaper days ! I hear again 175 that rustle of sensation, as they turned to exchange glances over some pithier thought, some keener flash of that humor which always played about the horizon of his mind like heat-lightning, and it seems now like the sad whisper of the autumn leaves that are whirling around me. But would 180 my picture be complete if I forgot that ample and vegete countenance of Mr. E of W , — how, from its reg- ular post at the corner of the front bench, it turned in ruddy triumph to the profaner audience as if he were the inex- plicably appointed fugleman of appreciation ? I was re- 185 minded of him by those hearty cherubs in Titian's Assump- tion that look at you as who should say, " Did you ever see a Madonna like that f Did you ever behold one hundred and fifty pounds of womanhood mount heavenward before like a rocket ? " 190 To some of us that long past experience remains as the most marvellous and fruitful we have ever had. Emerson awakened us, saved us from the body of this death. It is the sound of the trumpet that the young soul longs for, careless what breath may fill it. Sidney heard it in the 195 ballad of Chevy Chase, and we in Emerson. Nor did it blow 258 AMERICAN LITERATURE retreat, but called to us with assurance of victory. Did they say he was disconnected ? So were the stars, that seemed larger to our eyes, still keen with that excitement, 200 as we walked homeward with prouder stride over the creak- ing snow. And were they not knit together by a higher logic than our mere sense could master ? Were we enthusiasts ? I hope and believe we were, and am thankful to the man who made us worth something for once in our lives. If 205 asked what was left? what we carried home? we should not have been careful for an answer. It would have been enough if we had said that something beautiful had passed that way. Or we might have asked in return what one brought away from a symphony of Beethoven ? Enough 210 that he had set that ferment of wholesome discontent at work in us. There is one, at least, of those old hearers, so many of whom are now in the fruition of that intellectual beauty of which Emerson gave them both the desire and the foretaste, who will always love to repeat : 216 Che in la mente m'e fitta, ed or m' accuora La cara e buona immagine paterna Di voi, quando nel mondo ad ora ad ora M' insegnavaste come 1' uom s' eterna." White's " Selborne " {From My Garden Acquaintance) One of the most delightful books in my father's library was White's "Natural History of Selborne." For me it has rather gained in charm with years. I used to read it without knowing the secret of the pleasure I found in it, 5 but as I grow older I begin to detect some of the simple ex- pedients of this natural magic. Open the book where you will, it takes you out of doors. In our broiling July weather one can walk out with this genially garrulous Fel- JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 259 low of Oriel and. find refreshment instead of fatigue. You have no trouble in keeping abreast of him as he ambles 10 along on his hobby-horse, now pointing to a pretty view, now stopping to watch the motions of a bird or an insect, or to bag a specimen for the Honourable Daines Barrington or Mr. Pennant. In simplicity of taste and natural refine- ment he reminds one of Walton ; in tenderness toward what 15 he would have called the brute creation, of Cowper. I do not know whether his descriptions of scenery are good or not, but they have made me familiar with his neighborhood. Since I first read him, I have walked over some of his favorite haunts, but I still see them through his eyes rather 20 than by any recollection of actual and personal vision. The book has also the delightfulness of absolute leisure. Mr. White seems never to have had any harder work to do than to study the habits of his feathered fellow-townsfolk, or to watch the ripening of his peaches on the wall. No doubt 25 he looked after the souls of his parishioners with ofiicial and even friendly interest, but, I cannot help suspecting, with a less personal solicitude. For he seems to have lived before the Fall. His volumes are the journal of Adam in Paradise, 30 " Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade." It is positive rest only to look into that garden of his. It is vastly better than to '' See great Diocletian walk 35 In the Salonian garden's noble shade," for thither ambassadors intrude to bring with them the noises of Eome, while here the world has no entrance. No rumor of the revolt of the American Colonies appears to have reached him. "The natural term of an hog's life "40 has more interest for him than that of an empire. Bur- 260 AMERICAN LITERATURE goyne may surrender and welcome ; of what consequence is that compared with the fact that we can explain the odd tumbling of rooks in the air by their turning over "to 45 scratch themselves with one claw " ? All the couriers in Europe spurring rowel-deep make no stir in Mr. White's little Chartreuse ; but the arrival of the house-martin a day earlier or later than last year is a piece of news worth send- ing express to all his correspondents. 50 Another secret charm of this book is its inadvertent hu- mor, so much the more delicious because unsuspected by the author. How pleasant is his innocent vanity in adding to the list of the British, and still more of the Selbornian, fauna! I believe he would gladly have consented to be 55 eaten by a tiger or a crocodile, if by that means the oc- casional presence within the parish limits of either of these anthropophagous brutes could have been established. He brags of no fine society, but is plainly a^ little elated by "having considerable acquaintance with a tame brown owl." 60 Most of us have known our share of owls, but few can boast* of intimacy with a feathered one. The great events of Mr. White's life, too, have that disproportionate importance which is always humorous. To think of his hands having actually been thought worthy (as neither Willoughby's nor 65 Ray's were) to hold a stilted plover, the Charadrius Jmnan- topus, with no back toe, and therefore "liable, in specula- tion, to perpetual vacillations " ! I wonder, by the way, if metaphysicians have no hind toes. In 1770 he makes the acquaintance in Sussex of " an old family tortoise," which 70 had then been domesticated for thirty years. It is clear that he fell in love with it at first sight. We have no means of tracing the growth of his passion ; but in 1780 we find him eloping with its object in a post-chaise. "The rattle and hurry of the journey so perfectly roused it that, 75 when I turned it out in a border, it walked twice down to JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 261 the bottom of my garden." It reads like a Court Journal : "Yesterday morning H.R.H. the Princess Alice took an airing of half an hour on the terrace of Windsor Castle." This tortoise might have been a member of the Royal So- ciety, if he could have condescended to so ignoble an am- 80 bition. It had but just been discovered that a surface inclined at a certain angle with the plane of the horizon took more of the sun's rays. The tortoise had always known this (though he unostentatiously made no parade of it), and used accordingly to tilt himself up against the gar- 85 den-wall in the autnmn. He seems to have been more of a philosopher than even Mr. White himself, caring for nothing but to get under a cabbage-leaf when it rained, or when the sun was too hot, and to bury himself alive before frost, — a four-footed Diogenes, who carried his tub on his back. 90 There are moods in which this kind of history is infinitely refreshing. These creatures whom we affect to look down upon as the drudges of instinct are members of a common- wealth whose constitution rests on immovable bases. Never any need of reconstruction there ! They never dream of 95 settling it by vote that eight hours are equal to ten, or that one creature is as clever as another and no more. They do not use their poor wits in regulating God's clocks, nor think they cannot go astray so long as they carry their guide- board about with them, — a delusion we often practice upon 100 ourselves with our high and mighty reason, that admirable finger-post which points every way, as we choose to turn it, and always right. It is good for us now and then to con- verse with a world like Mr. White's, where Man is the least important of animals. But one who, like me, has always 105 lived in the country and always on the same spot, is drawn to his book by other occult sympathies. Do we not share his indignation at that stupid Martin who had graduated his thermometer no lower than 4° above zero of Fahrenheit, so 262 AMERICAN LITERATURE no that in the coldest weather ever known the mercury basely- absconded into the bulb, and left us to see the victory slip through our fingers just as they were closing upon it ? No man, I suspect, ever lived long in the country without being bitten by these meteorological ambitions. He likes to be 115 hotter and colder, to have been more deeply snowed up, to have more trees, and larger, blown down than his neigh- bors. With us descendants of the Puritans especially, these weather-competitions supply the abnegated excite- ment of the race-course. Men learn to value thermometers 120 of the true imaginative temperament, capable of prodigious elations and corresponding dejections. The other day (5th July) I marked 98° in the shade, my high- water mark, higher by one (legree than I had ever seen it before. I happened to meet a neighbor ; as we mopped our brows at 125 each other, he told me that he had just cleared 100°, and I went home a beaten man. I had not felt the heat before, save as a beautiful exaggeration of sunshine ; but now it oppressed me with the prosaic vulgarity of an oven. What had been poetic intensity became all at once rhetorical 130 hyperbole. I might suspect his thermometer (as indeed I did, for we Harvard men are apt to think ill of any gradua- tion save our own) ; but it was a poor consolation. The fact remained that his herald Mercury, standing a-tiptoe, could look down on mine. I seem to glimpse something of 135 this familiar weakness in Mr. White. He, too, has shared in these mercurial triumphs and defeats. Nor do I doubt that he had a true country-gentleman's interest in the weathercock ; that his first question on coming down of a morning was, like Barabas's, 140 " Into what quarter peers my halcyon's bill ? " It is an innocent and healthful employment of the mind, distracting one from too continual study of oneself, and JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 263 leading one to dwell rather upon the indigestions of the elements than one's own. " Did the wind back round, or go about with the sun ? " is a rational question that bears 145 not remotely on the making of hay and the prosperity of crops. I have little doubt that the regulated observation ' of the vane in many different places, and, the interchange of results by telegraph, would put the weather, as it were, in our power, by betraying its ambushes before it is ready to 150 give the assault. At first sight, nothing seems more drolly trivial than the lives of those whose single achievement is to record the wind and the temperature three times a day. Yet such men are doubtless sent into the world for this special end, and perhaps there is no kind of accurate ob- 155 servation, whatever its object, that has not its final use and value for some one or other. It is even to be hoped that the speculations of our newsj^aper editors and their myriad correspondents upon the signs of the political atmosphere may also fill their appointed place in a well-regulated 160 universe, if it be only that of supplying so many more jack-o'-lanterns to the future historian. Nay, the observa- tions on finance of an M. C. whose sole knowledge of the subject has been derived from a lifelong success in getting a living out of the public vrithout paying any equivalent 165 therefor, will perhaps be of interest hereafter to some ex- plorer of our cloaca maxima, whenever it is cleansed. The True Nature of Democracy {From Democracy) We are told that the inevitable result of democracy is to sap the foundations of personal independence, to weaken the principle of authorit}^, to lessen the respect due to emi- nence, whether in station, virtue, or genius. If these things were so, society could not hold together. Perhaps the best 5 264 AMERICAN LITERATURE forcing-house of robust individuality would be where public opinion is inclined to be most overbearing, as he must be of heroic temper who should walk along Piccadilly at the height of the season in a soft hat. As for authority, it is 10 one of the symptoms of the time that the religious reverence for it is declining everywhere, but this is due partly to the fact that state-craft is no longer looked upon as a mystery, but as a business, and partly to the decay of superstition, by which I mean the habit of respecting what we are told 15 to respect rather than what is respectable in itself. There is more rough and tumble in the American democracy than is altogether agreeable to people of sensitive nerves and refined habits, and the people take their political duties lightly and laughingly, as is, perhaps, neither unnatural 20 nor unbecoming in a young giant. Democracies can no more jump away from their own shadows than the rest of us can. They no doubt sometimes make mistakes and pay honor to men who do not deserve it. But they do this be- cause they believe them worthy of it, and though it be true 25 that the idol is the measure of the worshipper, yet the worship has in it the germ of a nobler religion. But is it democracies alone that fall into these errors ? I, who have seen it proposed to erect a statue to Hudson, the railway king, and have heard Louis Napoleon hailed as the saviour 30 of society by men who certainly had no democratic asso- ciations or leanings, am not ready to think so. But de- mocracies have likewise their finer instincts. I have also seen the wisest statesman and most pregnant speaker of our generation, a man of humble birth and ungainly manners, 35 of little culture beyond what his own genius supplied, be- come more absolute in power than any monarch of modern times through the reverence of his countrymen for his honesty, his wisdom, his sincerity, his faith in God and man, and the nobly humane simplicity of his character. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 265 And I remember another whom popular respect enveloped 40 as with a halo, the least vulgar of men, the most austerely- genial, and the most independent of opinion. Wherever he went he never met a stranger, but everywhere neighbors and friends proud of him as their ornament and decoration. Institutions which could bear and breed such men as Lincoln 45 and Emerson had surely some energy for good. No, amid all the fruitless turmoil and miscarriage of the world, if there be one thing steadfast and of favorable omen, one thing to make optimism distrust its own obscure distrust, it is the rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more 50 beautiful than themselves. The touchstone of political and social institutions is their ability to supply them with worthy objects of this sentiment, which is the very tap-root of civilization and progress. There would seem to be no readier way of feeding it with the elements of growth and vigor than 55 such an organization of society as will enable men to respect themselves, and so to justify them in respecting others. Such a result is quite possible under other conditions than those of an avowedly democratical Constitution. For I take it that the real essence of democracy was fairly enough 60 defined by the First Napoleon when he said that the French Revolution meant "la carriere ouverte aux talents" — a clear pathway for merit of whatever kind. I should be in- clined to paraphrase this by calling democracy that form of society, no matter what its political classification, in which 65 every man had a chance and knew that he had it. If a man can climb, and feels himself encouraged to climb, from a coalpit to the highest position for which he is fitted, he can well afford to be indifferent what name is given to the gov- ernment under which he lives. The Bailli of Mirabeau, 70 uncle of the more famous tribune of that name, wrote in 1771 : " The English are, in my opinion, a hundred times more agitated and more unfortunate than the very Algerines 266 AMERICAN LITERATURE themselves, because they do not know and will not know 75 till the destruction of their over-swollen power, which I be- lieve very near, whether they are monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, and wish to play the part of all three." England has not been obliging enough to fulfil the Bailli's prophecy, and perhaps it was this very carelessness about the name, 80 and concern about the substance of popular government, this skill in getting the best out of things as they are, in utilizing all the motives which influence men, and in giving one direction to many impulses, that has been a principal factor of her greatness and power. Perhaps it is fortunate to 85 have an unwritten Constitution, for men are prone to be tinkering the work of their own hands, whereas they are more willing to let time and circumstance mend or modify what time and circumstance have made. All free govern- ments, whatever their name, are in reality governments by 90 public opinion, and it is on the quality of this public opinion that their prosperity depends. It is, therefore, their first duty to purify the element from which they draw the breath of life. With the growth of democracy grows also the fear, if not the danger, that this atmosphere may be corrupted 95 with poisonous exhalations from lower and more malarious levels, and the question of sanitation becomes more instant and pressing. Democracy in its best sense is merely the letting in of light and air. Lord Sherbrooke, with his usual epigrammatic terseness, bids you educate your future rulers. 100 But would this alone be a sufficient safeguard ? To educate the intelligence is to enlarge the horizon of its desires and wants. And it is well that this should be so. But the en- terprise must go deeper and prepare the way for satisfying those desires and wants in so far as they are legitimate. 105 What is really ominous of danger to the existing order of things is not democracy (which, properly understood, is a conservative force), but the Socialism which may find a JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 267 fulcrum in it. If we cannot equalize conditions and for- tunes any more than we can equalize the brains of men — and a very sagacious person has said that " where two men 110 ride of a horse one must ride behind '' — we can yet, perhaps, do something to correct those methods and influences that lead to enormous inequalities, and to prevent their growing more enormous. It is all very well to pooh-pooh Mr. George and to prove him mistaken in his political economy. 115 I do not believe that land should be divided because the quantity of it is limited by nature. Of what may this not be said ? A fortiori, we might on the same principle insist on a division of human wit, for I have observed that the quantity of this has been even more inconveniently limited. 120 Mr. George himself has an inequitably large share of it. But he is right in his impelling motive ; right, also, I am convinced, in insisting that humanity makes a part, by far the most important part, of political economy ; and in think- ing man to be of more concern and more convincing than 125 the longest columns of figures in the world. For unless you include human nature in your addition, your total is sure to be wrong and your deductions from it fallacious. Com- munism means barbarism, but Socialism means, or wishes to mean, cooperation and community of interests, sympathy, i30 the giving to the hands not so large a share as to the brains, but a larger share than hitherto in the wealth they must combine to produce — means, in short, the practical applica- tion of Christianity to life, and has in it the secret of an orderly and benign reconstruction. State Socialism would 135 cut off the very roots in personal character — self-help, forethought, and frugality — which nourish and sustain the trunk and branches of every vigorous Commonwealth. I do not believe in violent changes, nor do I expect them. Things in possession have a very firm grip. One of the 140 strongest cements of society is the conviction of mankind 268 AMERICAN LITERATURE that the state of things into which they are born is a part of the order of the universe, as natural, let us say, as that the sun should go round the earth. It is a conviction that 145 they will not surrender except on compulsion, and a wise society should look to it that this compulsion be not put upon them. For the individual man there is no radical cure, outside of human nature itself, for the evils to which human nature is heir. The rule will always hold good that you 150 must " Be your own palace or the world's your gaol." But for artificial evils, for evils that spring from want of thought, thought must find a remedy somewhere. There has been no period of time in which wealth has been more 155 sensible of its duties than now. It builds hospitals, it establishes missions among the poor, it endows schools. It is one of the advantages of accumulated wealth, and of the leisure it renders possible, that people have time to think of the wants and sorrows of their fellows. But all these 160 remedies are partial and palliative merely. It is as if we should apply plasters to a single pustule of the small-pox with a view of driving out the disease. The true way is to discover and to extirpate the germs. As society is now con- stituted these are in the air it breathes, in the water it 165 drinks, in things that seem, and which it has always be- lieved, to be the most innocent and healthful. The evil elements it neglects corrupt these in their springs and pol- lute them in their courses. Let us be of good cheer, how- ever, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are 170 those which never come. The world has outlived much, and will outlive a great deal more, and men have contrived to be happy in it. It has shown the strength of its consti- tution in nothing more than in surviving the quack medi- cines it has tried. In the scales of the destinies brawn will SIDNEY LANIER 269 never weigh so much as brain. Our healing is not in the 175 storm or in the whirlwind, it is not in monarchies, or aris- tocracies, or democracies, but will be revealed by the still small voice that speaks to the conscience and the heart, prompting us to a wider and wiser humanity. SIDNEY LANIER My Springs ^ In the heart of the Hills of Life, I know Two springs that with unbroken flow Forever pour their lucent streams Into my soul's far Lake of Dreams. Not larger than two eyes, they lie 5 Beneath the many-changing sky And mirror all of life and time, — Serene and dainty pantomime. Shot through with lights of stars and dawns, And shadowed sweet by ferns and fawns, 10 — Thus heaven and earth together vie Their shining depths to sanctify. Alw^ays when the large Form of Love Is hid by storms that rage above, I gaze in my two springs and see jr Love in his very verity. Always when Faith with stifling stress Of grief hath died in bitterness, I gaze in my two springs and see A Faith that smiles immortally. 