LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf....-.^i. ^ ^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
Slie ^tiidleixts' Mtvics of ifwcjUsli ©lassies. 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL'S 
 
 VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 MABEL CALDWELL WILLARD 
 
 Instructor in Literature, New Haven, Conn. 
 
 
 
 LEACH, SHEWELL, & SANBORN, 
 
 BOSTON. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. 
 
-f5 
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 By Leach, Shewell, & Sanbor». 
 
 / Z- ^hs/ 
 
 Typography by C. J. Peters & Son, Boston. 
 
 Presswork by Berwick & Smith. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 James Russell Lowell stands among the foremost 
 of American poets: --perhaps the majority of scholars 
 would say, that for -range of subject, for power and 
 grace of expression, and for poetic insight and spiritual 
 vision, he stands as the foremost of American poets. 
 
 It was, therefore, a wise decision that placed The 
 Vision of Sir Latin fal, one of the most poetic of Low- 
 ell's poems, on the list of requirements in English 
 literature for entrance to our colleges. 
 
 It has been the endeavor in this edition to make the 
 Notes and Questions of such a natu.re as will help the 
 student, — first, to get the truth which the poet would 
 teach ; and, second, to see the beauty of the poetic 
 language, music, and figure, and their relation to the 
 thought. 
 
 The thanks of the editor are due to Prof. Katharine 
 Lee Bates, of Wellesley College, who has kindly al- 
 lowed her " Hints on the Handling of a Poem," which 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 forms part of the Introduction to her edition of Cole- 
 ridge's Ancient 3lariner, to be reprinted here. 
 
 For the use of some of the facts in the Biographical 
 Sketch, acknowledgment is here made to Mr. Francis 
 H. Underwood's Biographical Sketch of James Russell 
 Lowell. 
 
 MABEL CALDWELL WILLARD. 
 
 New Haten, Conn., 
 Kovember, 1896. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pkeface iii 
 
 Introduction — 
 
 I. Sketch of Lowell's Life 1 
 
 II. Lowell's Litekaky Style 7 
 
 III. Litekaky Estimates of Lowell 9 
 
 IV. "Hints on the Handling of a Poem" . . 12 
 
 (Reprinted from Pkof. Katharine Lee Bates's 
 edition of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner.) 
 
 The Vision of Sik Launfal 15 
 
 Prometheus 30 
 
 The Present Crisis 43 
 
 The Fatherland 50 
 
 An Indian-Summer Reverie 51 
 
 Song 65 
 
 To the Dandelion 67 
 
 A Chippewa Legend 69 
 
 Ambrose 74 
 
 Extreme Unction 77 
 
 A Parable 81 
 
 Sonnets 84 
 
 Notes and Questions 105 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I. SKETCH OF LOWELL'S LIFE. (1819-189L) 
 
 James Russell Lowell came from a Massachusetts fam- 
 ily descended from Percival Lowell of Bristol, England, wiio 
 came to New England in 1639, and settled in Newbury. 
 
 The family, as far back as can be traced, has been eminent 
 for those characteristics of great intelligence, rare ability, and 
 high moral worth, which distinguish only the truly great. 
 
 Lowell's grandfather, John Lowell, drafted the clause in 
 the Constitution of ]\Iassachusetts by which slavery was 
 brought to its end in that State. 
 
 His father was a clergyman in Boston for over fifty years; 
 his mother, who was Harriet Traill Spence before her mar- 
 riage, was of Scotch descent, and it was from her that the 
 son inherited his imaginative, poetic nature. 
 
 Four children preceded James Russell, who was born on 
 the 22d of February, 1819, at " Elmwood," Cambridge, — 
 where, in the same house, seventy-two years later, he passed 
 on into the higher life. 
 
 " Elmwood " is a beautiful, old New England place, with 
 ample grounds studded with large fine elms. 
 
 The influence of his environment is most forcibly seen in 
 his writings. His poems are crowded with similes and meta- 
 phors taken from Nature, and show him to have been, not 
 
 1 
 
2 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 merely a close observer of her, but a friend who entered into 
 warmest sympathy with her every mood. 
 
 His father's library contained an excellent collection of 
 miscellaneous works ; and here the boy browsed, and fed, and 
 cultivated his taste with biographies, travels, and classics from 
 the English and French. When he was sixteen he entered 
 Harvard College ; but distinguished himself more by his in- 
 difference to the prescribed studies than by his attainments 
 in them. 
 
 He himself has frankly confessed that he would never have 
 been allowed to take his degree had it not been that he was 
 his father's son. It is pleasant to remember, and perhaps 
 consoling to some youthful minds to think, that in years after 
 he became a professor in this same University, and received 
 honorary degrees from the Universities of Oxford and Cam- 
 bi'idge, England. 
 
 His negligence of the college curriculum, of which he re- 
 pented in later days, was, however, more than compensated 
 for, in the way of literary culture, by his great love for read- 
 ing, and the excellent judgment which he exercised in satisfy- 
 ing this love. 
 
 In 1844 he married Miss Maria AVhite, the influence of 
 whose pure and beautiful character upon the young man was 
 most ennobling and permanent. His own innate nobility and 
 beauty of soul received through her a stimulus and inspiration 
 which never left him. 
 
 At " Elmwood " still hang their portraits, painted by Wil- 
 liam Page. " She, with refined features, transparent skin, 
 starry blue eyes, and smooth bands of light brown hair ; ho. 
 with serious face and eyes in shadow, with ruddy, wavy, and 
 glossy auburn hair falling almost to the shoulders, a full, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 reddish beai'd, wearing a coarse-textured brown coat, and a 
 broad linen collar turned carelessly down. There are few 
 modern portraits in which costume counts for so little, and 
 soul for so much." 
 