20 iFrom " Poems of Sidney Lanier " : copyright, 1884, 1891 ; published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 270 AMERICAN LITERATURE Always when Charity and Hope, In darkness bounden, feebly grope, I gaze in my two springs and see A Light that sets my captives free. 25 Always, when Art on perverse wing Flies where I cannot hear him sing, I gaze in my two springs and see A charm that brings him back to me. When Labor faints, and Glory fails, 30 And coy Reward in sighs exhales, I gaze in my two springs and see Attainment full and heavenly. O Love, O Wife, thine eyes are they, — My springs from out whose shining gray 35 Issue the sweet celestial streams That feed my life's bright Lake of Dreams. Oval and large and passion -pure And gray and wise and honor-sure ; Soft as a dying violet-breath 40 , Yet calmly unafraid of death ; Thronged, like two dove-cotes of gray doves. With wife's and mother's and poor-folk's loves, And home-loves and high glory-loves And science-loves and story-loves, 45 And loves for all that God and man In art and nature make or plan, And lady-loves for spidery lace And broideries and supple grace And diamonds and the whole sweet round 50 Of littles that large life compound. And loves for God and God's bare truth. And loves for Magdalen and Ruth, SIDNEY LANIER 271 Dear eyes, dear eyes and rare complete — Being heavenly-sweet and earthly-sweet, — I marvel that God made you mine, 55 For when He frowns, 'tis then ye shine ! Song of the Chattahoochee ^ Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall. Split at the rock and together again, 6 Accept my bed, or narrow or wide. And flee from folly on every side With a lover's pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, , Far from the valleys of Hall. 10 All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried Abide, abide, The willful waterweeds held me thrall. The laving laurel turned my tide, 15 The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall. 20 High o'er the hills of Habersham, Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, 25 1 From " Poems of Sidney Lanier " : copyright, 1884, 1891; published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 272 AMERICAN LITERATURE The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 30 These glades in the valleys of Hall. And oft in the hills of Habersham, And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, 35 And many a luminous jewel lone — Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist. Ruby, garnet and amethyst — Made lures with the lights of streaming stone In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 40 In the beds of the valleys of Hall. But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail : I am fain for to water the plain. Downward the voices of Duty call — 45 Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main. The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 60 Calls through the valleys of Hall. HENRY WOODFIN GRADY The New South ^' There was a South of slavery and secession — that South is dead. There is a South of union and freedom — that South, thank God, is living, breathing, growing every hour." These words, delivered from the immortal lips of Benjamin 5H. Hill, at Tammany Hall, in 1866, true then and truer now, I shall make my text to-night. HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 273 Mr. President and Gentlemen : Let me express to you my appreciation of the kindness by which I am permitted to address you. I make this abrupt acknowledgment advisedly, for I feel that if, when I raise my provincial voice in this 10 ancient and august presence, it could find courage for no more than the opening sentence, it would be well if in that sentence I had met in a rough sense my obligation as a guest, and had perished, so to speak, with courtesy on my lips and grace in my heart. 15 Permitted, through your kindness, to catch my second wind, let me say that I appreciate the significance of being the first Southerner to speak at this board, which bears the substance, if it surpasses the semblance, of original New England hospitality — and honors the sentiment that in 20 turn honors you, but in which my personality is lost, and the compliment to my people made plain. I bespeak the utmost stretch of your courtesy to-night. I am not troubled about those from whom I come. You remember the man whose wife sent him to a neighbor with 25 a pitcher of milk, and who, tripping on the top step, fell with such casual interruptions as the landings afforded into the basement, and, while picking himself up, had the pleas- ure of hearing his wife call out : " John, did you break the pitcher ?'' . 30 "No, I didn't," said John, "but I'll be dinged if I don't." So, while those who call me from behind may inspire me with energy, if not with courage, I ask an indulgent hearing from you. I beg that you will bring your full faith in American fairness and frankness to judgment upon what 135 shall say. There was an old preacher once who told some boys of the Bible lesson he was going to read in the morn- ing. The boys, finding the place, glued together the con- necting pages. The next morning he read on the bottom of one page, " When Noah was one hundred and twenty years 40 274 AMERICAN LITERATURE old he took unto himself a wife, who was " — then turning the page — " 140 cubits long — 40 cubits wide, built of gopher wood — and covered with pitch inside and out." He was naturally puzzled at this. He read it again, verified it, and 45 then said : " My friends, this is the first time I ever met this in the Bible, but I accept this as an evidence of the assertion that we are fearfully and wonderfully made." If I could get you to hold such faith to-night I could proceed cheerfully to the task I otherwise approach with a sense of 50 consecration. Pardon me one word, Mr. President, spoken for the sole purpose of getting into the volumes that go out annually freighted with the rich eloquence of your speakers — the fact that the Cavalier, as well as the Puritan, was on the 55 continent in its early days, and that he was " up and able to be about." I have read your books carefully and I find no mention of the fact, which seems to me an important one for preserving a sort of historical equilibrium, if for nothing else. 60 Let me remind you that the Virginia Cavalier first chal- lenged France on the continent — that Cavalier John Smith gave New England its very name, and was so pleased with the job that he has been handing his own name around ever since — and that while Myles Standish was cutting off men's 65 ears for courting a girl without her parent's consent, and forbade men to kiss their wives on Sunday, the Cavalier was courting everything in sight, and that the Almighty had vouchsafed great increase to the Cavalier colonies, the huts in the wilderness being as full as the nests in the 70 woods. But having incorporated the Cavalier as a fact in your charming little books, I shall let him work out his own sal- vation, as he has always done, with engaging gallantry, and we will hold no controversy as to his merits. Why should HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 275 we ? Neither Puritan nor Cavalier long survived as such. 75 The virtues and good traditions of both happily still live for the inspiration of their sons and the saving of the old fashion. But both Puritan and Cavalier were lost in the storm of the first Revolution, and the American citizen, sup- planting both and stronger than either, took possession of 80 the republic bought by their common blood and fashioned to wisdom, and charged himself with teaching men government and establishing the voice of the people as the voice of God. My friends, Dr. Talmage has told you that the typical American has yet to come. Let me tell you that he has 85 already come. Great types, like valuable plants, are slow to flower and fruit. But from the union of these colonists, Puritans and Cavaliers, from the straightening of their pur- poses and the crossing of their blood, slow perfecting through a century, came he who stands as the first typical American, 90 the first who comprehended within himself all the strength « and gentleness, all the majesty and grace of this republic — Abraham Lincoln. He was the sum of Puritan and Cavalier, for in his ardent nature were fused the virtues of both, and in the depths of his great soul the faults of both were lost. 95 He was greater than Puritan, greater than Cavalier, in that he was American, and that in his honest form were first gathered the vast and thrilling forces of his ideal government — charging' it with such tremendous meaning and elevating it above human suffering that martyrdom, though infa- lOO mously aimed, came as a fitting crown to a life consecrated from the cradle to human liberty. Let us, each cherishing the traditions and honoring his fathers, build with reverent hands to the type of this simple but sublime life, in which all types are honored, and in our common glory as Americans 105 there will be plenty and to spare for your forefathers and for mine. Dr. Talmage has drawn for you, with a master's hand, the 276 AMERICAN LITERATURE picture of your returning armies. He has told you how, in 110 the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you, marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes ! Will you bear with me while I tell you of another army that sought its home at the close of the late war — an army that marched home in defeat and 115 not in victory — in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home ! Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier, as buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was 120 to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half -starved, heavy-hearted, en- feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in •125 silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find — let me ask you who went to your 130 homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, full payment for four years' sacrifice — what does he find when, having followed the battle-stained cross against over- whelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful ? 135 He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its mag- nificence, swept away ; his people without law or legal status ; his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his 140 shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. Without money, credit, employment, material, or training ; and besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 277 that ever met human intelligence — the establishment of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold ? 145 Does he sit down in sullenness and despair ? Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so over- whelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow ; 150 horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June ; women reared in lux- ury cut up their dresses and made breeches for their hus- bands, and, with a patience and heroism that fit women 155 always as a garment, gave their hands to work. There was little bitterness in all this. Cheerfulness and frankness prevailed. " Bill Arp " struck the key-note when he said : ^' Well, I killed as many of them as they did of me, and now I'm going to work." So did the soldier returning home 160 after defeat and roasting some corn on the roadside who made the remark to his comrades: "You may leave the South if you want to,*but I'm going to Sanders ville, kiss my wife and raise a crop, and if the Yankees fool with me any more, I'll whip 'em again." 165 I want to say to General Sherman, who is considered an able man in our parts, though some people think he is a kind of careless rnan about fire, that from the ashes he left us in 1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city ; that some- how or other we have ca.ught the sunshine in the bricks and 170 mortar of our homes, and have builded therein not one igno- ble prejudice or memory. But what is the sum of our work ? We have found out that in the summing up the free negro counts more than he did as a slave. We have planted the schoolhouse on the 175 hilltop and made it free to white and black. We have 278 AMERICAN LITERATURE sowed towns and cities in the place of theories, and put business above politics. We have challenged your spinners in Massachusetts and your iron-makers in Pennsylvania. 180 We have learned that $400,000,000 annually received from our cotton crop will make us rich when the supplies that make it are home-raised. We have reduced the commercial rate of interest from 24 to 6 per cent., and are floating 4 per cent, bonds. We have learned that one Northern immigrant 185 is worth fifty foreigners and have smoothed the path to Southward, wiped out the place where Mason and Dixon's line used to be, and hung out the latchstring to you and yours. We have reached the point that marks perfect harmony in every household, when the husband confesses that the 190 pies which his wife cooks are as good as those his mother used to bake ; and we admit that the sun shines as brightly and the moon as softly as it did before the war. We have established thrift in city and country. We have fallen in love with work. We have restored comfort to homes from 195 which culture and elegance never departed. We have let economy take root and spread among us as rank as the crab- grass which sprung from Sherman's cavalry camps, until we are ready to lay odds on the Georgia Yankee as he manu- factures relics of the battlefield in a one-story shanty and 200 squeezes pure olive-oil out of his cottonseed, against any down-easter that ever swapped wooden nutmegs for flannel sausage in the valleys of Vermont. Above all, we know that we have achieved in these " piping times of peace " a fuller independence for the South than that which our 205 fathers sought to win in the forum by their eloquence or compel in the field by their swords. It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however humble, in this work. Never was nobler duty confided to human hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the pros- 2l0trate and bleeding South — misguided, perhaps, but beau- HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 279 tiful in her suffering, and honest, brave, and generous al- ways. In the record of her social, industrial, and political illustration we await with confidence the verdict of the world. But what of the negro ? Have we solved the problem he 215 presents or progressed in honor and equity toward solution ? Let the record speak to the point. No section shows a more prosperous laboring population than the negroes of the South, none in fuller sympathy with the employing and ■ land-owning class. He shares our school fund, has the full- 220 est protection of our laws and the friendship of our people. Self-interest, as well as honor, 'demand that he should have this. Our future, our very existence depend upon our work- ing out this problem in full and exact justice. We under- stand tliat when Lincoln signed the emancipation proclama-225 tion, your victory was assured, for he then committed you to the cause of human liberty, against which the arms of man cannot prevail — while those of our statesmen who trusted to make slavery the cornerstone of the Confederacy doomed us to defeat as far as they could, committing us to 230 a cause that reason could not defend or the sword main- tain in sight of advancing civilization. Had Mr. Toombs said, which he did not say, "that he would call the roll of his slaves at the foot of Bunker Hill," he would have been foolish, for he might have known that 235 whenever slavery became entangled in war it must perish, and that the chattel in human flesh ended forever in New England when your fathers — not to be blamed for parting with what didn't pay — sold their slaves to our fathers — not to be praised for knowing a paying thing when they 240 saw it. The relations of the Southern people with the negro are close and cordial. We remember with what fidelity for four years he guarded our defenseless women and children, whose husbands and fathers were fighting against his free- 280 AMERICAN LITERATURE 245 dom. To his eternal credit be it said that whenever he struck a blow for his own liberty he fought in open battle, and when at last he raised his black and humble hands that the shackles might be struck off, those hands were innocent of wrong against his helpless charges, and worthy to be 250 taken in loving grasp by every man who honors loyalty and devotion. Ruffians have maltreated him, rascals have mis- led him, philanthropists established a bank for him, but the South, with the North, protests against injustice to this simple and sincere people. 255 To liberty and enfranchisement is as far as law can carry the negro. The rest must be left to conscience and common sense. It must be left to those among whom his lot is cast, with whom he is indissolubly connected, and whose pros- perity depends upon their possessing his intelligent sym- 260 pathy and confidence. Faith has been kept with him, in spite of calumnious assertions to the contrary by those who assume to speak for us or by frank opponents. Faith will be kept with him in the future, if the South holds her rea- son and integrity. 265 But have we kept faith with you ? In the fullest sense, yes. When Lee surrendered — I don't say when Johnston surrendered, because I understand he still alludes to the time when he met General Sherman last as the time when he de- termined to abandon any further prosecution of the struggle 270 — when Lee surrendered, I say, and Johnston quit, the South became and has since been, loyal to this Union. We fought hard enough to know that we were whipped, and in perfect frankness accept as final the arbitrament of the sword to which we had appealed. The South found her jewel in 275 the toad's head of defeat. The shackles that had held her in narrow limitations fell forever when the shackles of the negro slave were broken. Under the old regime the negroes were slaves to the South: the South was a slave to the HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 281 system. The old plantation, with its simple police regula- tions and feudal habit, was the only type possible under 280 slavery. Thus was gathered in the hands of a splendid and chivalric oligarchy the substance that should have been dif- fused among the people, as the rich blood, under certain artificial conditions, is gathered at the heart, filling that with affluent rapture but leaving the body chill and colorless. 285 The old South rested everything on slavery and agricul- ture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect de- mocracy, the oligarchs leading in the popular movement — a social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on 290 the surface, but stronger at the core — a hundred farms for every plantation, fifty homes for every palace — and a diver- sified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex age. The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul 295 is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she stands upright, full-statured and equal among the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the 300 expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation came because through the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest purpose was crossed, and her brave armies were beaten. This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The 305 South has nothing for which to apologize. She believes that the late struggle between the States was war and not rebellion ; revolution and not conspiracy, and that her con- victions were as honest as yours. I should be unjust to the dauntless spirit of the South and to my own convictions if 310 I did not make this plain in this presence. The South has nothing to take back. 282 AMERICAN LITERATURE In ray native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its central hill — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its 315 shining side is a name dear to me above the names of men — that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the w^ay, would I exchange the heritage he left me in his soldier's death. To the foot of that I shall 320 send my children's children to reverence him who ennobled their name with his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that memory which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller 325 wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance of battle in His Almighty hand and that human slavery was swept forever from American soil — that the American Union was saved from the wreck of war. 330 This message, Mr. President, comes to you from con- secrated ground. Every foot of soil about the city in which I live is sacred as a battle-ground of the republic. Every hill that invests it is hallowed to you by the blood of your brothers who died for your victory, and doubly hallowed to 335 us by the blood of those who died hopeless, but undaunted, in defeat — sacred soil to all of us — rich with memories that make us purer and stronger and better — silent but staunch witnesses in its red desolation of the matchless valor of American hearts and the deathless glory of Ameri- 340 can arms— speaking an eloquent witness in its white peace and prosperity to the indissoluble union of American States and the imperishable brotherhood of the American people. Now, what answer has New England to this message? Will she permit the prejudice of war to remain in the hearts 345 of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the conquered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 283 generation, that in their hearts which never felt the generous ardor of conflict it may perpetuate itself ? Will she with- hold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? 350 Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered above the couch of your dying captain, fill- ing his heart with grace, touching his lips with praise, and glorifying his path to the grave — will she make this vision on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a bene- 355 diction, a cheat and delusion ? If she does, the South, never abject in asking for comrade- ship, must accept with dignity its refusal ] but if she does not refuse to accept in frankness' and sincerity this message of good will and friendship, then will the prophecy of Web- 360 ster, delivered in this very society forty years ago amid tremendous applause, become true, be verified in its fullest sense, when he said : " Standing hand to hand and clasping hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty years, citizens of the same country, members of the same 365 government, united, all united now and united forever." There have been difficulties, contentions, and controversies, but I tell you that in my judgment, " Those opened eyes, Which like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 370 All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in th' intestine shock. Shall now, in mutual well beseeming ranks, March all one way." 284 AMERICAN LITERATURE GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS ^ Advantages of Not Traveling {From Prue and I) I do not know how it is, but surely Nature makes kindly- provision. An imagination so easily excited as mine could not have escaped disappointment if it had had ample op- portunity and experience of the lands it so longed to see. 5 Therefore, although I made the India voyage, I have never been a traveler, and, saving the little time I was ashore in India, I did not lose the sense of novelty and romance which the first sight of foreign lands inspires. That little time was all my foreign travel. I am glad of 10 it. I see now that I should never have found the country from which the East Indiaman of my early days arrived. The palm groves do not -grow with which that hand laid upon the ship placed me in magic conception. As for the lovely Indian maid whom the palmy arches bowered, she 15 has long since clasped some native lover to her bosom, and, ripened into mild maternity, how should I know her now ? " You would find her quite as easily now as then," says my Prue, when I speak of it. She is right again, as usual, that precious woman ; and it 20 is therefore I feel that if the chances of life have moored me fast to a book-keeper's desk, they have left all the lands I longed to see fairer and fresher in my mind than they could ever be in my memory. Upon my only voyage I used to climb into the top and search the horizon for the 25 shore. But now in a moment of calm thought I see a more Indian India than ever mariner discerned, and do not envy iThe extracts from Prue and I and The Public Duty of Educated Men are used by permission of Harper and Brotliers, authorized pub- lishers of Curtis's works. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 285 the youths who go there and make fortunes, who wear grass- cloth jackets, drink iced beer, and eat curry ; whose minds fall asleep, and whose bodies have liver complaints. Unseen by me forever, nor ever regretted, shall wave the 30 Egyptian palms and the Italian pines. Untrodden by me, the Forum shall still echo with the footfall of imperial Rome, and the Parthenon, unrifled of its marbles, look per- fect across the ^gean blue. My young friends return from their tours elate with the smiles of a nameless Italian or 35 Parisian belle. I know not such cheap delights ; I am a suitor of Vittoria Colonna; I walk with Tasso along the terraced garden of the Villa d'Este, and look to see Beatrice smiling down the rich gloom of the cypress shade. You stayed at the Hotel Europa in Venice, at Danieli's, or the 40 Leone Bianco; I am the guest of Marino Faliero, and I whisper to his wife, as we climb the giant staircase in the summer moonlight, " Ah ! senza am are Andare sul mare, 45 Col sposo del mare, Non puo consolare." It is for the same reason that I did not care to dine with you and Aurelia that I am content not to stand in St. Peter's. Alas ! if I could see the end of it, it would not be 50 St. Peter's. For those of us whom Nature means to keep at home she provides entertainment. One man goes four thousand miles to Italy and does not see it, he is so short- sighted. Another is so far-sighted that he stays in his room and sees more than Italy. 55 But for this very reason that it washes the shores of my possible Europe and Asia, the sea draws me constantly to itself. Before I came to New York, while I was still a clerk in Boston, courting Prue and living out of town, 286 AMERICAN LITERATURE 60 1 never knew of a ship sailing for India, or even for ^Eng- land and France, but I went up to the State-house cupola or to the observatory on some friend's house in Roxbury, where I could not be interrupted, and there watched the departure. 65 The sails hung ready ; the ship lay in the stream ; busy little boats and puffing steamers darted about it, clung to its sides, paddled away from it, or led the way to sea, as minnows might pilot a whale. The anchor was slowly swung at the bow ; I could not hear the sailors' song, but I 70 knew they were singing. I could not see the parting friends, but I knew farewells were spoken. I did not share the confusion, although I knew what bustle there was, what hurry, what shouting, what creaking, what fall of ropes and iron, what sharp oaths, low laughs, whispers, sobs. But I 75 was cool, high, separate. To me it was " A painted ship Upon a painted ocean." Evils of Party Spirit {From The Public Duty of Educated Men) Undoubtedly a practical and active interest in politics will lead you to party association and co-operation. Great public results — the repeal of the corn laws in England, the abolition of slavery in America — are due to that organi- 5 zation of effort and concentration of aim which arouse, in- struct, and inspire the popular heart and will. This is the spring of party, and those who earnestly seek practical results instinctively turn to this agency of united action. But in this tendency, useful in the state as the fire upon 10 the household hearth, lurks, as in that fire, the deadliest peril. Here is our republic — it is a ship with towering GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 287 canvas spread, sweeping before the prosperous gale over a foaming and sparkling sea; it is a lightning train, darting with awful speed along the edge of dizzy abysses and across bridges that quiver over unsounded gulfs. Because we are 15 Americans, we have no peculiar charm, no magic spell, to stay the eternal laws. Our safety lies alone in cool self- possession, directing the forces of wind and wave and fire. If once the madness to which the excitement tends usurps control, the catastrophe is inevitable. And so deep is the 20 conviction that sooner or later this madness must seize every republic, that the most plausible suspicion of the permanence of the American government is founded in the belief that party spirit cannot be restrained. It is indeed a master passion, but its control is the true conservatism of 25 the republic and of happy human progress ; and it is men made familar by education with the history of its ghastly catastrophes, men with the proud courage of independence, who are to temper by lofty action, born of that knowledge, the ferocity of party spirit. 30 The first object of concerted political action is the highest welfare of the country. But the conditions of party associa- tion are such that the means are constantly and easily sub- stituted for the end. The sophistry is subtle and seductive. Holding the ascendency of his party essential to the national 35 welfare, the zealous partisan merges patriotism in party. He insists that not to sustain the party is to betray the country, and against all honest doubt and reasonable hesitation and reluctance, he vehemently urges that quibbles of conscience must be sacrificed to the public good; that 40 wise and practical men will not be squeamish; that every soldier in the army cannot indulge his own whims ; and that if the majority may justly prevail in determining the government, it must not be questioned in the control of a party. 45 288 AMERICAN LITERATURE This spirit adds moral coercion to sophistry. It de- nounces as a traitor him who protests against party tyranny, and it makes unflinching adherence to what is called regular party action the condition of the gratification of honorable 50 political ambition. Because a man who sympathizes with the party aims refuses to vote for a thief, this spirit scorns him as a rat and a renegade. Because he holds to principle and law against party expediency and dictation, he is pro- claimed to have betrayed his country, justice, and humanity. 55 Because he tranquilly insists upon deciding for himself when he must dissent from his party, he is reviled as a popinjay and a visionary fool. Seeking with honest pur- pose only the welfare of his country, the hot air around him hums with the cry of " the grand old party," " the traditions 60 of the party," " loyalty to the party," " future of the party," " servant of the party," and he sees and hears the gorged and portly money-changers in the temple usurping the ver}^ di- vinity of the God. Young hearts! be not dismayed. If ever any one of you shall be the man so denounced, do not 65 forget that your own individual convictions are the whip of small cords which God has put into your hands to expel the blasphemers. The same party spirit naturally denies the patriotism of its opponents. Identifying itself with the country, it re- 70gards all others as public enemies. This is substantially revolutionary politics. It is the condition of France, where, in its own words, the revolution is permanent. Instead of regarding the other party as legitimate opponents — in the English phrase. His Majesty's Opposition — law^fully seek- 75 ing a different policy under the government, it decries that party as a conspiracy plotting the overthrow of the govern- ment itself. History is lurid with the wasting fires of this madness. We need not look to that of other lands. Our own is full of it. It is painful to turn to the opening years GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 289 of the Union, and see how the great men whom we are 80 taught to revere, and to whose fostering care the beginning of the republic was intrusted, fanned their hatred and sus- picion of each other. Do not trust the flattering voices that whisper of a Golden Age behind us, and bemoan our own as a degenerate day. The castles of hope always shine 85 along the horizon. Our fathers saw theirs where we are standing. We behold ours where our fathers stood. But pensive regret for the heroic past, like eager anticipation of the future, shows only that the vision of a loftier life for- ever allures the human soul. We think our fathers to have 90 been wiser than we, and their day more enviable. But eighty years ago the Federalists abhorred their opponents as Jacobins, and thought Robespierre and Marat no worse than Washington's Secretary of State. The opponents re- torted that the Federalists were plotting to establish a 95 monarchy by force of arms. The New England pulpit anathematized Tom Jefferson as an atheist and a satyr. Jefferson denounced John Jay as a rogue, and the chief newspaper of the opposition, on the morning that Washing- ton retired from the presidency, thanked God that the 100 country was now rid of the man who was the source of all its misfortunes. There is no mire in which party spirit wallows to-day with which our fathers were not befouled, and how little sincere the vituperation was, how shallow a fury, appears when Jefferson and Adams had retired from 105 public life. Then they corresponded placidly and famil- iarly, each at last conscious of the other's fervent patriotism ; and when they died, they were lamented in common by those who in their names had flown at each other's throats, as the patriarchal Castor and Pollux of the pure age of HO our politics, now fixed as a constella.tion of hope in our heaven. The same brutal spirit showed itself at the time of An- 290 AMERICAN LITERATURE drew Johnson's impeachment. Impeachment is a proceed- 115 ing to be instituted only for great public reasons, which should, presumptively, command universal support. To prostitute the power of impeachment to a mere party pur- pose would readily lead to the reversal of the result of an election. But it was made a party measure. The party 120 was to be whipped into its support : and when certain Sen- ators broke the party yoke upon their necks, and voted according to their convictions, as honorable men always will, whether the 'party whips like it or not, one of the whippers-in exclaimed of a patriotism, the struggle of obe- 125 dience to which cost one Senator, at least, his life — " If there is anything worse than the treachery, it is the cant which pretends that it is the result of conscientious convic- tion ; the pretense of a conscience is quite unbearable." This was the very acridity of bigotry, which in other times 130 and countries raised the cruel tribunal of the Inquisition, and burned opponents for the glory of God. The party madness that dictated these words, and the sympathy that approved them, was treason not alone to the country but to well-ordered human society. Murder may destroy great 135 statesmen, but corruption makes great states impossible; and this was an attempt at the most insidious corruption. The man who attempts to terrify a Senator of the United States to cast a dishonest vote, by stigmatizing him as a hypocrite and devoting him to party hatred, is only a more 140 plausible rascal than his opponent who gives Pat O'Flana- gan a fraudulent naturalization paper or buys his vote with a dollar or a glass of whisky. Whatever the offenses of the President may have been, they were as nothing when com- pared with the party spirit which declared that it was tired 145 of the intolerable cant of honesty. So the sneering Cavalier was tired of the cant of the Puritan conscience; but the conscience of which plumed Injustice and coroneted Privi- JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 291 lege were tired has been for three centuries the invincible bodyguard of civil and religious liberty. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER To William Lloyd Garrison Champion of those who groan beneath Oppression's iron hand : In view of penury, hate, and death, I see thee fearless stand. Still bearing up thy lofty brow, 5 In the steadfast strength of truth, In manhood sealing well the vow And promise of thy youth. Go on, for thou hast chosen well ; On in the strength of God ! 10 Long as one human heart shall swell Beueath the tyrant's rod. Speak in a slumbering nation's ear. As thou hast ever spoken, Until the dead in sin shall hear, 15 The fetter's link be broken ! I love thee with a brother's love, I feel my pulses thrill, To mark thy spirit soar above The cloud of human ill. 20 My heart hath leaped to answer thine, And echo back thy words, As leaps the warrior's at the shine And flash of kindred swords ! They tell me thou art rash and vain, 25 A searcher after fame ; That thou art striving but to gain A long -enduring name ; 292 AMERICAN LITERATURE That thou hast nerved the Afric's hand 30 And steeled the Afric's heart, To shake aloft his vengeful brand, And rend his chain apart. » Have I not known thee well, and read Thy mighty purpose long? 35 And watched the trials which have made Thy human spirit strong ? And shall the slanderer's demon breath Avail with one like me. To dim the sunshine of my faith 40 And earnest trust in thee ? Go on, the dagger's point may glare Amid thy pathway's gloom ; The fate which sternly threatens there Is glorious martyrdom ! 45 Then onward with a martyr's zeal ; And wait thy sure reward When man to man no more shall kneel, And God alone be Lord ! Proem I love the old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenser's golden days, Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 5 Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. Yet, vainly in my quiet hours To breath their marvellous notes I try ; I feel them, as the leaves and flowers In silence feel the dewy showers, 10 And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 293 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 Nor mine the seer-like power to show The secrets of the heart and mind ; To drop the plummet-line below Our 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 O Freedom ! if to me belong Nor mighty Milton's gift divine. Nor Marvell's 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 Ichabod So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn Which once he wore ! The glory from his gray hairs gone Fore verm ore ! 294 AMERICAN LITERATURE 5 Revile him not, the Tempter hath A snare for all ; And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall ! Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 10 When he who might Have lighted up and led his age, Falls back in night. Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark A bright soul driven, 15 Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, From hope and heaven ! Let not the land once proud of him Insult him now. Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 20 Dishonored brow. But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead. In sadness make. 25 Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains ; A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. All else is gone ; from those great eyes 30 The soul has fled : When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead ! Then pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame ; 35 Walk backward, with averted gaze, And hide the shame ! JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 295 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, Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass, Witch astride of a human back, 6 Islam's prophet on Al-Bordk, — 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 10 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 ! ' )Vrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls in bloom of cheek and lips. Wild-eyed, and 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 ! ' 296 AMERICAN LITERATURE Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 35 From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, — 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 ! 40 Brag of your catch of fish again ! ' 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 ! 45 Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur That wreck shall lie forevermore. ^Mother and sister, wife and maid. Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea, — 50 Looked for the coming that might not be ! 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 55 By the women of Marblehead ! 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. 60 Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 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, 65 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 297 Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so greeu and the sky so blue. 70 Riding there in his sorry trim, Like an Lidian 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' f utherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' ' Here me, neighbors ! ' at last he cried, — ' What to me is this noisy ride ? What is the shame that clothes the skin ^^ To the nameless horror that lives within ? AVaking 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 ! ' ^^ 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, And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 96 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 ! 298 AMERICAN LITERATURE My Playmate The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, Their song was soft and low ; The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were falling like the snow. 6 The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowers, 10 My playmate left her home, 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 : 15 What more could ask the bashful boy 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, 20 But she came back no more. 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. 25 She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and go. There haply with her jewelled hands 30 She smooths her silken gown,— No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 299 The wild grapes wait us by the brook, The brown nuts on the hill, And still the May-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 pines of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams. I see her face, I hear her voice ; .r 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, — ^q That other hands with nuts are filled, And other laps with flowers ? O playmate in the golden time ! Our mossy ^eat 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 And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, — The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee ! 300 AMERICAN LITERATURE Laus Deo! It is done ! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel ! 5 How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town ! Ring, O bells ! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime. 10 Loud and long, that all may hear, Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time ! Let us kneel : God's own voice is in that peal, 15 And this spot is holy ground. Lord, forgive us ! What are we, That our eyes this glory see. That our ears have heard the sound ! For the Lord 20 On the whirlwind is abfroad ; In the earthquake He has spoken ; He has smitten with his thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken ! 25 Loud and long Lift the old exulting song ; Sing with Miriam by the sea. He has cast the mighty down ; Horse and rider sink and drown ; 30 ' He hath triumphed gloriously ! ' JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 301 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 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 ! qq 302 AMERICAN LITERATURE In School-days Still sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sleeping ; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry-vines are creeping. 5 Within, the master's desk is seen, Deep scarred by raps official ; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife's carved initial ; The charcoal frescoes on its wall ; 10 Its door's worn sill, betraying The feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing! Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting; 15 Lit up its western window-panes. And low eaves' icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed 20 When all the school were leaving. For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled : His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. 25 Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered ; — As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt 30 The soft hand's light caressing. And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing. JOHN GREExNLEAF WHITTIER 303 ' I'm sorry that I spelt the word : I hate to go above you, Because,' — the brown eyes lower fell, — 35 ' Because, you see, I love you ! ' Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing ! 40 He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him Lament t.heir triumph and his loss, Like her, — because they love him. The Lost Occasion Some die too late and some too soon. At early morning, heat of noon, Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, Whom the rich heavens did so endow With eyes of power and Jove's own brow, 6 With all the massive strength that fills Thy home-horizon's granite hills, With rarest gifts of heart and head From manliest stock inherited. New England's stateliest type of man, 10 In port and speech Olympian ; Whom no one met, at first, but took A second awed and wondering look (As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece On Phidias' unveiled masterpiece) ; 15 Whose words in simplest homespun clad, The Saxon strength of Csedmon's had. With power reserved at need to reach The Roman forum's loftiest speech, Sweet with persuasion, eloquent 20 In passion, cool in argument, 304 AMERICAN LITERATURE Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes As fell the Norse god's hammer blows. Crushing as if with Talus' flail 25 Through Error's logic-woven mail. And failing only when they tried The adamant of the righteous side, — Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved Of old friends, by the new deceived, 30 Too soon for us, too soon for thee. Beside thy lonely Northern sea. Where long and low the marsh-lands spread. Laid wearily down thy august head. Thou shouldst have lived to feel below 35 Thy feet Disunion's fierce upthrow ; The late-sprung mine that underlaid Thy sad concessions vainly made. Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall The star-flag of the Union fall, 40 And armed rebellion pressing on The broken lines of Washington ! No stronger voice than thine had then Called out the utmost might of men. To make the Union's charter free 45 And strengthen law by liberty. How had that stern arbitrament To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, Shaming ambition's paltry prize Before thy disillusioned eyes ; 50 Breaking the spell about thee wound Like the green withes that Samson bound ; Redeeming in one effort grand. Thyself and thy imperilled land ! Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, 55 O sleeper by the Northern sea. The gates of opportunity ! God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 305 Wise men and strong we did not lack ; But still, with memory turning back, 60 In the dark hours we thought of thee, And thy lone grave beside the sea. Above that grave the east winds blow. And from the marsh-lands drifting slow The sea-fog comes, with evermore 65 The wave-wash of a lonely shore. And sea-bird's melancholy cry. As Nature fain would typify The sadness of a closing scene. The loss of that which should have been. 70 But, where thy native mountains bare Their foreheads to diviner air, Fit emblem of enduring fame, One lofty summit keeps thy name. For thee the cosmic forces did 75 The rearing of that pyramid. The prescient ages shaping with Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. Sunrise and sunset lay thereon With hands of light their benison, 80 The stars of midnight pause to set Their jewels in its coronet. And evermore that mountain mass Seems climbing from the shadowy pass To light, as if to manifest 85 Thy nobler self, thy life at best ! 306 AMERICAN LITERATURE WALT WHITMAN » A Child's Question {Fi'om Song of Myself) A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child ? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, 5 A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose ? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means. Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, 10 Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 15 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps. And here you are the mothers' laps. iThe poems of Walt Whitman here printed are used by permission of Messrs. Horace Traubel and Thomas B. Harned, the poet's executors. Small, Mayuard & Company are the authorized publishers of Whitman's works. WALT WHITMAN 307 This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. 20 I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. 1 wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. What do you think has become of the young and old men ? 25 And what do you think has become of the women and children ? They are alive and well somewhere. The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. 30 All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. Mannahatta I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city. Whereupon lo ! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old. Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, 5 Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded. 308 AMERICAN LITERATURE Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, 10 The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd. The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river- streets, Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week. The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the brown-faced sailors, The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft, 15 The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,"^ The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows, A million people — manners free and superb — open voices — hos- pitality — the most courageous and friendly young men, City of hurried and sparkling waters ! city of spires and masts ! 20 City nested in bays ! my city ! Captain 1 My Captain! O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ; 5 But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red. Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. WALT WHITMAN 309 O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, lo For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck, 15 You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still. My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done. From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; 20 Exult O shores, and ring O bells ! But I with mournful tread. Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom'd 1 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd. And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn 'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring. Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, 5 And thought of him I love. O powerful western fallen star ! O shades of night — O moody, tearful night ! O great star disappear'd — O the black murk that hides the star ! O cruel hands that hold me powerless — O helpless soul of me ! lO O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 310 AMERICAN LITERATURE 3 In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, 15 With every leaf a miracle — and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break. In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. 20 Solitary the thrush. The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life (for well dear brother I know, 25 If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.) Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities. Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris. Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass, Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, 30 Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave. Night and day journeys a coffin. WALT WHITMAN 311 Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in blacky 35 With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd women standing. With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads. With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces. With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn, 40 With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin. The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — where amid these you journey. With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang, Here, coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac. • 45 Sing on there in the swamp, singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, 1 hear, I come presently, I understand you. But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me. The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. 50 10 O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved? And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love ? Sea-w^inds blown from east and west. Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting, 55 312 AMERICAN LITERATURE These and with these and the breath of my chant, I'll perfume the grave of him I love. 13 Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird. Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, 60 Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song. Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. O liquid and free and tender ! O wild and loose to my soul — O wondrous singer ! 65 You only I hear — yet the star holds me (but will soon depart). Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. 14 From deep secluded recesses. From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird. 70 And the charm of the carol rapt me. As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. Come lovely and soothing deaths Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, 75 In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death. Prais'd be the fathomless universe. For life and Joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sioeet love — but praise ! praise ! praise ! 80 For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. WALT WHITMAN 313 Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest ivelcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that tohen thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach strong deliveress, 85 When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee. Laved in the flood of thy bliss death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, 90 And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting. And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star. The ocean shore and the husky whispering ivave tvhose voice I know. And the soul turning to thee vast and well-veiVd death, 95 And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song. Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide. Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death. 100 15 To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night. Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, 105 And I with my comrades there in the night. 314 AMERICAN LITERATURE 16 Passing the visions, passing the night, Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands, Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul. Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering 1 10 song, As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy. Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven. As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, 115 Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring. I cease from my song for thee. From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. 120 Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul. With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, 125 for the dead I loved so well, For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands — and this for his dear sake. Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul. There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 315 Come, said my Soul " COME, SAID MY SOUL, SUCH VERSES FOR MY BODY LET US WRITE, (POR WE ARE ONE), THAT SHOULD I AFTER DEATH INVISIBLY RETURN, OR, LONG, LONG HENCE, IN OTHER SPHERES, THERE TO SOME GROUP OF MATES THE CHANTS RESUMING, 5 (TALLYING EARTH's SOIL, TREES, WINDS, TUMULTUOUS WAVES,) EVER WITH PLEAS'd SMILE I MAY KEEP ON, EVER AND EVER YET THE VERSES OWNING — AS, FIRST, I HERE AND NOW, sighing for soul and body, set to them my name, Walt Whitman. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES The Height of the Ridiculous I wrote some lines once on a time In wondrous merry mood. And thought, as usual, men would say They were exceeding good. They were so queer, so very queer, ' 5 I laughed as I would die ; Albeit, in the general way, A sober man am I. I called my servant, and he came ; How kind it was of him 10 To mind a slender man like me, He of the mighty limb ! ' These to the printer,' I exclaimed, And, in my humorous way, I added (as a trifling jest), ^^ '■ There'll be the devil to pay.* 316 AMERICAN LITERATURE He took tlie paper, and I watched, And saw him peep within ; At the first line he read, his face 20 Was all upon the grin. He read the next; the grin grew broad, And shot from ear to ear ; He read the third ; a chuckling noise I now began to hear. 25 The fourth ; he broke into a roar ; The fifth ; his waistband split ; The sixth ; he burst five buttons off. And tumbled in a fit. Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 30 I watched that wretched man, And since, I never dare to write As funny as I can. The Last Leaf I saw him once before. As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, 5 As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime. Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, 10 Not a better man w^as found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets. And he looks at all he meets 15 Sad and wan. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 317 And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, ' They are gone.' The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest 20 In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said — 25 Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow; 30 But now his nose is thin. And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack 3^ In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat, 40 And the breeches, and all that. Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, 45 Let them smile, as I do now. At the old forsaken bough Where I cling. 318 AMERICAN LITERATURE The Chambered Nautilus This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wand its purpled wings 5 In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare. Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 10 And every chambered cell. Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell. As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 15 Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil ; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new. Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 20 Built up its idle door. Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee. Child of the wandering sea. Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 25 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! While on mine ear it rings, • Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 30 As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last. Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. Till thou at length art free, 35 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 319 The Deacon's Masterpiece, or, The Wonderful ' One-hoss Shay ' A Logical Story Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, 5 Scaring the parson into fits. Frightening people out of their wits, — Have you ever heard of that, I say ? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. Georgius Secundus was then alive, — ^q Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down. And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. j^ It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what. There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 20 In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill. In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still. Find it somewhere you must and will, — Above or below, or within or without, — And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 25 That a chaise breaks dotan, but doesn't wear out. But the Deacon swore (as deacons do, With an ' I dew vum,' or an ' I tell yeou') He would build one shay to beat the taown *N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; 30 It should be so built that it could n' break daown 320 AMERICAN LITERATURE ' Fur,' said the Deacon, ' 't's miglity plain Thut the weakes' place mus* stan' the strain ; 'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 35 Is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest.' So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — 40 That was for spokes and floor and sills ; He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; 45 The hubs of logs from the ' Settler's ellum,' — Last of its timber, — they couldn't sell 'em, Never an axe had seen their chips. And the wedges flew from between their lips. Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 50 Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 55 Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he 'put her through.' ' There ! ' said the Deacon, ' naow she'll dew ! ' Do ! I tell you, I rather guess She w^as a wonder, and nothing less! 60 Colts grew horses, beards turned gray. Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren —where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 65 Eighteen hundred ; — it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 321 Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — " Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — Running as usual; much the same. 70 Thirty and forty at last arrive, And then come fifty, and fifty-five. Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. 75 In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large ; Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) First of November, — the earthquake-day, — 80 There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay. But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part 85 That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills. And the panels just as strong as the floor. And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, 90 And the back crossbar as strong as the fore. And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out ! First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 95 This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way ! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. * Huddup ! ' said the parson. — Off went they. 100 322 AMERICAN LITERATURE The parson was working his Sunday's text, — Had got to Jiflhly, and stopped perplexed At what the — Moses — was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, 105 Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill, — And the parson was sitting upon a rock. At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock, - 110 Just the hour of the Earthquake shock ! What do you think the parson found. When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 115 You see, of course, if you're not a dunce. How it went to pieces all at once, — All at once, and nothing first, — Just as bubbles do when they burst. End of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 120 Logic is logic. That's all I say. Parson Turell's Legacy, or, the President's Old Arm-Chair A Mathematical Story Facts respecting an old arm-chair. At Cambridge. Is kept in the College there. Seems but little the worse for wear. That's remarkable when I say 5 It w^as old in President Holyoke's day. (One of his boys, perhaps you know, Died, at one hundred, years ago.) He took lodgings for rain or shine Under green bed-clothes in '69. 10 Know old Cambridge ? Hope you do. — Born there ? Don't say so ! I was, too. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 323 (Born in a house with a gambrel-roof , — Standing still, if you must have proof. — < Gambrel ? — Gambrel ? ' — Let me beg You'll look at a horse's hinder leg, — 15 First great angle above the hoof, — That's the gambrel : hence gambrel-roof.) Nicest place that ever was seen, — Colleges red and Common green. Sidewalks brownish with trees between. 20 Sweetest spot beneath the skies When the canker-worms don't rise, — When the dust, that sometimes flies Into your mouth and ears and eyes, In a quiet slumber lies, 25 Not in the shape of unbaked pies Such as barefoot children prize. A kind of harbor it seems to be, Facing the flow of a boundless sea. Rows of gray old Tutors stand 30 Ranged like rocks above the sand; Rolling beneath them, soft and green, Breaks the tide of bright sixteen, — One wave, two waves, three waves, four, — Sliding up the sparkling floor : 35 Then it ebbs to flow no more, Wandering off from shore to shore With its freight of golden ore ! Pleasant place for boys to play ; — Better keep your girls away ; 40 Hearts get rolled as pebbles do Which countless fingering waves pursue, And every classic beach is strown With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red stone. But this is neither here nor there; 45 I'm talking about an old arm-chair. 324 AMERICAN LITERATURE You've heard, no doubt, of Parson Turell ? Over at Medford he used to dwell ; Married one of the Mathers' folk ; 50 Got with his wife a chair of oak, — Funny old chair with seat like wedge, Sharp behind and broad front edge, — One of the oddest of human things, Turned all over with knobs and rings, — 55 But heavy, and wide, and deep, and grand,— Fit for the worthies of the land, — Chief Justice Sewall a cause to try in. Or Cotton Mather to sit — and lie — in. Parson Turell bequeathed the same 60 To a certain student, — Smith by name ; These were the terms, as we are told : ' Saide Smith saide Chaire to have and holde ; When he doth graduate, then to passe To y« oldest Youth in y Senior Classe. 65 On payment of ' — (naming a certain sum) — 'By him to whom y^ Chaire shall come; He to y« oldest Senior next. And soe forever ' (thus runs the text), — ' But one Crown lesse than he gave to claime, 70 That being his Debte for use of same.' Smith transferred it to one of the Browns, And took his money, — five silver crowns. Brown delivered it up to Moore, Who paid, it is plain, not five, but four. 75 Moore made over the chair to Lee, Who gave him crowns of silver three. Lee conveyed it unto Drew, And now the payment, of course, was two. Drew gave up the chair to Dunn, — 80 All he got, as you see, was one. Dunn released the chair to Hall, And got by the bargain no crown at all. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 325 And now it passed to a second Brown, Who took it and likewise claimed a croivn. When Brown conveyed it unto Ware, 85 Having had one crown, to make it fair. He paid him two crowns to take the chair ; And Ware, being honest (as all Wares be), He paid one Potter, who took it, three. Four got Robinson ; five got Dix ; 90 Johnson jormus demanded six; And so the sum kept gathering still Till after the battle of Bunker's Hill. When paper money became so cheap. Folks wouldn't count it, but said ' a heap,' 95 A certain Richards, — the books declare (A. M. in '90? I've looked with care Through the Triennial, — name not there), — This person, Richards, was offered then Eightscore pounds, but would have ten ; 100 Nine, I think, was the sum he took, — Not quite certain, — but see the book. By and by the wars were still, But nothing had altered the Parson's will. The old arm-chair was solid yet, 105 But saddled with such a monstrous debt ! Things grew quite too bad to bear. Paying such sums to get rid of the chair ! But dead men's fingers hold awful tight, And there was the will in black and white, 110 Plain enough for a child to spell. What should be done no man could tell, For the chair was a kind of nightmare curse. And every season but made it worse. As a last resort, to clear the doubt, 115 They got old Governor Hancock out. The Governor came with his Lighthorse Troop And his mounted truckmen, all cock-a-hoop ; 326 AMERICAN LITERATURE Halberds glittered and colors flew, 120 French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth, And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed beneath; So he rode with all his band, Till the President met him, cap in hand. 125 The Governor ' hefted ' the crowns, and said, — ' A will is a will, and the Parson's dead.' The Governor hefted the crowns. Said he, — ' There is your p'int. And here's my fee. These are the terms you must fulfil, — 130 On such conditions I break the will ! ' The Governor mentioned what these should be. (Just wait a minute and then you'll see.) The President prayed. Then all was still. And the Governor rose and broke the will ! 135 ' About those conditions?' Well, now you go And do as I tell you, and then you'll know. Once a year, on Commencement day, If you'll only take the pains to stay. You'll see the President in the. Chair, 140 Likewise the Governor sitting there. , The President rises ; both old and young May hear his speech in a foreign tongue. The meaning whereof, as lawyers swear. Is this : Can I keep this old arm-chair ? 145 And then his Excellency bows, As much as to say that he allows. The Vice-Gub. next is called by name; He bows like t'other, which means the same. And all the officers round 'em bow 150 As much as to say that they allow. And a lot of parchments about the chair Are handed to witnesses then and there, And then the lawyers hold it clear That the chair is safe for another year. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 327 God bless you, Gentlemen ! Learn to give 155 Money to colleges while you live. Don't be silly and think you'll try To bother the colleges when you die, With codicil this, and codicil that. That Knowledge may starve while Law grows fat ; 160 For there never was pitcher that wouldn't spill. And there's always a flaw in a donkey's will ! All Here It is not what we say or sing, That keeps our charm so long unbroken, Though every lightest leaf we bring May touch the heart as friendship's token ; Not what we sing or what we say g Can make us dearer to each other ; We love the singer and his lay, But love as well the silent brother. Yet bring whate'er your garden grows. Thrice welcome to our smiles and praises ; 10 Thanks for the myrtle and the rose. Thanks for the marigolds and daisies; One flower ere long we all shall claim, Alas ! unloved of Amaryllis — Nature's last blossom — need I name 15 The wreath of threescore 's silver lilies? How many, brothers, meet to-night Around our boyhood's covered embers ? Go read the treasured names aright The old triennal list remembers ; 20 Though twenty wear the starry sign That tells a life has broke its tether, The fifty-eight of 'twenty -nine — God bless The Boys ! — are all together ! 328 AMERICAN LITERATURE 25 These come with joyous look and word, With friendly grasp and cheerful greeting, — Those smile unseen, and move unheard, The angel guests of every meeting ; They cast no shadow in the flame 30 That flushes from the gilded lustre, But count us — we are still the same ; One earthly band, one heavenly cluster ! Love dies not when he bows his head To pass beyond the narrow portals, — 35 The light these glowing moments shed Wakes from their sleep our lost immortals ; They come as in their joyous prime. Before their morning days were numbered, — Death stays the envious hand of Time, — 40 The eyes have not grown dim that slumbered ! The paths that loving souls have trod Arch o'er the dust where worldlings grovel High as the zenith o'er the sod, — The cross above the sexton's shovel ! 45 We rise beyond the realms of day ; They seem to stoop from spheres of glory With us one happy hour to stray. While youth comes back in song and story. Ah ! ours is friendship true as steel 50 That war has tried in edge and temper ; It writes upon its sacred seal The priest's uhique — omnes — semper ! It lends the sky a fairer sun That cheers our lives with rays as steady 55 As if our footsteps had begun To print the golden streets already ! The tangling years have clinched its knot Too fast for mortal strength to sunder ; The lightning bolts of noon are shot; 60 No fear of evening's idle thunder ! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 329 Too late ! too late ! — no graceless hand Shall stretch its cords in vain endeavor To rive the close encircling band That made and keeps us one forever! So when upon the fated scroll 65 The falling stars have all descended, And, blotted from the breathing roll, Our little page of life is ended, We ask but one memorial line Traced on thy tablet, Gracious Mother : 70 * My children. Boys of '29. In pace. How they loved each other ! ' The Broomstick Train ; or, The Return of the Witches Look out ! Look out, boys ! Clear the track ! The witches are here ! They've all come back ! They hanged them high, — No use ! No use ! What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, 5 For cats and witches are hard to kill ; They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die, — Books said they did, but they lie ! they lie ! A couple of hundred years, or so, They had knocked about in the world below,' 10 Wh^n an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, And a homesick feeling seized them all ; For he came from a place they knew full well, And many a tale he had to tell. They longed to visit the haunts of men, 15 To see the old dwellings they knew again, And ride on their broomsticks all around Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. In Essex county there's many a roof Well known to him of the cloven hoof; 20 330 AMERICAN LITERATURE The small square windows are full in view Which the midnight hags went sailing through, On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, Seen like shadows against the sky ; 25 Crossing the track of owls and bats, Hugging before them their coal-black cats. Well did they know, those gray old wives, The sights we see in our daily drives : Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, 30 Browne's bare hill with its lonely tree, (It wasn't then as we see it now, With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow ;) Dusky nooks in the Essex woods. Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, 35 Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake Glide through his forests of fern and brake ; Ipswich River ; its old stone bridge ; Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, And many a scene where history tells 40 Some shadow of bygone terror dwells, — Of ' Norman's Woe ' with its tale of dread. Of the Screeching W^oman of Marblehead, (The fearfnl story that turns men pale : Don't bid me tell it, — my speech would fail.) 45 Who w^ould not, will not, if he can. Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann, — Rest in the bowers her bays enfold. Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? Home where the white magnolias bloom, 50 Sweet with the bayberry\s chaste perfume, Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea ! Where is the Eden like to thee? For that ' couple of hundred years, or so,' There had been no peace in the world below ; 55 The witches still grumbling, 'It isn't fair ; Come, give us a taste of the upper air ! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 331 We've had enough of your sulphur springs, And the evil odor that round them clings ; We long for a drink that is cool and nice, — Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; 60 We've served you well up-stairs, you know; You're a good old — fellow — come, let us go ! ' I don't feel sure of his being good. But he happened to be in a pleasant mood, — As fiends with their skins full sometimes are 65 (He'd been drinking with ' roughs' at a Boston bar). So what does he do but up and shout To a graybeard turnkey, ' Let 'em out ! ' To mind his orders was all he knew ; The gates swung open, and out they flew. 70 ' Where are our broomsticks ? ' the beldams cried. ' Here are your broomsticks,' an imp replied. ' They've been in — the place you know — so long They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; But they've gained by being left alone, — 75 Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown.' * And where is my cat?' a vixen squalled. ' Yes, where are our cats ? ' the witches bawled, And began to call them all by name : As fast as they called the cats, they came : 80 There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, And many another that came at call, — 85 It would take too long to count them all. All black, — one could hardly tell which was which, But every cat knew his own old witch ; And she knew hers as hers knew her, — Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr ! 90 No sooner the withered hags were free Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree ; 332 AMERICAN LITERATURE I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, But the Essex people had dreadful times. 95 The Swampscott fishermen still relate How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, 100 And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. A blight played havoc with Beverly beans, — It was all the work of those hateful queans ! A dreadful panic began at ' Pride's,' Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, 105 And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms 'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. Now when the Boss of the Beldams found That without his leave they were ramping round. He called, — they could hear him twenty miles, 110 From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; The deafest old granny knew his tone Without the trick of the telephone. ' Come here, you witches ! Come here ! ' says he, — ' At your games of old, without asking me ! 115 I'll give you a little job to do That will keep you stirring, you godless crew ! * They came, of course, at their master's call. The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all ; He led the hags to a railway train 120 The horses were trying to drag in vain. ' Now, then,' says he, ' you've had your fun, And here are the cars you've got to run. The driver may just unhitch his team, We don't want horses, we don't want steam ; 125 You may keep your old black cats to hug. But the loaded train you've got to lug.' Since then on many a car you'll see A broomstick plain as plain can be ; OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 333 On every stick there's a witch astride, — The string you see to her leg is tied. 130 She will do a mischief if she can, But the string is held by a careful man, And whenever the evil-minded witch AVould cut some caper, he gives a twitch. As for the hag, you can't see her, 135 But hark ! you can hear her black cat's purr, And now and then, as a car goes by, You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. • Often you've looked on a rushing train. But just what moved it was not so plain. 140 It couldn't be those wires above, For they could neither pull nor shove ; Where was the motor that made it go You couldn't guess, hut now you know. Remember my rhymes when you ride again 145 On the rattling rail by the broomstick train ! The Episode of the Pie {From The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table) — I will thank you for that pie, — said the provoking young fellow whom I have named repeatedly. He looked at it for a moment, and put his hands to his eyes as if moved. — I was thinking, — he said, indistinctly — — How ? What is't ? — said our landlady. 5 — I was thinking — said he — who was king of England when this old pie was baked, — and it made me feel bad to think how long he must have been dead. [Our landlady is a decent body, poor, and a widow, of course ; celci va saris dire. She told me her story once ; it 10 was as if a grain of corn that had been ground and bolted had tried to individualize itself by a special narrative. 334 AMERICAN LITERATURE There was the wooing and the wedding, — the start in life, — the disappointment, — the children she had buried, — 15 the struggle against fate, — the dismantling of life, first of its small luxuries, and then of its comforts, — the broken spirits, — the altered character of the one on whom she had leaned, — ^and at last the death that came and drew the black curtain between her and all her earthly hopes. 20 I never laughed at my landlady after she had told me her story, but I often cried, — not those pattering tears that run off the eaves upon our neighbors' grounds, the stiWcidium of self-conscious sentiment, but those which steal noiselessly through their conduits until they reach the cisterns lying 25 round about the heart ; those tears which we weep inwardly with unchanging features ; such I did shed for her often when the imps of the boarding-house Inferno tugged at her soul with their red-hot pincers.] Young man, — I said, — the pasty you speak lightly of is 30 not old, but courtesy to those who labor to serve us, especially if they are of the weaker sex, is very old, and yet well worth retaining. The pasty looks to me as if it were tender, but I know that the hearts of women are so. May I recommend to you the following caution, as a guide, whenever 35 you are dealing with a woman, or an artist, or a poet ; — if you are handling an editor or a politician, it is superfluous advice. I take it from the back of one of those little French toys which contain pasteboard figures moved by a small running stream of fine sand ; Benjamin Franklin will 40 translate it for you : " Quoiqu^eUe soit tr^s soUdement montee, il faut ne pas brutaliser la machine." — I will thank you for the pie, if you please. (I took more of it than was good for me, — as much as 85°, I should think, and had an indigestion in consequence. 45 While I was suffering from it, I wrote some sadly despond- ing poems, and a theological essay which took a very OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 335 melancholy view of creation. When I got better, I labeled them all '^ Pie-crust," and laid them by as scare-crows and solemn warnings. I have a number of books on my shelves that I should like to label with some such title; but, as 50 they have great names on their title-pages, — Doctors of Divinity, some of them, — it wouldn't do.) My Last Walk with the Schoolmistress (Fro7n The. Autocrat) But all this has nothiiig to do with my walks and talks with the schoolmistress. I did not say that I would not tell you something about them. Let me alone, and I shall talk to you more than I ought to, probably. We never tell our secrets to people that pump for them. 5 Books we talked about, and education. It was her duty to know something of these, and of course she did. Perhaps I was somewhat more learned than she, but I found that the difference between her reading and mine was like that of a man's and a woman's dusting a library. The man flaps lo about with a bunch of feathers; the woman goes to work softly with a cloth. She does not raise half the dust, nor fill her own eyes and mouth with it, — but she goes into all the corners, and attends to the leaves as much as the covers. — Books are the iiegative pictures of thought, and 15 the more sensitive the mind that receives their images, the more nicely the finest lines are reproduced. A woman, (of the right kind,) reading after a man, follows him as Ruth followed the reapers of Boaz, and her gleanings are often the finest of the wheat. 20 But it was in talking of Life that we came most nearly together. I thought I knew something about that, — that I could speak or write about it somewhat to the purpose. To take up this fluid earthly being of ours as a sponge 336 AMERICAN LITERATURE 25 sucks up water, — to be steeped and soaked in its realities as a hide fills its pores lying seven years in a tan-pit, — to have winnowed every wave of it as a mill-wheel works up a stream that runs through the Eume upon its float-boards, — to have curled up in the keenest spasms and flattened out in 30 the laxest languors of this breathing-sickness which keeps certain parcels of matter uneasy for three or four score years, — to have fought all the devils and clasped all the angels of its delirium, — and then, just at the point when the white-hot passions have cooled down to cherry-red, 35 plunge our experience into the .ice-cold stream of some human language or other, one might think would end in a rhapsody with something of spring and temper in it. All this I thought my power and province. The schoolmistress had tried life, too. Once in a while 40 one meets with a single soul greater than all the living pageant that passes before it. As the pale astronomer sits in his study with sunken eyes and thin fingers, and weighs Uranus or Neptune as in a balance, so there are meek, slight women who have weighed all that this planetary life can 45 offer, and hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender hands. This was one of them. Fortune had left her, sor- row had baptized her ; the routine of labor and the loneli- ness of almost friendless city-life were before her. Yet, as I looked upon her tranquil face, gradually regaining a 50 cheerfulness that was often sprightly, as she became inter- ested in the various matters we talked about and places we visited, I saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament were made for love, — unconscious of their sweet office as yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the natural 55 graces which were meant for the reward of nothing less than the Great Passion. — I never spoke one word of love to the schoolmistress in the course of these pleasant walks. It seemed to me that OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 337 we talked of everything but love on that particular morning. There was, perhaps, a little more timidity and hesitancy on 60 my part than I have commonly shown among the people at the boarding-house. In fact, I considered myself the master at the breakfast-table; but, somehow, I could not command myself just then so well as usual. The truth is, I had secured a passage to Liverpool in the steamer which was to 65 leave at noon, — with the condition, however, of being re- leased in case circumstances occurred to detain me. The schoolmistress knew nothing about all this, of course, as yet. It was on the Common that we were walking. The mall, 70 or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches leading from it in different directions. One of these runs downward from opposite Joy Street southward across the whole length of the Common to Boylston Street. We called it the long path, and were fond of it. 75 I felt veiy weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust habit) as we came opposite the head of this path on that morning. I think I tried to speak twice without making myself distinctly audible. At last I got out the question, — Will you take the long path with me ? — Certainly, — said 80 the schoolmistress, — with much pleasure. — Think, — I said, — before you answer ; if you take the long path with me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more ! — The schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if an arrow had struck her. 85 One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard by, — the one you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. — Pray, sit down, I said. — No, no, — she answered, softly, — I will take the long path with you ! — The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking, 90 arm in arm, about the middle of the long path, and said, very charmingly, — " Good morning, my dears ! " NOTES It is assumed that some handbook is used with these readings. Hence, dates of composition and biographical details are not given unless they have some important bearing on the passages quoted. If no guide is in the hands of the student, some of the larger histories of American literature should be available for reference — such as Trent's (Appleton), Richardson's (Putnams), and Wendell's (Scribners). Words are not explained when satisfactory definitions may be found in such volumes as Webster's Secondary- School Dictionary (American Book Company) or the Concise Oxford. The first-named should be in the possession of every reader who can not procure the International., of which it is an abridgment. Smith. — The student should bear in mind that the language of Smith is in general the language of Shakspere's plays and of the King James (or " Authorized ") version of the Bible. A glance at a first edition of King Lear or Hamlet (or a facsimile reprint) will show the same inaccuracy and inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and as many obsolete words and idioms as are found in Smith. For spelling, note desart (line 3), bredth (4), seazed (15), and ceazed (39), Utterly reasonless punctuation and capitalization are easily observed. For words and forms of expression no longer in good use, note Ms (4), houglits (8; "windings"), in (21; "by"), them (28; " themselves"), admirer? (42; "wondered"). 7. vituals. The student should look up the etymology of "vict- uals " in some good dictionary, 10, light., lighted. The guns were matchlocks. 11. j)eece, piece, firearm. 18. toiY/i, by ; frequent in Elizabethan English. Cf. The Tempest, II, ii, 112: "killed with a thunderstroke." 21. By that, by the time that. 25. Supply " fell " before .s/ior«. 29. shot, shooting. 30. discovered, dis- closed. 34. minding, paying attention to. 40. the King, i.e., Opechancanough. 42. as, that. 48. Supply after iwoods ; "that they were a party hunting deer." 51. The town is named in 112, Basawrack. Its location is not clear. 52. onely, only. 54. ad- 339 340 AMERICAN LITERATURE vei'tised, informed ; accented on the second syllable in the seventeenth century. See Shakspere's 3 Henry VI, V, iii, 18. 59. bishion. Probably a military term. 66. pound as plural, like " year," "mile," and some other nouns of measure, is no longer good English. 70. points, cords to fasten hose and doublet. 72. wanted, lacked. 77. mischance, i.e., the capture of Smith. 85. Paspahegh, the dis- trict in which Jamestown was located ; here used for the town itself. 89. impossible, impossible. 92. IJieir intent, I incerted (for "in- serted"), of their intention I informed. 96. salvage, savage. 106. Yonghtanan ; now the Pamunkey. 107. Mattapament ; now the Mattapony. 109. Peio/ial-aw, misprint for Powhatan. 110. Fals, on the James at what is now Richmond. 112. marsh, march. Strachey. — On Strachey's language see the general remarks on Smith above. 1. St. James his day, old form for " St. James's day." 53. took down the braves, took away the courage. QQ. made up, came up. 72. bisket, old spelling of "biscuit." 88. spell, reUeve. 99. as, that. 104. whip-staff, ohsoleiQ for "tiller," the lever by which the rudder is turned. 105. ceased, seized. 113. capstone, capstan. 116. all thoughts . . . else, then that, ^W. oth^Y thoughts except that. 120. remora, the sucking-fish, supposed to attach itself to vessels and check their course. 123. A watch on board ship is four hours, his, its, referring to "thing," the word " it " being superfluous. Beginning of sentence, then, means ; " One thing does not fail of being wonderful." Wiggles WORTH. — 1. Bar, judgment-seat (of Christ). 3. or . . . or, either ... or. 25. Nature was probably pronounced as an exact rhyme with Creator. Bradstreet. — 29-30. See Psalms, XIX, 5. 33. vegative (usually spelled " vegetive "), showing little mental activity ; i.e., animals of a low order. 66. Philomel, the nightingale. Bradford. — 2. pretty parts, accomplishments. 19. of, off. 21. livetenante, lieutenant. The common pronunciation to-day in Great Britain is " lef tenant." 25. petiefogger, petty fogger ; an un- scrupulous, incompetent lawyer. Fume fells Inne, Furnival's Inn ; one of eight "Inns of Chancery," a sort of preparatory school for law students who afterward entered the " Inns of Court." 55. The floralia, or feasts of the goddess Flora, were celebrated with much license. NOTES 341 WiNTHROP. — Winthrop was a contemporary of Bradford ; but the text in all modern editions of the former is, for some reason not ap- parent, modernized, while the only edition of Bradford's history, that made by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, is a faithful reprint of the original. 10. om?zes, etc., we ail grow worse by license. 41. let us break their bands, etc. See Psalms, II, 3. Mather. — 8. Patent, ofi&cial grant of territory. 14. presently, immediately. 29. almost as vernacular, almost as if it were his native speech. 37. Anabaptism taught (1) that the baptism of in- fants is not sanctioned by the Bible; (2) that the church is composed of those only who have been baptized upon a profession of faith ; and (3) that there should be an entire separation of church and state. 55. mihi, etc.. May a similar end of life fall to me ! 58. No/xeus, etc. , the shepherd and rearer of the human flock. See Plato's States- man, 268, A. Edwards. — 14 ff. The number of omissions in this selection (indi- cated by asterisks) is due to the fact that both Edwards's style and his details are unimportant for the student's purposes. The ten "con- siderations" stated in barest form sufficiently characterize the man himself and the greater portion of his hearers. Franklin. — On Drunkenness. — The series of Dogood Papers appeared in Franklin's brother's paper, the Courant, with no indica- tion of authorship, and with no suspicion of the identity of the writer. 1. Quod est, etc.: What the sober man thinks, the drunken man speaks. Franklin's free use of capitals and italics is reproduced here. 6. huma7ie, humsin. 15. ^acc/iws, god of wine. 19. discover ; see note on Smith, 30. 24. Ponder is, of course, a fictitious personage. 33. my own sex. Recall that this is supposed to be written by a woman. 