 The social life became to him from this time forth a 
 medium through which his spiritual nature might work for 
 the ennobling of his fellow-beings. 
 
 It is interesting to note that it was soon after his marriage 
 that the following poem. Sir Launfal, was written. No one 
 can read his poetry without being impressed by his consecra- 
 tion to all that is pure and just and holy. His efforts were 
 always in behalf of freedom, love of man, and love of Christ. 
 
 In the Biglow Papers, two series, the first published in 1818, 
 and the second during the Civil War, 1861-1866, he enlisted 
 himself in the anti-slavery cause — a cause which in those 
 early days was a most unpopular one, even in the North. 
 
 In 1851 and 1852 he spent some time travelling in Europe 
 •with his wife, whose health was growing constantly more frail. 
 In 1853 this wife, in whose fellowship there had been such 
 rare inspiration, passed on mto the unseen world — and yet 
 we cannot feel that there was any real separation, for to one 
 of his beautiful sonnets we listen with bowed head, hearing 
 words which tell of his heart's history : — 
 
 " Love hath so purified my being's core, 
 Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even, 
 To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before. 
 Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given, 
 Which each calm day doth strengthen more and more, 
 That they who love are but one step from Heaven." 
 
 In 1855 he succeeded Longfellow as professor of Modern 
 Languages and Literature at Harvard College. 
 
4 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 In 1857 he became editor of the Atlantic Monthly ; this office 
 he filled for about five years, and then, for the next ten years, 
 held a similar position on the North American Review. It 
 was in the same yuar in which he undertook the editorship 
 of the Atlantic Monthly that he was married to Miss Frances 
 Dunlap, a woman of prepossessing qualities of mind and 
 person. 
 
 He was United States Minister to Spain in 1877, and from 
 1880 to 1885 United States Minister to England. In his ca- 
 pacity as. foreign minister, especially in Great Britain, where 
 he was much longer than in Spain, he held a most enviable 
 place in the esteem and regard of the Queen and her subjects. 
 Here, as everywhere, he was always a most loyal American. 
 His patriotism never allowed him to swerve from his demo- 
 cratic principles, and his loyalty to high ideals kept him 
 singularly free from the slightest subserviency to a desire for 
 fame. 
 
 Besides his poems he published at various times essays — 
 Among my Books, and My Study Windows; and addresses, 
 both literary and political. Lowell's prose is clear, often bril- 
 liant, and always delightful. 
 
 But it is as a poet pre-eminently that we love and admire 
 him. Perhaps to no other American is the name of poet more 
 truly applicable, although he himself most generously and 
 admiringly shared it with Longfellow, AVhittier, Bryant, and 
 Holmes. 
 
 His sense of humor is most happy; it was by the use of 
 the humorous element, rather than the serious, that he did 
 his most effective work for the anti-slavery cause. 
 
 He had a love for Nature, both intense and deep ; as with 
 Wordsworth, she was to him a living, breathing soul. His 
 
INTBOBXJCTION. 5 
 
 own words express this attitude towards her more perfectly 
 than can any one else : . — 
 
 "An' th' airth don't git put out with me 
 That love her's though she was a woman." 
 
 But although a poet of Nature, he is still more tha poet of 
 Man ; the weak and the oppressed found in him a courageous 
 and impassioned spokesman ; he feared no censure nor scorn 
 that his allegiance to the slave might bring him ; he longed 
 only to break his chains, and to help bring the happy day 
 when each man should look upon his neighbor, whether of 
 high or low degree, as his brother. 
 
 He is even more deeply the poet of Love. His poems which 
 have love for their theme are less numerous than the others, 
 but they are quite as profound, and reach even more nearly 
 to the core of the man's heart. It was through this love, 
 which so influenced and held his life, that he became the 
 champion of the weak and downtrodden. 
 
 " That love for one, from which there cloth not spring 
 Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing. 
 Not in another world, as poets prate, 
 Dwell we apart above the tide of things, 
 High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings; 
 But our pure love doth ever elevate 
 Into a holy bond of brotherhood 
 All earthly things, making them pui-e and good." 
 
 And it was through this sweet human love that there en- 
 tered into his life the consecration to the Love which is the 
 source of all happiness and noble living. In his poem entitled 
 The Search, he has expressed it thus: — 
 
6 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 " So from my feet the dust 
 Of the proud World I shook ; 
 Then came dear Love and shared with me his crust, 
 And half my sorrow's burden took. 
 After the World's soft bed, 
 Its rich and dainty fare, 
 Like down seemed Love's coarse pillow to my head, 
 
 His cheap food seemed as manna rare; 
 Fresh-trodden prints of bare and bleeding feet. 
 Turned to the heedless city whence I came, 
 Hard by I saw, and springs of worship sweet 
 
 Gushed from my cleft heart smitten by the same; 
 Love looked me in the face and spake no words, 
 But straight I knew those footprints were the Lord's. 
 
 "I followed where they led, 
 And in a hovel rude, 
 "With naught to fence the weather from his head, 
 The King I sought for meekly stood; 
 A naked, hungry child 
 Clung round his gracious knee, 
 And a poor hunted slave looked up and smiled 
 
 To bless the smile that set him free; 
 New miracles I saw his presence do, — 
 
 No more I knew the hovel bare and poor. 
 The gathered chips into a woodpile grew. 
 
 The broken morsel swelled to goodly store; 
 I knelt and wept: my Christ no more I seek, 
 His throne is with the outcast and the weak." 
 
 All of his poems are fraught with this deeply religious ele- 
 ment. The spiritual life was the only real life to him : — 
 
 "O Power, more near my life than life itself." 
 
 There was in it no moroseness or narrowness ; it was as 
 broad and deep and joyous as the sunshine ; it was as clear 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 and happy as the song of birds ; and it was surer than his 
 very life — -nay, it was his very life. 
 
 "O Power, more near my life than life itself 
 (Or what seems life to us in sense immured), 
 Even as the roots, shut in the darksome earth, 
 Share in the tree-top's joyance, and conceive 
 Of sunshine and wide air and winged things 
 By sympathy of nature, so do I 
 Have evidence of Thee so far above, 
 Yet in and of me! Rather Thou the root 
 Invisibly sustaining, hid in light. 
 Not darlcness, or in darkness made by us. 
 If sometimes I must hear good men debate 
 Of other witness of Thyself than Thou, 
 As if there needed any help of ours 
 To nurse Thy flickering life, that else must cease, 
 Blown out, as 'twere a candle, by men's breath. 
 My soul shall not be taken in their snare. 
 To change her inward surety for their doubt 
 Muffled from sight in formal robes of proof: 
 While she can only feel herself through Thee, 
 I fear not Thy withdrawal ; more I fear, 
 Seeing, to know Thee not, hoodwinked with dreams 
 Of signs and wonders, while, unnoticed, Thou, 
 Walking Thy garden still, coramun'st with men, 
 Missed in the commonplace of miracle." 
 
 II. LOWELL'S LITERARY STYLE. 
 
 If laultless verse were the one requisite of poetry, then -we 
 should not be able to give to Lowell, one of our sweetest and 
 truest melodists, the name of poet. But if, as Stopford Brooke 
 says, "poetry is an art, and the artist in jioetry is the one who 
 writes for pure pleasure and for nothing else the thing he 
 writes, and who desires to give to others the same fine pleas- 
 
8 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 lire by his poems which he had in writing them," — and since 
 highest pleasure can come only through true, and noble, and 
 joyous life, — then Lowell, whose poems are full of inspiration 
 to such life, must take the highest rank among our home poets 
 — must take, at times, rank with the best poets of the English 
 language. 
 
 Stopford Brooke goes on, however, to say that the thing 
 the poet '• most cares about is that the form in which he puts 
 his thoughts or feelings may be perfectly fitting to the subject, 
 and as beautiful as possible." Here Lowell finds his limita- 
 tions; here he falls short of always ranking among the best 
 poets. Either he does not care sufficiently that his " form " 
 " may be as beautiful as possible," or he is unable to clothe 
 his thought in its most beautiful garb. But considering the 
 beauty of his thought, and at times the beauty of his form, 
 he is always a poet, — sometimes a poet of highest rank. 
 
 Although occasionally we can trace a happy similarity be- 
 tween his style and that of some other writer, yet he is never 
 a copyist, only an appreciative admirer of the poet in ques- 
 tion ; his style is always his own. 
 
 Sometimes it is stately and dignified, but oftener quick and 
 joyous in movement, as though brain and heart were so full 
 of thoughts, and beautiful imagery for them, that the hand 
 could not be timed in expressing them. lie is always simple 
 and earnest; seldom is tlie impression made of studied effect, 
 either in grace or dignity. And the style is the exponent of 
 the man ; the simple, eager, childlike of heart, but noble and 
 gracious man, is as much revealed to us through his mode 
 of expression, as liy the thoughts themselves. And in his 
 simplicity and naturalness lies one of the chief charms of 
 his style. It is only in rare and unfortunate instances that 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 we detect an effort after the elaborate ; as a rule no word is 
 added which might have been left out, no thought introduced 
 which wearies by reiteration. This earnestness of style is 
 made emphatic by a clear and vigorous mode of expression. 
 
 His figures, drawn largely from nature, have the tone and 
 color of life, and are always in harmony with the thought. 
 
 There is no one, perhaps, who has more deliciously blended 
 wit and humor than Lowell ; his humor is as sweet as Chau- 
 cer's, but more rollicking; his wit as keen and pointed as the 
 sharpest arrow-tip, but never moistened with the smallest drop 
 of poison. Underneath the wit and humor one feels the 
 kindly heart which has reverence for every human soul, 
 although exposing so ruthlessly the follies and weaknesses 
 which too often hinder and warp those souls. 
 
 Although not a dramatist, yet he has held the mirror up to 
 the face of man so steadily, that we see reflected the features 
 of many faces in outlines cleai- and distinct. 
 
 III. LITERARY ESTIMATES OF LOWELL. 
 
 " With such a genius for comedy, — greater, I believe, 
 than any English poet ever had, — with such wit, drollery, 
 Yankee sense and spirit, 1 wonder he does not see his 'best 
 hold,' and stick to it." Thackeray. 
 
 " If we look at certain grave, sweet pages of Thackeray, 
 Newman, Martineau, Matthew Arnold, and the Ruskin of 
 thirty -years ago, we feel that we have in them specimens of 
 ideal English. Something of the calm dignity, the seemingly 
 artless jierfection, and the limpid movement, characteristic of 
 those writers, may sometimes be seen in passages of Lowell ; 
 
10 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 but his felicity in figures, and the irrepressible rush of his 
 double stream of thought, often lead l^im into a style of 
 writing that is both poetry and prose, and is not purely 
 either. . . . 
 
 " K the soul of poetry is energy, its garment beauty, its 
 effect emotion ; if, according to Landor, ' philosophy should 
 run through poetry as veins do through the body ' ; if that is 
 a poem which is inspired with original thought, graced by 
 unborrowed pictures and figm-es, and which suggests continu- 
 ally more than meets the eye, — then it will be impossible to 
 deny Lowell a high rank among poets. . . . 
 
 " Poems vfith such a range, such vivid conceptions, such high 
 purpose, such been insight, such tender sympathy, and such 
 flashing lights of imagery, have never been very common." 
 