53. impertinence, matter having no connection with the subject in hand. 77. froze, for "frozen," as also chose (80) for "chosen." The preterit of strong verbs was formerly used freely for the past participle. Causes of the American Discontents, first published in The London Chronicle, Jan. 7, 1768, pretends to have been written by an English- man. In our readings it is abridged by the omission of two passages summarized in the note below. 66. In this paragraph Franklin turns aside from this statement of facts for a characteristic bit of irony. 74. A passage omitted here recites in order the abuses from which the 342 AMERICAN LITERATURE colonies had suffered — the Stamp Act ; the act for quartering soldiers in private houses ; the act taking away the legislative powers of the New York colonial assembly; the imposition of new customs duties, with a high-salaried Biitish board to collect them, and to use them in paying governors, judges, and other officials not appointed by the colonies. 124, emptying our gaols. It was customary to send British criminals to America, bound to service for a number of years, instead of holding them in prison. (Cf. the next selection, 44-50.) 135. ad libitum, at pleasure. 138. A passage omitted here sets forth that the colonists have agreed to refrain from the use of taxed articles; and that they assert vigorously their loyalty to the king, while refusing loyalty to a House of Commons in which they are not represented. An Edict by the King of Prussia was published in The Gentleman's 3Iagazine (London), October, 1773. 29. these presents, this docu- ment. Legal term. 34. ad .i;aZorem, according to value. 54. stat- utes of, etc. Abbreviations signify the year of the reign of the mon- arch, and the chapter of the statutes of that year. E.g., the tenth and eleventh years of William III, chapter 10. 71. Rechtmaessig, Ger- man, equivalent to " Fair-and-just. " 72. Jeux d' Esprit, French, meaning " humorous trifles " (singular, jew.) Whistle. — 76. apples of King John. Apparently Franklin means apples of Saint John, so called because they reached maturity about Saint John's Day (May 6). " It is said they will keep for two years, and are best when shriveled." (Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. ) Henry. — The genuineness of this speech has been questioned, but to the present editor the evidence against it seems not worth repeat- ing. 39. election, choice. Otis. — The extract gives all the information necessary to under- stand the nature, issuance, and execution of the writs. 28. 14 Charles II. See note on Edict by the King of Prussia, 54. Paine. — 64. Howe, British commander. Washington. — It is perhaps hardly necessary to remind the student that Washington was first inaugurated on April 30, 1789, in New York City. 6. retreat. Mount Vernon on the Potomac. Jefferson. — The Summary Vieio was offered by Jefferson as suit- able instructions for the Virginia delegates to the First Continental NOTES 343 Congress. Begarded as extreme, they were rejected. Later in the year the document was printed at Williamsburg, Virginia, by friends of the author. Hamilton. — 74. Montesquieii, French writer of the eighteenth century on political science. His most important work, The Spirit of Laws^ influenced greatly the writings on the American Constitution. WooLMAN. — Woolman's Journal wa,s not written for publication, and was not published until after his death. The entire work is now accessible in several cheap editions, and makes an interesting study, especially when compared with Franklin's Autobiography. The ex- tract given is from Chapter TV. 1. This [ 2)r'0vince'], Maryland. 15. Thou shalt not. Exodus, XXIII, 8. 16. As the disciples, etc. See Matthew, X, 10. 26. Society, the Religious Society of Friends ; also called Quakers. 36, esteemed before myself, thought better than myself. 38. the prophet, Moses. See Numbers, XI, 15. 47. My soul. Psalms, CXXXI, 2. 74. The 7th day of the fifth month. Friends still number the months and the days of the week instead of naming them, " Saturday, July fourth " would be expressed in "Friendly" style, "Seventh Day, Seventh Month, Fourth." 80. Yearly Meeting. A single congregation of Friends is called a Monthly Meeting; the Monthly Meetings within a limited territory constitute a Quarterly Meeting ; a number of Quarterly Meetings unite in a Yearly Meeting. In the United States there are eleven Yearly Meetings of the "Orthodox" branch of Friends, and seven of the " Liberal " branch. In the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of the latter nine Quarterly Meetings are included. 85. Port Boyal, a town on the Rappahannock in eastern Virginia. HoPKiNsoN. — The Battle of the Kegs, sung to the tune of " Yankee Doodle," was immensely popular during the Revolution. Anonymous Revolutionary Songs. — Paul Jones. — 1. Buccaneer, pirate. Jones is so called because of the irregular character of his commission — and indeed of the whole colonial navy. 12, Alfred, first ship commanded by Jones. Hopkins, Admiral Esek ; commander of the first fleet sent out by the colonies. 15-16. The first American flag was raised on the Alfred by Jones in 1776. On it was a pine tree, with a coiled rattlesnake at its feet, and the motto, " Don't tread on me." 21-22, On September 23, 1779, the British ship Serapis sur- rendered to the Bonhomme (Good-Man) Bichard, in command of 344 AMERICAN LITERATURE Jones, off Flamborough Head, east coast of England. Fo.r ah interest- ing imaginative presentation of John Paul Jones, read Cooper's TJie Pilot. Biflemen''s Song. — At Bennington, Vermont, August 15-16, 1777, the British and Hessians were utterly routed by the Americans under Colonel John Stark. We are told that when the enemy came in sight, Stark said: "There are the red-coats. We must beat them to-day or Molly Stark's a widow." (A large number of interesting Revolutionary poems and songs may be found in Poems of American History., edited by B. E. Stevenson ; published by Houghton Mifiaiu Co.) Trumbull. — 3IcFingal. — The student should see a summary or outline of the entire poem in some history. Canto III, 1, ^^oZe, the ' ' Liberty Pole." Mc Fingal called it a " May-pole of sedition. ' ' Canto IV, 4. beneath their nose. " This, during the American war, was a fashionable phrase with the British. No officer, who had a lucky escape, failed of stating in his report, that he made a grand retreat under the very nose of the enemy." (Trumbull's note.) 5. the windoio, of the cellar where the Tories were meeting. 12. Lot. See Genesis., XIX, 12-26. 13. North, British Prime Minister. 15. phantom of Independence. "On the Declaration of Independ- ence, the ministerial speakers in Parliament amused themselves by calling it, the phantom of independence. The wit was echoed by their newspapers." (Trumbull's note.) Barlow. — Vision of Columbus. — In this poem (in nine books) Columbus is represented as seeing from a hill the future greatness of America. 11-12. In 1753-1754 Washington gained distinction in a campaign against the French at the headwaters of the Ohio, the beginning of the French and Indian War. 16-17. Forty-four lines omitted here give a catalogue of Washington's lieutenants. 31. Charlestown, then a suburb of Boston; now a part of the city. 32. C/iampZain, the lake in northeastern New York. Godfrey. — Prince of Parthia. — The scene given shows one of the leading motives of the play — the love of the brothers. Princes Arsaces and Vardanes, for Evanthe, a beautiful captive. Arsaces, the heroine's choice, has by Vardanes's schemes been imprisoned ; and the latter threatens that, unless she look upon his suit with favor, her beloved will be put to death. NOTES 345 Freneau. — Apolitical Litany (also called Emancipation from British Dependence). — Written in 1775. One of the earliest expres- sions in print of the sentiment for absolute independence of the colonies. Title : the form of the poem imitates the Litany of the Episcopal church. 1. Libera, etc. The Litany contains eight peti- tions beginning "From," and concluding with the response of the congregation, " Good Lord, Deliver Us." 7. St. James'' s., the English Court ; here meaning the government. • 13. Wallace^ Sir James, and Graves, Baron Thomas, British admirals. Two Britisb warships were named Viper and Bose ; Wallace commanded the Bose in 1771-1776. 15. Dunmore., last royal governor of the colony of Virginia, 1772-1776. 17. Montague, Sir George, British naval officer. 23. Tryon, William, last royal governor of New York. 27. North. See note on 3IcFingal, IV, 13. 28. King Log, about equal to " King Worthless." See note, page 355, for the story from which the expression comes. Eutaw Springs. — " To the Memory of the Brave Americans under General Greene, in South Carolina, who Fell in the Action of Septembers, 1781, at Eutaw Springs " (full title). Line 20 of this poem Scott thought good enough to appropriate with the change of a single word. In the Introduction to Canto III of Marmion, Scott has : " They snatched the spear — but left the shield." Irving. — Character of Peter Stuyvesant. — 2. Wouter Van Twiller was the first of the Dutch governors. In 59 the English equivalent of his name is given — Walter the Doubter. 9. spinsters, female spin- ners. Of the three fates, Clotho spins the thread of life, Lachesis twists it, Atropos cuts it. 13. Ajax Telamon was " the bulwark of the Greeks," of "immeasurable strength," and his buckler was "like a rampart." See the Iliad, Bryant's translation. Book VII, lines 211-411. 16. Atlas was one of the Titans, who, after the defeat of his party by Jupiter, was compelled to bear the heavens on his shoul- ders. Hercules agreed to bear Atlas's load while the latter did him a favor. 17. Coriolanus, a Roman military leader of the fifth century B.C. Plutarch wrote parallel lives of great Greeks and Romans, from which Shakspere got the materials for his Greek and Roman plays. Note 1. Josselyn and Blome were Englishmen who visited America in the late seventeenth century and wrote some very absurd things about the country. 35. choleric Achilles. The real subject of the 346 AMERICAN LITERATURE Iliad is the " wrath of Achilles." His rages and frequent refusals to fight are responsible for most of the Greeks' troubles. 39. Peter the Greats Czar of Russia, beginning of eighteenth century. 41. Plato, Aristotle, Greek philosophers ; Hobbes, Bacon, English philosophers ; Sydney (or Sidney), English statesman and political scientist ; Paine, see above, pages 40-42. 50. Wilhelmus Kieft, or William the Testy (60), governor after Wouter Van T wilier. QG. wanted, lacked. Tom Walker. — 160. persecutions. During the seventeenth century these sects were severely persecuted in Massachusetts. Roger Williams led a number of Baptists to Rhode Island, where they not only "worshipped God according to their own belief," but allowed all men to do so. A tract entitled The Wrotigs of the Quakers (1660), by Edward Burrough, an English Quaker (printed in Hart's American History Toldby Contemporaries, Vol. I, pp. 404-6) ; and Hawthorne's imaginative presentation of the same in The Gentle Boy (in Twice Told Tales), will give the student a most interesting bit of "parallel reading." 332. r/uno, slang for "money." 348. Eldorado, \d,Yi6. of gold or immense wealth. 373. ^change, the stock exchange. Bryant. — Thanatopsis. — The title is from two Greek words mean- ing " a view of death." 12. the narrow house, the grave. 17. Yet a few days. The poem as first published began with these words. 28. the rude swain, etc. Of. Hamlet, V, i, 83 ff. 51. Barcan wilderness, in northern Africa. 66. bed with thee. Poem as first published ended here. Waterfowl. — This poem is a meditation on an actual flight of a bird observed by the poet. 10. marge, poetic word for " margin." Forest Hymn. — 3. architrave, in classical architecture, that part of a building which rests directly on the capitals of the pillars. 5. vault, in Gothic architecture, the arch which itself forms the roof or supports a separate roof . 11. s^iVZ?/, poetic word. 26-28. See Genesis, I, 11-12. 45. instinct (accented on second syllable), filled. Death of the Flowers. — 25 ff. These lines refer to the poet's beloved sister, who had died the year before. Fringed Gentian. — Qi. Wordsworth's four poems on the daisy and three on the celandine. Gladness of Natiire.— One of the few nature-poems of Bryant which have no moral. Not seldom it seems very loosely joined to the poem, as in To the Fringed Gentian and To a Waterfowl; but for Bryant the moral was always just as real and just as impor- NOTES 347 tant as the rest of his meditation — the description of the natural object. Cooper. — Ariel and Alacritij. — The scene of most of TJie Pilot is the northeastern coast of England ; the time, December, 1778. 1. English cutter, the Alacrity. 7. Barnstable, commander of the American schooner Ariel. 12. The cockswain, "Long Tom" Coffin, is one of the notable characters of English fiction, worthy to rank with Cooper's two other creations — Leather-Stocking and Harvey Birch. 9. in the wind^s eye, against the wind. 40. bolt- ropes, ropes stitched to the edge of sails. 66. his namesake, the cannon, called "Long Tom." 75. long bowls, a game somewhat like tenpins. 79. dub, trim. Trimming a gamecock for a fight is called "dubbing." 114, curmudgeon is hardly a suitable name for the boy ; but Tom's anger is not very accurate in expressing itself. Besides, he probably did not know the meaning of the word, but attached it to his vocabulary as a good "mouth-filling" term of abuse. 181. soldiers. A party of British troopers were watching the contest from the cliff. 260. Merry, the boy who earlier had so stirred Tom's anger. Halleck. — Marco Bozzaris. — 13. Suliote, native of Suli in Epirus, where Bozzaris was born. 16. Persian ; probably Xerxes is meant, though the Persian commander defeated at Platcea was Mardonius. When this battle was fought, Xerxes had returned to Persia, after his own defeat in the sea fight of Salamis. 38. Moslem, Mohammedan. 75. Indian isles, the West Indies. 76. Genoese, Columbus. Calhoun. — 18. twenty-four sovereign powers. The debate be- tween Calhoun and Webster took place in 1833. 61-62. Calhoun's last prediction has come true ; for we have chairs of political science everywhere, and not a few " schools of diplomacy." Webster. — If time serves, the study of Calhoun and Webster here might well be preceded by at least a rapid reading of the debate three years earlier between Robert Y. Hayne and Webster. 43. gloss, marginal note. 72. Mirabeau, French statesman of the Revolution. He and Napoleon are commonly regarded as the greatest figures who appeared in that momentous period. 107 ff. The student would do well to follow Webster's argument with a good American history — or better, with two histories, one written from Webster's 348 AMERICAN LITERATURE point of view, the other from Calhoun's. Even H. C. Lodge, how- ever, Webster's biographer and certainly in sympathy with his sub- ject, says that the Massachusetts statesman's argument was histori- cally unsound. Lincoln. — Showing His Hand. — New Salem was in Sangamon County, Illinois. Lincoln at the time of this letter was serving his first term in the legislature. Hugh L. White was the candidate of the Whig party. Speech Leaving Springfield. — If we had nothing of Lincoln's but this, there would be slight ground for questioning his religion, as has frequently been done. Oettyshurg Address. — This speech was delivered at the dedication of the national cemetery at Gettysburg a few months after the great battle. TiMROD. — A Cry to Arms. — The second of Timrod's remarkable series of poems growing out of incidents of the war. The first was Ethnogenesis. 6, hyre^ cowhouse, cot., cottage, i.e., home. Flower-Life. — 41. Sibyl-leaves, valuable fragmentary writings easily scattered or lost. Hayne. — Beauregard's Appeal. — Early in 1862 General Beaure- gard appealed to the people of the Mississippi valley to give up planta- tion-bells to be moulded into cannon. Not only was this request granted : churches gave up their bells, and women offered brass candlesticks and andirons. Forgotten. — 29. Supply " that " before " Its." Axe and Pine. — This poem and Poets are excellent examples of the sonnet, a form in which few poets have been strikingly success- ful. Longfellow is the greatest American sonnet-writer. For a satis- factory brief treatment of the sonnet, see Corson, Primer of English Verse., Chapter X. Poets will repay careful study of substance as well as of form. PoE. — To Helen. — Of this poem Lowell said : " There is a little dimness in the filling up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline are such as few poets ever attain. . . . The melody of the whole, too, is remarkable. It is not of that kind which can be demonstrated arithmetically upon the tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort which the inner ear alone can estimate. It seems simple, like a Greek column, because of its perfection." 2. Mcean, Foe prob- NOTES 349 ably used this word with no definite place in mind, merely suggesting something distant. So the loanderer of line 4, though some have thought it an allusion to Ulysses, is perhaps not meant to indicate any man in particular. 7. hyacinth here means simply " beau- tiful." It was a favorite epithet with the poet. 8. The Naiads were nymphs who presided over fountains, lakes, brooks, and wells. 9-10. These lines originally read : " To the beauty of fair Greece, And the grandeur of old Rome." It would be a good exercise to find out how the revision is an im- provement. 14. Psyche^ the soul. Cf. Ulalume, line 12. Israfel. — 5. giddy., whirling rapidly. 12. levin., lightning. 23. skies is the object of trod. 45-51. The thought of this stanza — the influence of environment on what one accomplishes — is ex- pressed elsewhere by Poe. Haunted Palace. — Poe explained that the haunted palace sym- bolizes " a mind haunted by phantoms." In a letter he asserted that Longfellow's Beleaguered City (page 204) was taken from this poem, claiming that even the versification was copied. The student might well compare the two to see how far Poe's charge was justified. 9-10. These lines show Poe's careful choice of words for their sound value. Note also The Baven., 13, 71, Ulalume., 5, 18-19, Annabel Lee, 34. He was fond of words containing long vowels and sus- tainable consonants. 22. Porphyrogene, born to the purple. Baven. — See first note on Short- Story below. 10. Poe used the name Lenore in several other places. Others that he used, to some extent at least for their sound value, are "Eleonora," "Berenice," " Morella." 41. Pallas, or Minerva, goddess of wisdom ; a suitable bust for a student's room, said Poe. 89. Balm in Gilead. See Jeremiah, VIII, 22. 93. Aidenn,di. variant of "Eden"; here it means any delightful place. 101. Here it becomes apparent, says Poe, that the raven is "emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending Bememhrance.'''' Annabel Lee is supposed to have been inspired by the memory of the poet's child-wife. Ulalume. — N. P. Willis, friend and admirer of Poe, said that this poem is " full of beauty and oddity in sentiment and versifica- tion, but a curiosity (and a delicious one, we think) in philologic flavor." Professor Pattee thinks its meaning is perfectly clear — it 350 AMERICAN LITERATURE is an allegory — "the epitome of Poe's last years" ; " the marvelous repetition , . . shows that the poet's mind was in a state almost of collapse." See the Chautauquan, Vol. 31, pp. 182-186 (May, 1900). Pattee expounds the "allegory" in great detail, but is not altogether convincing. Morella. -=- 8. Eros, love. 20. Preshurg, ancient capital of Hun- gary, and one of its finest cities. 45. Hinnon b'e.came the Gehenna. Before being defiled by Josiah (see 2 Kings, XXIII, 10) the valley of Hinnon south of Jerusalem formed part of the royal gardens. 53. Pantheism, etc. It would be quite useless for the student to attempt to understand even the names here. They are given merely as specimens of abstruse philosophies. 58. Locke, John ; chief work. Essay on the Human Understanding . 118. Pcestum, ancient Greek city of Lucania (southern part of Italy). 119, play the Teian xoith time seems to mean "enjoy a care-free sort of existence." The Teian is probably put for Anacreon, the Greek lyric poet, who was born at Teos in Ionia. He wrote many poems in praise of love and wine, and was a favorite at the courts of several rulers. 175. A lustrum (plural, lustra ) is five years. 8hort-Story. — The theory of poetry set forth in the first para- graph here Poe repeated in many places. One of the most interesting for the young student is The Philosophy of Composition, which purports to tell how The Baven was composed. (The essay may be had in several cheap editions.) 28. De Beranger, a French poet prominent in Poe's day. 34. In medio, etc. ; A happy medium is safest. 79. tales of ratiocination, tales in which acute reasoning is used ; sometimes spoken of as analytical tales. The best examples are Poe's own — The Gold-Bug, The Purloined Letter, Murders in the Bue Morgue. Sir Conan Doyle's stories of Sherlock Holmes are later examples of the same kind. The models for these, by the way, Doyle unhesitatingly asserted were Poe's tales just mentioned. 91. par parenthese, parenthetically. Hawthorne. — May-Pole. — See the reading from Bradford, page 15. 70. Oomus, god of mirth. See Milton's masque. 98. Clerk of Oxford, minister educated at Oxford University. 195. St. John's Day is Dec. 27. 300. Endicott, colonial governor of Massa- chusetts, severe in his treatment of " heretics." He figures also in another of the Twice Told Tales — Endicott and the Bed Cross. 303. Blackstone, the clerk of line 98. 328. Ancient, standard bearer. NOTES 351 Droimie^s Wooden Image. — 10. Fayal^ one of the Azores islands (pronounced Fi-al'). 30. Neptune^ god of the sea. 38. When the story has been completed, it would be interesting to discuss what was Hunnewell's "secret"; also the "mystery in the carver's conduct" (110). 53. Parian., from Paros, one of the Cyclades, a group of islands in the ^gean Sea. Carrara., a- city of Tuscany, Italy. 68. Galen (second century a.d.), and Hippocrates (fifth century b.c), famous Greek physicians. The latter was called the "father of medicine." 129. hamadryad, in classical mythology, a nymph whose life is bound up with that of her tree. 151. What a wide distinction, etc. This thought is expressed in several other places by Hawthorne — e.^.,in The Marhle Faun, Chapter XIII, and in the Italian Note-Book, under Feb. 14, 1858. 205. Pygmalion, a mythological sculptor who made a statue of Galatea, with which he fell in love, and which, in response to his prayer, Venus endowed with life. 425. witch times. The famous witch-trials took place in Salem in 1692-1693. 448. statuaj^y, sculptor. 471. Province House, home of the colonial governors of Massachusetts. See Hawthorne's descrip- tion of it at the beginning of Howe''s Masquerade, in Twice Told Tales. Motley. — William, Prince of Orange and Count of Nassau, called "the Silent" (1533-1584), was the founder of the Dutch Republic. The tour described took place in August, 1577. 2. little provinces, i.e., the fifteen states which with Holland and Zealand had united in the Pacification of Ghent to drive out the Spaniards. The Pacification had been signed in November preceding William's tour. 5. Father William. Since the union of the provinces was due more to William's efforts than to any one else's, he was very appropriately called the father of his country. 16. states-general, the "Congress" of the provinces. Don John [of Austria], youngest son of Charles V of Spain, and half-brother of Philip II. His mother was a peasant of low birth. Philip appointed him governor of the Netherlands in 1576. 