 Francis H. Underwood, LL.D. 
 
 " There is no historic circle of wits and scholars, not that 
 of Beaumont and Ben Jonson where, haply, Shakespeare sat, 
 nor Pope's, nor Dryden's, nor Addison's, nor Dr. Johnson's 
 Club, nor that of Edinburgh ; nor any Parisian salon or Ger- 
 man study, to which Lowell's abundance would not have con- 
 tributed a golden drop, and his glancing wit a glittering 
 repartee." [On his prose.] " Racy and rich, and often of 
 the most sonorous or delicate cadence, it is still the prose of 
 a poet and a master of the differences of form. His prose 
 indeed is often profoundly poetic — that is, quick with imagi- 
 nation, but always in the form of prose, not of poetry. It is 
 so finely compact of illustration, of thought and learning, of 
 wit and fancy and permeating humor, that his prose page 
 sparkles and sways like a phosphorescent sea." 
 
 George William Curtis. 
 
INTRODUCTION. , 11 
 
 " The style of Mr. Lowell is emphatically his own, and yet 
 no man reports so habitually — half sympathetically, half 
 whimsically — the ring of other writers. Homer Wilbur is es- 
 pecially redolent or resonant of the old Elizabethan masters. 
 
 " We hear the grave Verulam Lord Bacon, or the judicious 
 Hooker. . . . Sometimes we get an odd flaA'or of Swift, bright 
 humor being substituted for malignant satire ; at others, the 
 flowing and tender style of Jeremy Taylor comes back to us 
 as we read. . . . 
 
 "Yet is he as voluminous and many-sided in poetry as in 
 prose ; * he sings to one clear harp in divers tones.' " 
 
 H. R. Haweis. 
 
 "As often as the first eight lines of this poem [7"/;e Vision 
 of Sir Launfal'\ come to mind, I feel a poetic breath not borne 
 to me again from our home hills and fields, and rarely wafted 
 from the old lands beyond the sea; and passing on to the 
 thirty-third line beginning, 
 
 ' And what is so rare as a clay* in June ? ' 
 
 I say each time, ' Here and in certain passages of the later 
 odes are the purest, the sweetest, and at the same time the 
 freshest strains from any singer of our soil.' " 
 
 John Vance Cheney. 
 
 IV. HINTS ON THE HANDLING OF A POEM. 
 
 (From Prof. Katharine Lee Bates's edition of Coleridge's Ancient 
 Mariner.) 
 
 " Poetry," says Coleridge, " is the blossom and the fra- 
 grance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human pas- 
 sions, emotions, language." 
 
12 LOWELL 'S POEMS. 
 
 Essentially a poem cannot be taught. The student learns 
 his deepest lesson from the poet and from no other. A teacher 
 does well to be on his guard, lest he obtrude his own person- 
 ality between the two. It is the poet himself, who, arresting 
 the attention by song, holding it by vision after vision, can 
 best impart to the young intellect the truth he has to tell, can 
 alone inspire in the young heart a sympathetic passion for 
 that truth. The function of the teacher, in dealing with any 
 particular poem, is, first and foremost, to help the student fix 
 his attention upon it. This can usually be done by question- 
 ing, better than in any other way. A running fire of ques- 
 tions, searching, varied, stimulates the mental activity, pricks 
 into life the sluggish perceptions, gives form and color to those 
 poem-pictures which are often so dimly and vaguely reproduced 
 by the untutored imagination ; and thus securing the vivid 
 presentment of the scene, the clear comprehension of the 
 thought, does away with the intellectual barrier, and brings 
 the heart of the student into free contact with the glowing- 
 heart of the poet. Since definite knowledge is a requisite 
 basis for true sympathy, such questions would relate in part 
 to the meaning of terms and phrases employed; and rigid 
 must be the will of that teacher who is not sometimes tempted 
 aside from his main object by the " fossil poetry " of individ- 
 ual words, and led to inquire into the secrets of their origin 
 and growth ; yet the study of lite,rature is more than philology. 
 Such questions might relate, in part, to the structure of sen- 
 tences ; the significance of allusions, geographical, historical, 
 mythological ; the value of an illustration ; the force of an 
 argument; the development of a thought; — all this to insure 
 a firm intellectual grasp of the subject-matter. Yet this done, 
 the half has not been done. To understand the poet's message 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 is one thing; to feel it, know it, and reach out beyond it 
 toward the purer message he suggests, but has not words to 
 utter, is anotlier. Indeed, care should constantly be taken 
 that these more superficial questions be kept in the back- 
 ground and not suffered to distract the student's mind from 
 the poetic essence. For the study of literature must not be 
 mistaken for the study of syntax, geography, history, mythol- 
 ogy, or logic. All questions that awaken the imagination 
 and enable it to glorify the printed words into such clear- 
 colored visions as dazzled tlie '• mind's eye " of the poet while 
 he wrote are of jieculiar value. Questions that quicken the 
 ear to the music of the poet's verse, and all other questions 
 that render the student aware of poetic artifice, responsive to 
 poetic effects, indirectly serve to deepen the central impression 
 of the poem ; since these very melodies and rhetorical devices 
 are not idle ornament, but the studied emphasis of the poet's 
 word. Questions that lead the student to recognize and define 
 in himself the emotions aroused by one passage or another 
 in the poem, questions that call forth an attempt to supply 
 missing links in the chain of events, questions tliat carry the 
 reason and imagination forward on the lines suggested by the 
 poet, all tend to mould the studsnfs mood into sympathy with 
 that higher mood, sensitive, eager, impassioned, in which the 
 singer first conceived his song. 
 