36. seizure of Namur Castle, by Don John, As the commandant came out to welcome the governor, he was arrested, and the entire garrison, composed of old men, turned out. 38. John Taffin, an eminent minis- ter of the Reformed Church ; Philip Marnix, Baron Saint Aldegonde. Both were devoted adherents of William. 64. treaty of Marche en Famine, also called the " Perpetual Edict," an agreement between Don John and the little provinces — Holland and Zealand, under William's influence, refusing to sign. In less than a year the states-general de- 352 AMERICAN LITERATURE clared that Don John (who had wisely fled) was no longer an officer of the country, and was really its enemy. 73. Escovedo, Juan, a Spaniard, close friend of Don John. 118. The convention of *^ Satisfaction,''^ which granted William's demands for religious tolera- tion, was signed about two months after his visit. 126. episcopal city, seat of a bishop. The bishopric of Utrecht dates from the eighth century. 144. ancient church, the Roman Catholic. Emerson. — Bhodora. — 11-12. The lines answer the question heading the poem. Concord- Hymn. — The battle of Lexington and Concord took place April 19, 1775. Humble- Bee. — 16. Epicurean, one who believes that pleasure is the chief aim of life. Terminus. — When he wrote this poem (1867), he realized that "his working days were nearly done," says his son. Dr. E. W. Emerson. 28. Baresark, or "berserk," a Scandinavian warrior who fought without armor. Nature of Government. — The cutting from Lowell's essay (page 252) should be given at least a rapid reading before reading this of Emerson's. 17-18. These two short sentences are typical of Emer- son. They furnish food for much thought, yet it is doubtful whether we ever get from them his full meaning. 56. The essay on Politics was published in 1844, but contained portions of a lecture given in 1836. The student should find out what was the political situation in the United States in those years. 85. Botany Bay, in Australia. The name is commonly used as the equivalent of " penal colony" ; but such a colony was never located there. The British planned to establish it at Botany Bay, but found a more desirable site near the present city of Sydney. 95. Fisher Ames, American orator and statesman (1758-1808). 106. fact oj two poles, etc. This idea is repeatedly expressed by Emerson, and is fully developed in the essay Compensation. Thoreau. — Coming of the Birds. — 60. Anacreon, Greek lyric poet, fifth century b.c. Longfellow. — Beleaguered City. — 4. Prague, capital of Bohe- mia, Austria ; it is situated on the 3Ioldau River. See note on Haunted Palace, above. Building of Ship. — 37. / wis, here used (as generally) as an old- NOTES 353 fashioned expression for "I know." It really is from Anglo-Saxon gewis, an adverb meaning " certainly." 61. Pascagoula, in Missis- sippi. 62. Bocmoke, river in Virginia and North Carolina. 161. Lascar, an East Indian sailor. 178. stemson, keelson, sternson knee, timbers of a ship. 382-7. The student will recall that the "Master" and several of the chief "Workmen" are represented in the second group of our readings (pages 24-49). Hiawatha. — 12. Dacotahs. Hiawatha was an Ojibway (line 166), 14. Nokomis, Hiawatha's grandmother, who reared him. 86. chalcedony. Accented here on the first and third syllables. Birds. — This poem is founded on a tradition connected with the town of Killingworth, Connecticut. 2. merle, blackbird, mavis, thrush. 11-12. See Matthew, X, 29, 31 ; Luke, XII, 6-7. 17. Sound, Long Island. Killingworth is about 10 miles from the Sound. 30. Cassandra-like, etc. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, king of Troy, prophesied evil to her city. 43. Squire, Justice of the Peace. 51. See the reading from Edwards, page 21, above. 89. Plato, Greek philosopher, fourth century b.c, in a work called the Republic, set forth his ideal of government. Beviewers. Longfellow doubtless refers to the magazines of the early nineteenth century — Edinburgh Beview, Quarterly, and others — which severely criticized Wordsworth and others of the so-called "Romantic" school, sometimes denying them any claim to the title of poet. 93. Troubadours, lyric poets of Italy, Spain, and especially Southern France, twelfth and thirteenth centuries, who sang chiefly of love. 96. See 1 Samuel, XVI, 14-23. 184. St. Bartholomew. On St. Bartholomew's Day (Aug. 24), 1572, there was a terrible massacre of Protestants and Huguenots in Paris. 193. See Acts, XII, 20-23. 212. Doom's-Day Book, properly "Domesday" (day of judgment), a valuation-survey of England made by William the Conqueror. It made taxation on a sound basis possible, besides being a census roll and a record of estate valuations. The nickname came from the fact that in the eyes of the people it was like the great reckoning of doomsday. Hanging of Crane. — " This is the story of life," said Longfellow, "the sweet and pathetic poem of the fireside." 72. Canute was king of England from 1017 to 1035. He was a small man ; and the early part of his reign was characterized by great barbarity and severity. Which of these facts has Longfellow in mind in giving the baby this name ? 108. Ariadne's Crown. After Ariadne was de- serted by Theseus, she was wooed and won by Bacchus, who gave her 354 AMERICAN LITERATURE a golden crown. After her death, Bacchus made a heavenly constella- tion of the crown. 148. Cathay, China. Cross of Snow. — A sonnet commemorating the death by fire of the poet's wife. With characteristic reserve and self-control, Long- fellow made no record of the great sorrow except this short lyric eighteen years after the event, and then did not print it. Lowell. — My Love. — This poem was composed about the time the poet became engaged to Maria White. Freedom. — Written in 1843. Few men of Lowell's position and ability were then outspoken in opposition to slavery. Commemoration Ode. — This poem was dedicated " To the ever sweet and shining memory of the ninety-three sons of Harvard College who have died for their country in the war of nationality." 23. Veritas., truth. In 1643 the seal of Harvard was adopted — a shield with three open books bearing the word Veritas. 49. her (as elsewhere in this section) refers to "truth" (line 28). 66-70. See 1 Kings, XVIII, 17-46. 95. Lincoln was assassinated three months before the Ode was written. The form read at the com- memoration exercises did not contain section VI ; but, as has often been remarked, it follows V so naturally and effectively that it does not seem like an afterthought. 129 ff. "Or if there was anything of Europe in him, it was Europe in its early days (fronting morn- ward), w^hen there were no hereditary distinctions of rank." 134. Plutarch's men. See note on Irving's Stuyvesant, line 17. 152. The first American. Cf. Grady, page 275. 167. dear ones. Three nephews of Lowell and five other relatives fell in the war. 174. See Numbers, XIII, 1-2, 21-24. 181. Line means: "We shall never be without their glorified presence." 230. Katahdin, Monadnock, Whiteface, mountains ; in Maine, New Hampshire, and Colorado, respectively. Old Elm. — 3-5. Washington expressed himself as thinking he was almost miraculously spared at Braddock's defeat in the French and Indian War. 6. gown to arms had yielded. Several of the Harvard buildings were used for military purposes. 25-26. "ready to vote down the religious doctrine of Freewill, but inclined to be very free in the exercise of their own will." 42. buff and blue, the colors of the Continental uniform. 44. "I seem to see the sun-flecks weave halos prophetic of glory round the head of Wash- ington, which have not grown less glorious with his passing, but NOTES 355 continue our guiding light." 72. In section VIII, Lowell said, he "held out a hand of kindly reconciliation to Virginia." 79. inevitable wrong^ the War between the States. 93. During the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Church enforced cessation of hostilities at certain periods. Such cessation was called the Truce of God. Emerson the Lecturer. — 5. King Logs. " The frogs prayed to Jove to send them a king, and the god threw a log into the pool, the splash of which terribly alarmed them for a time ; but they soon learnt to despise a monarch who allowed them to jump upon its back, and never resented their familiarities. The croakers com- plained to Jove for sending them so worthless a king." (Brewer's Beader''s Handbook.) 10. What they do not fully understand., etc. Most readers of Emerson take this attitude, just as his hearers did. 12. old poet., Matthew Koydon, friend of Sidney, Spenser, Marlowe, and other famous poets of the later sixteenth century. The lines quoted are from an Elegie written by Roydon on Sidney's death. 19. spread-eagle., noisily patriotic. 20. We are reckoned. This and the next sentence are somewhat in Emer- son's cryptic style. 24. Buncombe constituency., body of support- ers who wish tlieir representative to do a great deal of talking in a high-flown style, even if he seldom touches any subject of interest or importance. See "Buncombe" in the International Dictionary. 25. Flotinus, Egyptian philosopher of the third century. 28. Vedas are the sacred books of India. 40. Brahma is the title of one of Emerson's most obscure poems. 44. Montaigne, French essayist. 57. Epistoloi, etc.. Letters of Obscure Men. 64. Rev. Thomas Fuller and Sir Thomas Browne were great writers of the seventeenth century, but the average person would not admire them as Lowell does. 65. abominable word. This was written in 1868. The word is now, of course, firmly established in the language. It • was ob- jected to on the ground of irregularity of formation. 71. The many, etc. This sentence is worthy of the student's best thinking. It and the one following are quite Emersonian. 89. as old as I am. Lowell was forty-nine. 101. ^'^ plain living and high thinking,''' quoted from a sonnet of Wordsworth beginning, "O Friend! I know not which way I must look." 136. ere one can say it light- ens. See Bomeo and Juliet, II, ii, 120. 146. consulate for "presi- dency" is merely a mild witticism — the sort of thing that occasion- ally mars Lowell's best work. 153. remainder-biscuit. See As 356 AMERICAN LITERATURE You Like It, II, vii, 39. 164. stocks, machine for punishing by- putting the arms or legs of an offender in a cramped position. 165. And who that saiv. The remainder of this paragraph is characteristic of the author — four sentences of prose that is only- just short of poetry, followed by three familiar and humorous ones. He once said he was ' ' a kind of twins, divided between grave and gay." 181. vegete, lively. 185. fugleman, leader. The student has doubtless already discovered Lowell's fondness for uncommon words. It was not affectation, but the result of continued and loving study of older English writers. 186. Titian, Venetian painter. Assumption, reception of the Virgin Mary into heaven; a favorite subject with the old masters. 193. saved us, etc. See Bomans, VII, 24. 205. we should 7iot have been careful for an answer. See Daniel, III, 16. 215. Che in la mente, etc. From Dante's Inferno, Canto XV, lines 82-85 : " For in my mind is fixed, and touches now My heart the dear and good paternal image Of you, when in the wrorld from hour to hour You taught me how a man becomes eternal." (Longfellow's translation.) White'' s Selborne. — According to the Diet. Nat. Biog. this book, which so arouses Lowell's enthusiasm, is " the only work on natural history which has attained the rank of an English classic." Sel- borne is in Sussex county, about fifty miles southwest of London. 8. Fellow of Oriel. In English universities a student may be a Fellow and receive a regular income from the institution for a much longer period than is possible in America. Oriel, one of the colleges of Oxford. 11. hobby-horse, now usually "hobby." A subject, theory, occupation, to which a person devotes a great deal of time and attention, without earning his living thereby. 13. Barrington, Pennant (Thos.). White's book is in the form of letters to these English naturalists and friends of his. 15. Izaak Walton, an English writer immortalized by a book in praise of the sport of fish- ing — The Complete Angler. 16. William Cowper (pronounced Cooper), English poet. The following lines from his The Task, Book' VI, indicate what Lowell had in mind : " I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense. NOTES 357 Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." 26. his parishioners. White was minister as well as naturalist. 31. Annihilating, etc. From The Garden, by Andrew Marvell, Eng- lish poet (seventeenth century). 35. See great Diocletian walk, etc. The editor is unable to place this passage. Lowell's reading covered an enormous range, many apparently not striking passages stuck in his memory, and he often failed to quote accurately. These facts make very difficult the identification of many of his quotations and allusions. The Roman emperor Diocletian after his abdication (305 a.d.) retired to Salona (modern Spalato) in Dalmatia, where he built a magnificent palace with extensive gardens. 39. revolt of the American colonies. White's book was in preparation from 1773 to 1789. 47. Char- treuse, a Carthusian (austere) monastery ; hence, a quiet retreat. 54. fauna, animals inhabiting a region. 57. anthropophagous, man- eating. 60. our share of owls. What does he mean here by "owls"? 64. Francis Willoughhy and John Bay were English naturalists about a hundred years before White. 65. stilted plover. " In the last week of last month, five of those most rare birds, too uncommon to have obtained an English name, but known to natural- ists by the terms of himantopus, or loripes and charadrius himantopus were shot. . . . One of these spec^ens I procured. . . . These birds are of the plover family, and might, with propriety, be called the stilt-plovers." — Nat. Hist. Selh., Letter XCL 78. Windsor Castle, one of the English sovereign's residences, located about twenty miles from London. 79. Boyal Society, the most important scientific organization in Great Britain. 90. Diogenes, Greek cynic philosopher. 95. reconstruction. This essay was written in 1869, when the " reconstruction " of the states of the Southern Confederacy was taking place. 108. Martin, Benjamin, mathematician and instrument maker, who graduated the thermometer used at Selborne. 118. abnegated, renounced. 131. graduation; Mercury. Lowell was as fond of puns as was Holmes. 139. Barahas, a character in Marlowe's Jeio of Venice. 140. "-Into what quarter,'''' etc. See tYiQ Jew, I, i, 39. 147. I have little doiibt, etc. " This was written before we had a Weather Bureau." (Lowell's note in the complete edition of his works.) The Weather Bureau was not organized until 1891, but systematic work that led to its organization goes back to 1870. 167 . cloaca maxima, the great sewer. 358 AMERICAN LITERATURE Democracy. — 8. Picoadilly, one of the finest streets in London, where fashionable people promenade. 28. Hudson. The sum of £25,000 had been raised for a statue to the "railway king" while he was alive ; but discovery that his methods were highly dishonorable put an immediate stop to the movement. 29. Louis Napoleon, nephew of the great Napoleon. He became president of France in 1848, and had himself proclaimed emperor in 1852. He imitated his uncle's methods, but succeeded only in gaining the title of " Napoleon the Little." 71. more famous tribune. See note on Webster, line 72. 98. Robert Lowe, Viscount Shei'brooke, British statesman ; liv- ing when Lowell spoke these words. 110. '■'■where two men ride,'*'' etc. See Shakspere's Miich Ado About Nothing, III, v, 40. The "very sagacious person" is a foolish constable named Dogberry. 115. Henry George, a great politician of New York City, advocate of the single tax. At the time of his death in 1898 he was a candi- date for mayor of the city, with what were thought to be excellent chances of election. 118. a fortiori, for a stronger reason. 151. Be your own palace, etc. See John Donne's Letter to Sir Henry Wotton, line 52. Donne wrote '■'-thine own" and '■'•thy gaol." 175. Our healing, etc. See 1 Kings, XIX, 9-18. Lanier. — 3Iy Springs. — 25. Note that perverse is here accented' on the first syllable. 52. Magdalen and Buth ; that is, for bad women and good women. See Luke, VII, 36-50 (especially 37, 39) ; and the book of Buth (especially III, 11). Chattahoochee. — Habersham and Hall are counties in the north- eastern part of Georgia. As the poem implies, the river rises in Hall County. 44. It will be interesting for the student to com- pare Lanier's way of bringing out his moral with Bryant's. [The editor- regrets that arrangements could not be made with Lanier's publishers to give the poet more adequate representation in these readings.] Grady. — The New South was delivered in December, 1886, at the annual banquet of the New England Society of New York City. He was thirty-six years old, the son of a Confederate soldier, and the most prominent journalist in the South. 5. B. H. Hill, a noted Georgia statesman. Tammany Hall, home of the " regular " branch of the Democratic party in New York. 54. Cavalier, settler of the Southern colonies ; Puritan, settler of New England. 64. Myles Standish, the Puritan leader who enforced the severe laws NOTES 359 of his party. Longfellow's The Courtship) of Miles Standish gives an interesting presentation of his character. 8-4. Talmage, T. DeWitt (died 1902), prominent preacher whose sermons were widely printed and read week by week. 90. the first typical American. Cf. Lowell's Commemoration Ode, section VI (page 245). 121. Appomattox Court House, Virginia, where Lee surrendered, April 9, 1865. 132. cross, the Confederate flag. 158. Bill Arp, pen-name of Charles H. Smith, a Georgia newspaper man and humorist, whose letters during and after the war were very popular. The name " Arp " he made from the initial letters of the phrase, "A Rebel Private." 167. a kind of careless man about fire. Sherman burned Atlanta on his famous " march to the sea." 186. Mason and Dixon^s line, boundary between Maryland and Pennsylvania, named for the men who surveyed it. It was long referred to as the dividing line between the Northern free states and the Southern slaveholding states. 233. Toombs, Robert, noted Georgia soldier and statesman. 237. chattel, any sort of property except real estate. 266. Johnston, Gen. Joseph E., one of the three or four greatest leaders of the Con- federates. 275. toad''s head. See Shakspere's As You Like It, II, i, 12-17. 331. city in lohich I live, Atlanta. 369. Those opened eyes, etc. See Shakspere's 1 Henry IV, I, i, 9-15. "opened " is an error for "opposed." Curtis. — Prue and / is a sort of novel dealing with an obscure New York bookkeeper and his wife. The extract is from the chapter called Sea and Shore. 5. Earlier in the chapter we learn that the supposed narrator " made the India Voyage " when a small boy, by ex- ploring a ship from India in some American port. 11. Uast India- man, ship engaged in the East Indian trade. 28. top, short for "topsail." 33. Parthenon, etc. Many marble ornaments of the Parthenon at Athens were removed in the years 1803-1812 by Lord Elgin, who afterwards sold them to the British government. They are now among the greatest treasures of the British Museum. Curtis's " unrifled " implies that Lord Elgin's conduct was not meritorious, but most people think otherwise. See Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl of Elgin, in Dictionary of National Biography. 37. Vittoria Colonna, an Italian poet (1490-1547), who refused many suitors both before marrying the man of her choice, and after his death, Tasso, famous Italian poet of the sixteenth century. 38. Villa d'Este, palace at Ferrara of Cardinal Luigi d'Este, Tasso's patron. Beatrice, 360 AMERICAN LITERATURE the inspiration of the Italian poet Dante's whole life (1265-1321), and the central figure of his The New Life and of his Paradise, the last section of The Divine Comedy. 40. Hotel Europa, DanielVs, Leone Bianco, popular resorts in Venice of the mid-nineteenth century. 41. Marino Faliero, doge of Venice (14th century), who had a young and very beautiful wife. 44. Ah ! senza amare^ etc. : " Ah, there is no consolation to walk along the sea without love.'" 49. you and Aurelia. Aurelia was a city belle whom the narrator did not know but admired from a distance ; " you" was her escort. St. Peter''s, cathedral at Rome. 62. Boxhury is now a part of Boston. 76. A painted ship, etc. See Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, lines 117-118. JSvils of Party Spirit. — The address from which this selection is taken was delivered before the graduating class of Union College, Schenectady, New York, in 1877. It is one of the earliest and most notable pleas for independence in politics. The present strong ten- dency toward independence is probably due in no small measure to Curtis's continued preaching of the doctrine. 62. money-changers. See John, II, 13-16. 92. Federalists. See any good history of the United States for the party divisions during the early days of the nation. 93. Jacobins, the extreme republicans of the French Revolu-^ tion. Bohespierre and Marat were leaders of this party. 110. Castor and Pollux, twins. To understand the passage fully, look up either name in an encyclopedia or in a handbook of mythology. 123. whips. A whip is a person designated by his party to enforce discipline. The ofi&ce and name originated in the British House of Commons, but are now used also in the American House of Representatives. 125. one Senator, James W. Grimes, of Iowa. Though ill, he dragged himself to the trial, and two days after delivering his opinion in favor of Presi- dent Johnson's acquittal, was stricken with paralysis. 130. Liqidsi- tion, a court of the Roman Catholic Church, the business of which was to suppress heresy. It was finally abolished in 1834. WiiiTTiER. — To Garrison. — William Lloyd Garrison was one of the earliest and most vigorous opponents of slavery. He and Whittier were lifelong devoted friends. 3. Before the actual outbreak of hostilities Garrison was several times in danger of death at the hands of mobs who disapproved his conduct. Proem. — 3. Spenser, Edmund, English poet of the time of Shak- spere. Whittier has in mind Spenser's Amoretti, Prothalamion, and NOTES 361 other lyric poems, rather than the better known Faerie Queene. 4. Sir Philip Sidney^ contemporary and friend of Spenser, wrote a romance called Arcadia^ and many lyrics. 33. Marvell, see note on Lowell's Whitens Selhorne^ line 31. Ichabod. — The title-name of this poem means "the glory is de- parted." (See 1 Samuel^ IV, 21.) It was written after Webster's Seventh of March Speech (1850), which supported Clay's Compromise and the Fugitive Slave Law, and which most of the North considered an act of treachery. Webster, however, had been the champion, not of the anti-slavery forces, but of the Union ; and he believed to the end that war could be avoided if the opposing parties would only exercise enough patience. The Lost Occasion (p. 303) should be read along with Ichabod. Skipper Ireson. — Years after this poem was written Whittier was told that not Ireson but his crew committed the crime told of in stanzas four and five. He had based the verses on a bit of rhyme of a schoolmate. 