 The question-method may be well supplemented by topical 
 recitation, class discussion, citation of parallel passages, com- 
 parison with kindred poems and, under due precautions, the 
 reading of criticisms. The committing a poem to memory, 
 that its virtue may gradually distil into the mind and become 
 a force in the unconscious life, is most desirable wherever 
 it is possible to train the student to learn poetry by heart 
 
14 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 and not by rote. The slavish and mechanical engrossing of 
 words, lines, and stanzas upon some blank tablet of the brain, 
 is of questionable benefit ; but where the student is able to 
 learn the poem as a poem, not as a column of verses, — to pos- 
 sess himself, by the powers of attention and analysis, of the 
 sequence of events and grouping of images, remembering these 
 in the poet's own language, because on trial he finds that 
 language the most natural and best ; this surpasses for poetic 
 education every exercise that the ingenuity of teacher cnn 
 devise. 
 
 At all events, leave the student alone with the poet at the) 
 first and at the last. Let him have his earliest reading of the 
 poem with fresh, unprejudiced mind, and when teacher, class- 
 room, and critics have done their best and their worst with 
 him, return him to the poet again. If possible, let a little 
 time intervene, and then let the poem be read aloud before 
 the class ; or, better still, recited by some one who has entered 
 deeply into its spirit, and whose voice is musical and express- 
 ive. So will the first impression be intensified, and the seed- 
 sowing of analysis and criticism be harvested in a richer 
 renewal of poetic sympathy. For poetry is not knowledge 
 to be apprehended ; it is passion to be felt, — passion for the 
 truth revealed in beauty, and for the hinted truth too beauti- 
 ful to be revealed." 
 
LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 
 
 PRELUDE TO PART FIRST. 
 I. 
 
 Over his keys the musing organist, 
 
 Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
 First lets his fingers wander as they list, 
 
 And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay ; 
 Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 
 
 Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
 First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 
 
 Along the wavering vista of his dream. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not only around our infancy 
 
 Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; lo 
 
 Daily, with souls that cringe and plot. 
 
 We Sinais climb and know it not. 
 
 Ill 
 Over our manhood bend the skies ; 
 Against our fallen and traitor lives 
 15 
 
16 LOWELL- S POEMS. 
 
 The great winds utter prophecies ; 
 
 With our faint hearts the mountain strives ; 
 Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 
 
 Waits with its benedioite; 
 And to our age's drowsy blood 
 
 Still shouts the inspiring sea. 20 
 
 IV. 
 
 Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 
 
 The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
 The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 
 
 We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
 At the devil's booth are all things sold, 
 Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 
 
 For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
 Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking : 
 
 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; 30 
 
 No price is set on the lavish summer ; 
 June may be had by the poorest comer. 
 
 And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
 
 Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
 Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 
 
 And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
 Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
 We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
 Every clod feels a stir of might, 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. V 
 
 An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 4 
 
 And, groping blindly above it for light, 
 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
 The flush of life may well be seen 
 
 Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; 
 The cowslip startles in- meadows green, 
 
 The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
 And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 
 
 To be some happy creature's palace ; 
 The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
 
 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, j 
 
 And lets his illumined being o'errun 
 
 AVith the deluge of summer it receives ; 
 His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
 And the heart in her dumb breast fluttei-s and sings ; 
 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 
 In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now is the high-tide of the year. 
 
 And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
 Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer 
 
 Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; < 
 
 Now the heart is so fu.ll that a drop overfills it, 
 We are happy now because God wills it ; 
 No matter how barren the past may have been, 
 'Tis enough for ixs now that the leaves are green ; 
 We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
 How^ the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
 
18 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
 
 That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 
 
 The breeze comes whispering in our ear 
 
 That dandelions are blossoming near, 70 
 
 That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
 That the river is bluer than the sky, 
 That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
 And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
 For other couriers we should not lack ; 
 
 We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 
 And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
 Warmed with the new wine of the year. 
 
 Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; so 
 
 Everything is happy now. 
 
 Everything is upward striving ; 
 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
 As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 
 
 'Tis the natural way of living: 
 Who knows whither the clouds have fled ? 
 
 In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 
 And the eyes forget the tears they have shed. 
 
 The heart forgets its sorrow and ache ; 
 The soul partakes the season's youth, 90 
 
 And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
 Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
 
 Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 19 
 
 What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
 Remembered the keeping of his vow ? 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 I. 
 " My golden spurs now bring to me, 
 
 And bring to me my richest mail, 
 For to-morrow I go over land and sea 
 
 In search of the Holy Grail ; 
 Shall never a bed for me be spread, lOO 
 
 Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 
 Till I begin my vow to keep ; 
 Here on the rushes will I sleep, 
 And perchance there may come a vision true 
 Ere day create the world anew." 
 
 Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim, 
 
 Slumber fell like a cloud on him. 
 And into his soul the vision flew. 
 
 II. 
 
 The crows flapped over by twos and threes. 
 
 In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, no 
 
 The little birds sang as if it were 
 
 The one day of summer in all the year. 
 And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees : 
 The castle alone in the landscape lay 
 Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray ; 
 'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree, 
 
20 LOyVELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And never its gates might opened be, 
 
 Save to lord or lady of liigli degree ; 
 
 Summer besieged it on every side, 
 
 But tlie cluirlish stone lier assaults defied; 120 
 
 She could not scale the chilly wall, 
 
 Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall 
 
 Stretched left and right, 
 
 Over the hills and out of sight ; 
 
 Green and broad was every tent, 
 
 And out of each a murmur went 
 Till the breeze fell off at night. 
 
 III. 
 
 The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 
 
 And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
 
 Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 130 
 
 In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
 
 It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
 
 Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 
 
 In his siege of three hundred summers long, 
 And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf. 
 
 Had cast them forth : so, young and strong, 
 And lightsome as a locust-leaf. 
 Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail. 
 To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 140 
 
 And morning in the young knight's heart; 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 21 
 
 Only the castle moodily 
 
 Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, 
 
 And gloomed by itself apart : 
 The season brimmed all other things up 
 Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 
 
 V. 
 
 As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, 
 
 He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same. 
 Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ; 
 
 And a loathing over Sir Launfal came ; 150 
 
 The sunshine Avent out of his soul with a thrill, 
 
 The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl. 
 And midway its leap his heart stood still 
 
 Like a frozen waterfall; 
 For this man, so foul and bent of stature. 
 Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 
 And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 
 So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The leper raised not the gold from the dust : 
 
 " Better to me the poor man's crust, ico- 
 
 Better the blessing of the poor. 
 
 Though I turn me empty from his door ; 
 
 That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; 
 
 He gives only the worthless gold 
 
 Who gives from a sense of duty ; 
 But he who gives but a slender mite, 
 
22 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And gives to that which is out of sight, 
 
 That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
 Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 
 The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms. 
 The heart outstretches its eager palms, 
 For a god goes with it and makes it store 
 To the soul that was starving in darkness before." 
 
 PRELUDE TO PART SECOND. 
 I. 
 Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 
 
 From the snow five thousand summers old ; 
 On open wold and hill-top bleak 
 
 It had gathered all the cold. 
 And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; 
 It carried a shiver everywhere 
 
 From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ; i80 
 
 The little brook heard it and built a roof 
 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof ; 
 All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 
 He groined his arches and matched his beams; 
 Slender and clear were his crystal spars 
 As the lashes of light that trim the stars : 
 He sculptured every summer delight 
 In his halls and chambers out of sight ; 
 Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 
 
 Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, loo 
 
 Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 23 
 
 Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 
 
 Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 
 
 But silvery mosses that downward grew ; 
 
 Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 
 
 With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf ; 
 
 Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 
 
 For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 
 
 He had caught the nodding biilrush-tops 
 
 And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 200 
 
 That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 
 
 And made a star of every one ; 
 
 No mortal builder's most rare device 
 
 Could match this winter-palace of ice; 
 
 'Twas as if every image that mirrowed lay 
 
 In his depths serene through the summer day, 
 
 Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky. 
 
 Lest the happy model should be lost. 
 Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 
 
 By the elfin builders of the frost. 210 
 
 Within the nail are song and laughter, 
 
 The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly. 
 
 And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 
 With lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 
 
 Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 
 
 Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide ; 
 
 The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 
 And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ; 
 
24 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Liks a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 
 
 Hunted to death in its galleries blind ; 220 
 
 And swift little troops of silent sparks, 
 
 Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear. 
 Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 
 
 Like herds of startled deer. 
 
 III. 
 
 But the wind without was eager and sharp. 
 Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, 
 And rattles and wrings 
 The icy strings, 
 Singing, in dreary monotone, 
 
 A Christmas carol of its own, 230 
 
 Whose burden still, as he might guess. 
 Was — '• Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! " 
 The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
 As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
 And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 
 The great hall-tire, so cheery and bold, 
 Through the window-slits of the castle old, 
 Build out its piers of ruddy light 
 A.cfainst the drift of the cold. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 -I. 
 There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 
 The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 25 
 
 The river was dumb and could not speak, 
 For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun ; 
 
 A single crow on the tree-top bleak 
 
 From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ; 
 
 Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, 
 
 As if her veins were sapless and old, 
 
 And she rose up decrepitly 
 
 For a last dim look at earth and sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 250 
 
 For another heir in his earldom sate ; 
 
 An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 
 
 He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; 
 
 Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 
 
 iSTo more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross 
 
 But deep in his soul the sign he Avore, 
 
 The badge of the suffering and the poor. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 
 
 Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air. 
 
 For it was just at the Christmas time ; 2Co 
 
 So he mused, as lie sat, of a sunnier clime. 
 
 And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
 
 In the light and warmth of long-ago; 
 
 He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 
 
 O'er the edge of the desert, black and small. 
 
 Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 
 
26 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 He can count the camels in the sun, 
 
 As over the i-ed-hot sands they pass 
 
 To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 
 
 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 270 
 
 And with its own self like an infant played, 
 
 And waved its signal of palms. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ; " — 
 The happy camels may reach the spring. 
 But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 
 The leper, lank as the rain-blanclied bone. 
 That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
 And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas, 
 In the desolate horror of his disease. 
 
 V 
 
 And Sir Launfal said, — ''I behold in thee 280 
 
 An image of Him who died on the tree ; 
 
 Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, — 
 
 Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, — 
 
 And to thy life were not denied ^ 
 
 The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 
 
 Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; 
 
 Behold, through him, I give to thee ! " 
 
 vr. 
 
 Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
 And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
 
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 27 
 
 Eemembered in what a haughtier guise 290 
 
 He liad flung an alms to leprosie, 
 When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
 And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
 The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 
 He parted in twain his single crust, 
 He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
 And gave the leper to eat and drink, 
 'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
 
 'Twas water out of a wooden bowl, — 
 Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 300 
 
 And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul 
 
 VII. 
 
 As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 
 
 A light shone round about the place ; 
 
 The leper no longer crouched at his side, 
 
 But stood before him glorified, 
 
 Shining and tall and fair and straight 
 
 As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 
 
 Himself the Gate whereby men can 
 
 Enter the temple of God in Man. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine. 
 And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 311 
 That mingle their softness and quiet in one 
 With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 
 And the voice that was softer than silence said, 
 
28 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 " Lo it is I, be not afraid ! 
 
 In many climes, without avail, 
 
 Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 
 
 Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 
 
 Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 
 
 This crust is my body broken for thee, 
 
 This water his blood that died on the tree ; 
 
 The Holy Supper is kept, indeed. 
 