3. Apuleius's Golden Ass was a young man who had been transformed into the animal but retained his human conscious- ness. 4. Calender's horse. The Tale of the Third Calender in the Arabian Nights tells of one Agib, who was entrusted with the keys of a palace and given permission to enter every room but one. He nevertheless entered that one, mounted a horse he found there, and was carried through the air to Bagdad. The horse set him down, and with a whisk of his tail knocked out Agib's right eye. 6. Al-Borak, the animal brought by Gabriel to carry Mahomet to heaven, had the face and voice of a man, the cheeks of a horse, the wings of an eagle. 8. Marblehead, coast town of Massachusetts. 6. Bacchus, god of wine. 30. Moenads, female attendants of Bacchus. 35. Chaleur Bay, an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Playmate. — A tender recollection of a boyhood love — Whittier never married. 1. Bamoth hill was near Amesbury, the poet's home from 1836 to 1876; as were the "woods of Follymill " (line 36). 59. The veer?/ is a kind of thrush. Laus Deo. — "On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery." (Whittier.) 19. See note on Lowell's Democracy, line 175. 27 ff. See Exodus, XV, 21. Lost Occasion. — 3. Thou, Daniel Webster. See note on Icha- bod. This poem was written in 1880. 11. Olympian, godlike. 15. Phidias, the greatest sculptor of Greece. 17. Ccedmon, 362 AMERICAN LITERATURE English poet of about the seventh century. 23. Norse god, Odin. 24. Talus, the groom of Sir Artegal in Spenser's Faerie Qiieene (book V, canto 1, stanza xii), carried an iron flail, " With which he threshed out falsehood, and did truth unfold." 51. See Judges, XVI, 6-9. 74 ff. Mount Webster (3876 feet), in the White Mountains, about sixty miles from Webster's birthplace. Whitman. — Whitman is the most individual poet in our literature ; and his admirers assert that he must not be judged by the methods used in judging other poets. John Burroughs, the most noted American champion of the "sage of Camden," says: "We can make little of Whitman unless we allow him to be a law unto him- self, seek him through the clues which he himself brings. When we try him by current modes, current taste, ... we are disappointed." Sydney Dobell, English critic, says: "It is the American poet's first demand upon us that we shall dismiss our prepossessions in favor of the poets of culture from our minds — not asking whether he conforms to the rules which we apply to them, but whether he has a new mes- sage for the world, which demands a new and freer method for its fit expression. If we are not willing thus to reconsider our established ideas as to the art of poetry, we had better conclude that Whitman has no message for us, and concern ourselves no further about him." If these statements hold, it should be easier for young readers, who have fewer "prepossessions" and less fixed standards, to under- stand and appreciate Whitman than for those who have for many years been reading and loving the " poets of culture." A Child'' s Question. — 8. hieroglyphic, secret sign. 11. Kanuck, a Canadian ; Tuckahoe, a Virginian (see the Standard dictionary) ; Cliff, a miserly old fellow. All three are slang. Mannahatta. — 1. my city. New York. 2. the aboriginal name. The aboriginal Delawares of New York City were called " man- hatanis," meaning " those who dwell upon an island." {New Inter. Enc.) 7. ^i^^ grrow;«/is, etc., the " sky-scrapers." 16-18. Students who have visited New York might check up Whitman's description from their own observation. This is the sort of poem Robert Louis Stevenson has in mind when, in The Amateur Emigrant, he speaks of " all that bustle, courage, action, and constant kaleidoscopic change that Walt Whitman has seized and set forth in his vigorous, cheerful, and loquacious verses." NOTES 363 Captain! — Lee had surrendered, the Union was preserved, but Lincoln had died by the assassin's hand. When Lilacs. — See Carpenter's Whitman {Eng. Men of Letters)^ page 105 : " . . . strange and beautiful hymn, in which Lincoln's name is not mentioned, nor is there more than a faint reference to him ; a threnody, therefore, of all that had died in the colossal struggle, symbolized through him. A poem of three themes, it sings of the lilac blossoms, sweet, and homely, and transient ; of the evening star, shining luminous for all men, but slowly sinking to its rest ; of the hermit thrush, Nature's one foreboding singer of the wilderness at twilight. The flower of the dooryard fades at the appointed time, the star disappears according to its season, the bird sings of death as the ' deliveress ' of mankind, for the poet's trust is as strong as his love, and he contemplates death with gratitude and with praise. Further analysis fails." Come, said my Soul. — This poem appeared first as a sort of preface to the 1876 edition of Leaves of Grass. In the edition of 1881 it was placed on the title-page and signed by the author. Holmes. — The Height of the Eidiculous. — 16. Any one who doesn't appreciate the trifling jest may look up "printer's devil" in the dictionary. The Last Leaf. — Holmes did outlive most of his close friends ; he died in 1894, at the age of 85. The Chambered Nautilus. — This poem was "suggested by look- ing at a section of one of those chambered shells to which is given the name of Pearly Nautilus. . . . [Such a section] will show you the series of enlarging compartments successively dwelt in by the animal that inhabits the shell, which is built in a widening spiral. Can you find no lesson in this ? " — The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table., No. IV. The student should look up an illustration of the nautilus in dictionary or encyclopedia in order to get the full meaning of the poem on the natural side. Much use must be made of the dictionary — few poems will better repay detailed study. 4. purpled wings. Many purple wings or arms are attached to the head of the nautilus. When alive, it can "fling" these out at will. 5. The Sirens were sea nymphs who by their beautiful sing- ing lured sailors to destruction on the rocky shores they inhabited. 8. The webs of living gauze are the "purpled wings" of line 4. 9. When the animal dies, the shell is tossed about by the sea, and 364 AMERICAN LITERATURE thus "wrecked." 11-12. dim dreaming life . . .frail tenant. These expressions refer to the low order of life to which the nautilus be- longs. 14. irised, many-colored. 16. The coil was lustrous be- cause of the "irised ceiling." 22. heavenly message, given in the last stanza. 26. Triton, trumpeter of Neptune, god of the sea. His wreathed horn was a shell. 31. low-vaulted. The nautilus succes- sively dwelt in larger compartments of the spiral, which may be thought of as rooms of higher vault or ceiling. Hence, its previous mansions might be called "low-vaulted" by comparison. 32. Let each new temple, . . . Shut thee from heaven, i.e. : " Let each new temple, the dome (or roof) of which stands between thee and heaven (i.e., the sky), be vaster than its predecessor." Or, leaving the fig- ure of speech : " Keep growing, intellectually and spiritually." The Deacon's Masterpiece. — Shay is colloquial for "chaise," a light carriage. 11. George II was hardly a "drone." He was will- ing enough to work, but yielded the opportunity when he found a prime minister more capable than himself. German hive. The House of Hanover, which still rules England, is German in origin. 20. felloe (also written "felly"), wooden rim of wheel, thill, shaft. 22. thoroughhrace, leather strap used as spring, or to join C-springs. See line 53. 45. e^Zwm, provincial pronunciation of " elm." 92. en- core is restricted in English to a single use, where it means " again." Here it has, of course, one of its other French meanings, " besides." Parson TureWs Legacy. — 2. Legally Harvard is still only a "college." 5. Edward Holyoke was president of Harvard from 1737 to 1769. 64. ?/« is the old abbreviation for " the," and should be so read, not as if written "ye." Similarly, y* was frequently written for the conjunction "that." In the quotation Holmes imi- tates the forms of the seventeenth century. 69. An English crown is five shillings (about $1.25). 98. Triennial. From 1776 to 1875 Harvard published every three years a catalogue of ofiicers and gradu- ates. Since 1880 the catalogue has appeared every five years and been called the " Quinquennial." 118. cocA:-a-/iOop, exultant. There is an interesting discussion of this word in the New English (Oxford) Dictionary. 147. Vice-Gub, Lieutenant-Governor. All Here. — Written for the thirty-eighth anniversary of Holmes's class at Harvard — the famous class of 1829. 20. triennial; see note on line 98 of preceding poem. 21-22. In a list of names, de- ceased persons are usually indicated by stars. 24. The Boys, title of Holmes's poem for the class reunion of 1851. 52. ubique — om- NOTES 365 nes — semper, everywhere — all — always. 70. Gracious Mother, Har- vard. The translation of "Alma Mater." 72. In pace, in peace. The Broomstick Train. — 11. Essex. Salem, the scene of the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century, is in Essex County. So also are Ipswich Biver, Cape Ann, Swampscott, Danvers, Beverly, Wenham. Wilmington is just over the line in Middlesex. Chelsea is a suburb of Boston. 41. Norman'' s Woe, a dangerous reef near Gloucester, Massachusetts. See Longfellow's The Wreck of the Hesperus. 53. See line 9. 77 ff. Recall the witch-scenes in Mac- beth, and compare the lists of attendant spirits or "familiars." 128 ff. The broomstick, it is hardly necessary to say, is the trolley ; the careful man, the conductor ; the black cafs purr, the whirr of the motor ; the gleam, the spark made when the trolley slips off the wire. In Over the Teacups, written the same year as this poem (1890), Holmes has a long passage on this subject, beginning : " Look here ! There are crowds of people whirled through our streets on these new-fashioned cars, with their witch-broomsticks overhead, — if they don't come from Salem, they ought to." The first trolley line had been started four years before in Richmond, Virginia. Episode of the Pie. — 10. cela va sans dire, that goes without say- ing. 22. stillicidium, the flowing of a liquid, drop by drop. 27. Inferno, Italian for "hell," and the title of the first part of Dante's great poem, The Divine Comedy. 39, Benjamin Franklin was "our landlady's youngest." 40. " Quoiqu'elle,'' etc.: Although it is strongly made, this toy must not be handled roughly. My Last Walk. — 18. See Buth, Chapter II. 40. single is used here, of course, in the sense of "one." 70. Common, a large and beautiful park in the heart of Boston. 87. Gingko, an Asiatic tree having fan-shaped leaves. Also spelled "ginkgo"; the initial g is sounded either hard or soft. 90. the old gentleman who sits oppo- site, i.e., opposite the Autocrat at the boarding-house table. He is never named ; but in the last chapter the Autocrat " took the schoolmistress before the altar from the hands of the old gentleman who used to sit opposite." (Italics are the editor's.) ENGLISH A Text-Book for the Study of Poetry By Rev. F. M. Connell, S.J., of the Novitiate of St. Andrew-on- Hudson, Poughkeepsie, N.Y. i2mo, cloth, 223 pages. Price, ^i.oo. THE purpose of this book is to set forth the fundamental principles of criticism from which can be formed an estimate of acknowledged poetry. The various forms of poetic expression are discussed and, illustrated by numerous well-chosen selections. The book is for use in advanced classes. Principles of Success in Literature By George Henry Levies. Edited vi^ith Introduction and Notes by Professor Fred N. Scott. i2mo, 163 pages. Price, 50 cents. THE object of reprinting this admirable little treatise on litera- ture is to make it available for classes in rhetoric and literary criticism. Scarcely any other work will be found so thoroughly sound in principles, and so suggestive and inspiring. The value of the present edition is greatly increased by the excellent introduction by Professor Scott, and by a full index. Spencer's Philosophy of Style and Wright^s Essay on Style Edited by Professor Fred N. Scott, of the University of Michigan. i2mo, 92 pages. Price, 45 cents. THE plan has been followed of providing a biographical and critical introduction, an index, and a few notes. In the belief that the Philosophy of Style can best be understood in connection with the Spencerian philosophy as a whole, the Intro- duction has been made largely bibliographical. There are Ap- pendices giving a criticism of Spencer's theory of the effect of rhythmical structure from Gurney's Power of Sound, and an extract from Spencer's First Principles touching the evolution of literature. 10 ENGLISH Orations and Arguments Edited by Professor C. B. BRADLEY, University of California. i2mo, cloth, 385 pages. Price, ^i.oo. The following speeches are contained in the book : — Burke : Webster : On Conciliation with the Col- The Reply to Hayne. onies, and Speech before the Macaulay : Electors at Bristol. On the Reform Bill of 1832. Chatham: Calhoun: On American Affairs. On the Slavery Question. Erskine: Seward: In the Stockdale Case. On the Irrepressible Conflict. Lincoln: The Gettysburg Address. IN making this selection, the test applied to each speech was that it should be in itself memorable, attaining its distinc- tion through the essential qualities of nobility and force of ideas, and that it should be, in topic, so related to the great thoughts, memories, or problems of our own time as to have for us still an inherent and vital interest. The Notes aim to furnish the reader with whatever help is necessary to the proper appreciation of the speeches ; to avoid bewildering him with mere subtleties and display of erudition ; and to encourage in him habits of self-help and familiarity with sources of information. Note- taking By Professor S. S. Seward, Jr., of Leland Stanford Junior University, ismo, flexible cloth, 91 pages. Price, 50 cents. THIS book is the result of a number of years* experience in training students to take notes intelligently and systemati- cally, and has been written with the conviction that a better standard of note-taking will add much to the effectiveness of the students' work. It contains chapters on The Aim in Note-taking, How to Con- ' dense Notes, How to Organize Notes, Special Problems in Note- taking, together with exercises for practice and many examples. 18 ENGLISH From Milton to Tennys on Masterpieces of English Poetry. Edited by L. Du PoNT Syle. i2mo, cloth, 480 pages. Price, ;^i.oo. TN this work the editor has endeavored to bring together within 1 the compass of a moderate-sized volume as much narrative, descriptive, and lyric verse as a student may reasonably be re- quired to read critically for entrance to college. From the nineteen poets represented, only such masterpieces have been selected as are within the range of the understanding and the sympathy of the high school student. Each masterpiece is given complete, except for pedagogical reasons in the cases of Thomson, Cowper, Byron, and Browning. Exigencies of space have compelled the editor reluctantly to omit Scott from this volume. The copyright laws, of course, exclude American poets from the scope of this work. The following poets are represented : — MILTON . . DRYDEN . . POPE .... THOMSON . . JOHNSON . . GRAY. . . . GOLDSMITH . COWPER . . BURNS . . . COLERIDGE . BYRON . . . KEATS . . . SHELLEY . . WORDSWORTH MACAULAY CLOUGH . ARNOLD . BROWNING TENNYSON L'Allegro, II Penseroso, Lycidas, and a Selection from the Sonnets. Epistle to Congreve, Alexander's Feast, Character of a Good Parson. Epistles to Mr. Jervas, to Lord Burlington, and to Augustus. Winter. Vanity of Human Wishes. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, and The Bard. ^ Deserted Village. Winter Morning Walk. Cotter's Saturday Night, Tarn O'Shanter, and a Selection from the Songs. Ancient Mariner. Isles of Greece, and Selections from Childe Harold, Manfred, and the Hebrew Melodies. Eve of St. Agnes, Ode to a Nightingale, Sonnet on Chapman's Homer. Euganean Hills, The Cloud, The Skylark, and the Two Sonnets on the Nile. Laodamia, The Highland Girl, Tintern Abbey, The Cuckoo, The Ode to a Skylark, The Milton Sonnet, The Ode to Duty, and the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. Horatius. Two Ships, the Prologue to the Mari Magno, and the Lawyer's First Tale. The Scholar-Gypsy and the Forsaken Merman. Transcript from Euripides (Balaustion's Adventure). CEnone, Morte D'Arthur, The Miller's Daughter, and a Selection from the Songs. 13 ENGLISH The Academy Series of English Classics THE works selected for this series are such as have gained a conspicuous and enduring place in literature; nothing is admitted either trivial in character or ephemeral in interest. Each volume is edited by a teacher of reputation, whose name is a guaranty of sound and judicious annotation. It is the aim of the notes to furnish assistance only where it is absolutely needed, and, in general, to permit the author to be his own interpreter. All the essays and speeches in the series (excepting Webster's Reply to Hayne) are printed without abridgment. The plays of Shakespeare are expurgated only where necessary for school use. The series is handsomely bound in blue cloth, the page is open and clear, and the paper of the best quality. ADDISON. De Coverley Papers. Edited by Samuel Thurber. Cloth, 35 cents. This volume contains thirty-seven papers of which tv^^enty have Sir Roger as the main theme, and seventeen mention him in such a way as to throw further light on his character, ARNOLD. Essays in Criticism. Edited by Susan S. Sheridan. Cloth, 25 cents. The essays are those on The Study of Poetry, on Keats, and on Wordsworth. Rugby Chapel. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In Four English Poems. Cloth, 25 cents.) Sohrab and Rustum. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In Three Narrative Poems. Cloth, 30 cents.) BURKE. Conciliation with the Colonies. Edited by C. B. Bradley. Cloth, 30 cents. This book contains the complete speech, and a sketch of the English Constitution and Government. BURNS. Selections. Edited by Lois G. Hufiford. Cloth, 35 cents. The selections are forty-five in number and include The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tam O'Shanter, The Vision, The Brigs of Ayr, and all the more familiar short poems and songs. 14 ENGLISH The Academy Series of English Classics— Conf/nwed BYRON. The Prisoner of Chillon. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In Four English Poems. Cloth, 25 cents.) CARLYLE. Essay on Burns. Edited by H. W. Boynton. Cloth, 25 cents. Essay on Boswell's Johnson. Edited by H. W. Boynton. Boards, 20 cents. COLERIDGE. The Ancient Mariner. Edited by G. A. Watrous. {iw Three Narrative Poems. Cloth, 30 cents.; COWPER. John Gilpin's Ride. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In Four English Poems. Cloth, 25 cents.) GEORGE ELIOT. Silas Mamer. Edited by W. Patterson Atkinson. Cloth, 30 cents. The introduction contains a brief life of George Eliot, an account of the writing of Silas Marner, and a short list of works on the author. EMERSON. Select Essays and Poems. Edited by Eva March Tappan. Cloth, 30 cents. The Essays are those on Compensation, Self-reliance, and Man- ners. There are also nine of the best-known poems. A feature of the book is the suggestive questions at the bottom of each page which keep the pupil's attention on the alert and at the same time aid in the interpretation of the text. GOLDSMITH. The Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by R. Adelaide Witham. Cloth, 40 cents. The introduction to the work contains a Bibliography of the Life of Goldsmith, a Bibliography of Criticism, a Life of Goldsmith ar- ranged by topics, a Table of Masterpieces published during his life, and an appreciation of Goldsmith's style. The Traveller and The Deserted Village. Edited by George A. Watrous. {In Selected Poems. Cloth, 30 cents.) GRAY. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard and The Progress of Poesy. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In Selected Poems. Cloth, 30 cents.) 15 ENGLISH The Academy Series of English Clsissics — Continued IRVING. Life of Goldsmith. Edited by R, Adelaide Witham. Cloth, 40 cents. Thie editor has furnished a life of Irving arranged by topics, with references to Pierre Irving's life of his uncle. There is also an ar- rangement of the text by topics, for convenience in assigning the reading. The book has a useful list of the works of Irving side by side with Contemporary American Literature. Selections from the Sketch-Book. Edited by Elmer E. Wentworth. Cloth, 35 cents. This book contains The Voyage, The Wife, Rip Van Winkle, Sunday in London, The Art of Bookmaking, The Mutability of Literature, Christmas, The Stage Coach, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Stratford-on-Avon, To My Books, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. LOWELL. Selections. The Vision of Sir Launfal and Other Poems. Edited by Dr. F. R. Lane. Cloth, 25 cents. There are fourteen poems in all, including such passages from the Fable for Critics as refer to prominent American men of letters. MACAULAY. Edited by Samuel Thurber. E^say on Addison. Essay on Lord Clive. Essay on Warren Hastings. Essay on Johnson. Essay on Milton. Cloth, each, 25 cents. There is a map of India in the essays on Clive and Hastings. Essay on Chatham. Boards, 20 cents. Essays on Milton and Addison. One volume, cloth, 35 cents. MACAULAY. Essay on Warren Hastings. Edited by Joseph V. Denney. Cloth, 40 cents. This edition will be found especially useful to pupils in composition who are studying Macaulay for structure. The essay affords con- spicuously excellent illustrations of all four forms of discourse — narration, description, exposition, and argumentation. The book has a map of India, a sketch of Macaulay 's life, and a bibliography. 16 ENGLISH The Academy Series of English Classics — Con ^/n wed MILTON. Minor Poems. Edited by Samuel Thurber. Cloth, 30 cents. L'Allegro; II Penseroso; Comus ; Lycidas ; Arcades; On the Nativity; On Shakespeare ; At a Solemn Music; Sonnets. Paradise Lost, Books I and II. Edited by Henry W. Boynton. Cloth, 30 cents. This edition has the first two books of Paradise Lost complete and a r6sum6 of the rest of the epic, with quotations of notable passages. The introduction has two plans and a description of the Miltonic universe. POPE. The Rape of the Lock. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In Four English Poems. Cloth, 25 cents.) An Essay on Criticism. Edited by George A. Watrous. (In Selected Poems. Cloth, 30 cents.) SCOTT. The Lady of the Lake. Edited by G. B. Aiton. Cloth, 30 cents. Marmion. Edited by Mary E. Adams. Cloth, 30 cents. SHAKESPEARE. Edited by Samuel Thurber. As You Like It. Julius Caesar. Macbeth. Merchant of Venice. The Tempest. Cloth, each, 30 cents. Hamlet (with Pearson's Questions on Hamlet). Cloth, 35 cents. TENNYSON. Enoch Arden. Edited by G. A. Watrous. {In Three A^arrative Poems. 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Price, each, 6 cents ; per dozen, 60 cents ; per hundred, $ 5.00. THIS is a blank-book for book reviews and reports on home reading. On the front cover are seventeen numbered ques- tions, each suggesting a possible treatment for the book review. The purpose of these is to enable the teacher with the least labor to prescribe the scope of the essay he wishes the pupil to write. The teacher indicates a question, or series of questions, by num- ber, and the pupil understands that his review is to answer these questions^ There are directions for both teacher and pupil. On the back cover is a list of books for home reading. Journeys in Fiction By Alfred M. Hitchcock, High School, Hartford, Conn. Papei; 42 pages. Price, 10 cents. 18