 In whatso we share with another's need ; 
 
 Not what we give, but what we share. 
 
 For the gift without the giver is bare ; 
 
 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, 
 
 Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.'' 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound : 
 " The Grail in my castle here is found 
 Hang my idle armor up on the wall. 
 Let it be the spider's banquet-hall ; 
 He must be fenced with stronger mail 
 Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 
 
 X. 
 
 The castle gate stands open now. 
 
 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 
 
 As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; 
 No longer scowl the turrets tall, 
 
 The Summer's long siege at last is o'er ; 
 
 When the first poor outcast went in at the door. 
 
THE VISIOX OF SIR LAUNFAL. 29 
 
 She entered with him in disguise, 340 
 
 And mastered tlie fortress by surprise ; 
 
 Tliere is no spot she. loves so well on ground, 
 
 She lingers and smiles there the whole year round ; 
 
 Tlie meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
 
 Has hall and bower at his command; 
 
 And there's no poor man in the J^orth Countree 
 
 l>ut is lord of the earldom as much as he. 
 
 Note. — According to the mythology of the Romancers, the San 
 Greal, or Holy Grail, was the cup out of which Jesus partook of the 
 Last Supper with his disciples. It was brought into England by 
 Joseph of Arimathea, and remained there, an object of pilgrimage 
 and adoration, for many years in the keeping of his lineal descen- 
 dants. It was incumbent upon tho.se who had charge of it to be 
 chaste in thought, word, and deed; but one of the keepers having 
 broken this condition, the Holy Grail disappeared. From that time 
 it was a favorite enterprise of the knights of Arthur's court to go in 
 search of it. Sir Galahad was at last successful in finding it, as may 
 be read in the seventeenth book of the Romance of King Arthur. 
 Tennyson has made Sir Galahad the subject of one of the most ex- 
 quisite of his poems. 
 
 The i)lot (if I may give that name to anything so slight) of the 
 foregoing poem is my own, and, to serve its purposes, I have en-- 
 larged the circle of competition in search of the miraculous cup in 
 such a manner as to include, not only other persons than the heroes 
 of the Round Table, but also a period of time subsequent to the sup- 
 posed date of King Arthur's reign. 
 
30 LO]V LULL'S POEMS. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 OxE after one the stars have risen and set, 
 Sparkling upon the hoarfrost on my chain : 
 The Bear, that prowled all night about the fold 
 Of the North-star, hath shrunk into his den. 
 Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn, 
 Whose blushing smile floods all the Orient ; 
 And now bright Lucifer grows less and less, 
 Into the heaven's blue quiet deep-withdrawn. 
 Sunless and starless all, the desert sky 
 Arches above me, empty as this heart 
 For ages hath been empty of all joy. 
 Except to brood upon its silent hope. 
 As o'er its hope of day the sky doth now. 
 All night have I heard voices : deeper yet 
 The deep low breathing of the silence grew, 
 While all about, muffled in awe, there stood 
 Shadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at heart, 
 But, when I turned to front them, far along 
 Only a shudder through the midnight ran. 
 And the dense stillness walled me closer round. 
 But still I heard them wander up and down 
 That solitude, and flappings of dusk wings 
 Did mingle with them, whether of those hags 
 Let slip upon me once from Hades deep. 
 Or of yet direr torments, if such be, 
 I could but guess ; and then toward me came 
 
PROMETHEUS. 31 
 
 A shape as of a woman : very pale 
 
 It was, and calm ; its cold eyes did not move, 
 
 And mine moved not, but only stared on them. 
 
 Their fixed awe went through my brain like ice ; 30 
 
 A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my heart, 
 
 And a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog 
 
 Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt : 
 
 And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh, 
 
 A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips 
 
 Stiffening in death, close to mine ear. I thought 
 
 Some doom was close upon me, and I looked 
 
 And saw the red moon through the heavy mist, 
 
 Just setting, and it seemed as it were falling, 
 
 Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead 40 
 
 And palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds merged 
 
 Into the rising surges of the pines. 
 
 Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loins 
 
 Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength, 
 
 Sent up a murmur in the morning wind, 
 
 Sad as the wail that from the populous earth 
 
 All day and night to high Olympus soars. 
 
 Fit incense to thy wicked throne, Jove ! 
 
 Thy hated name is tossed once more in scorn 
 From off my lips, for I will tell thy doom. co 
 
 And are these tears ? Nay, do not triumph, Jove ! 
 They are wrung from me but by the agonies 
 Of prophecy, like those sparse drops which fall 
 From cloiads in travail of the lightning, when 
 
82 LOWELL- S POKMS. 
 
 Tlie great wave of the storm high-curled and black 
 
 Rolls steadily onward to its thunderous break. 
 
 Why art thou made a god of, thou poor type 
 
 Of anger, and revenge, and cunning force ? 
 
 True Power was never born of brutish Strength, 
 
 Nor sweet Truth suckled at the shaggy dugs 
 
 Of that old she-wolf. Are thy thunderbolts, 
 
 That quell the darkness for a space, so strong 
 
 As the prevailing patience of meek Light, 
 
 Who, with the invincible tenderness of peace, 
 
 Wins it to be a portion of herself ? 
 
 Why art thou made a god of, thou, who hast 
 
 The never-sleeping terror at thy heart, 
 
 That birthright of all tyrants, worse to bear 
 
 Than this thy ravening bird on which I smile ? 
 
 Thou swear'st to free me if I will unfold 
 
 What kind of doom it is whose omen flits 
 
 Across thy heart, as o'er a troop of doves 
 
 The fearful shadow of the kite. What need 
 
 To know that truth whose knowledge cannot save ? 
 
 Evil its errand hath, as well as Good ; 
 
 When thine is finished, thou art known no more : 
 
 There is a higher purity than thou. 
 
 And higher purity is greater strength , 
 
 Thy nature is thy doom, at which thy heart 
 
 Trembles behind the thick Avall of thy might. 
 
 Let man but hope, and thovi art straightway chilled 
 
 With thought of that drear silence and deep night 
 
 Which, like a dream, shall swallow thee and thine: 
 
PROMETFIEUS. 33 
 
 Let man but will, and thou art god no more, 
 
 More capable of ruin than the gold 
 
 And ivory that image thee on earth. 
 
 He who hurled down the monstrous Titan-brood 
 
 Blinded with lightnings, with rough thunders stunned, 
 
 Is weaker than a simple human thought. 
 
 My slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze, 90 
 
 That seems biit apt to stir a maiden's hair. 
 
 Sways huge Oceanus from pole to pole ; 
 
 For I am still Prometheus, and foreknow 
 
 In my wise heart the end and doom of all. 
 
 Yes, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown 
 By years of solitude, — that holds apart 
 The past and future, giving the soul room 
 To search into itself, — and long commune 
 With this eternal silence ; — more a god. 
 In my long-suffering and strength to meet 100 
 
 With equal front the direst shafts of fate,^ 
 Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism, 
 Girt with thy baby-toys of force and wrath. 
 Yes, I am that Prometheus who brought down 
 The light to man, which thou, in selfish fear, 
 Hadst to thyself usurped, — his by sole right, 
 For Man hath right to all save Tyranny, — 
 And which shall free him yet from thy frail throne. 
 Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, 
 Begotten by the slaves they trample on, no 
 
 Who, could they win a glimmer of the light, 
 
34 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And see that Tyranny is always weakness, 
 
 Or Fear with its own bosom ill at ease, 
 
 "Would laugh away in scorn the sand-wove chain 
 
 Which their own blindness feigned for adamant. 
 
 Wrong ever builds on quicksands, but the Right 
 
 To the firm centre lays its moveless base. 
 
 The tyrant trembles, if the air but stir 
 
 The innocent ringlets of a child's free hair, 
 
 And crouches, when the thought of some great spirit, 120 
 
 With world-wide murmur, like a rising gale, 
 
 Over men's hearts, as over standing corn. 
 
 Rushes, and bends them to its own strong will. 
 
 So shall some thought of mine yet circle earth, 
 
 And puff away thy crumbling altars, Jove ! 
 
 And, wouldst thou know of my supreme revenge, 
 Poor tyrant, even now dethroned in heart, 
 Realmless in soul, as tyrants ever are. 
 Listen ! and tell me if this bitter peak, 
 This never-glutted vulture, and these chains 130 
 
 Shrink not before it ; for it shall befit 
 A sorrow-taught, unconquered Titan-heart. 
 Men, when their death is on them, seem to stand 
 On a precipitous crag that overhangs 
 The abyss of doom, and in that depth to see, 
 As in a glass, the features dim and vast 
 Of things to come, the shadows, as it seems. 
 Of what have been. Death ever fronts the wise ; 
 Not fearfully, but with clear promises 
 
PROMETHEUS. 35 
 
 Of larger life, on whose broad vans upborne, 140 
 
 Their outlook widens, and they see beyond 
 
 The horizon of the Present and the Past, 
 
 Even to the very source and end of things. 
 
 Such am I now : immortal woe hath made 
 
 My heart a seer, and my soul a judge 
 
 Between the substance and the shadow of Truth. 
 
 The sure supremeness of the Beautiful, 
 
 By all the martyrdoms made doubly sure 
 
 Of such as I am, this is my revenge, 
 
 Which of my wrongs builds a triumphal arch. 150 
 
 Through which I see a sceptre and a throne. 
 
 The pipings of glad shepherds on the hills, 
 
 Tending the flocks no more to bleed for thee, — 
 
 The songs of maidens pressing with white feet 
 
 The vintage on thine altars poured no more, — 
 
 The murmurous bliss of lovers, underneath 
 
 Dim grapevine bowers, whose rosy bunches press 
 
 Not half so closely their warm cheeks, unpaled 
 
 By thoughts of thy brute lust, — the hive-like hum 
 
 Of peaceful commonwealths, where sunburnt Toil ico 
 
 Reaps for itself the rich earth made its own 
 
 By its own labor, lightened with glad hymns 
 
 To an omnipotence which thy mad bolts 
 
 Would cope with as a spark with the vast sea, — 
 
 Even the spirit of free love and peace. 
 
 Duty's sure recompense through life and death, — 
 
 These are such harvests as all master-spirits 
 
 Reap, haply not on earth, but reap no less 
 
36 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Because the sheaves are bound by hands not theirs; 
 
 These are the bloodless daggers wherewithal 170 
 
 They stab fallen tyrants, this their high revenge : 
 
 For their best part of life on earth is when, 
 
 Long after death, prisoned and pent no more, 
 
 Their thoughts, their wild dreams even, have become 
 
 Part of the necessary air men breathe : 
 
 When, like the nroon, herself behind a cloud. 
 
 They shed down light before us on life's sea, 
 
 That cheers us to steer onward still in hope. 
 
 Earth with her twining memories ivies o'er 
 
 Their holy sepulchres ; the chainless sea, iso 
 
 In tempest or Avide calm, repeats their thoughts; 
 
 The lightning and the thunder, all free things. 
 
 Have legends of them for the ears of men. 
 
 All other glories are as falling stars. 
 
 But universal Nature watches theirs : 
 
 Such strength is won by love of human kind. 
 
 Not that I feel that hunger after fame, 
 Which souls of a half-greatness are beset with ; 
 But that the memory of noble deeds 
 
 Cries shame upon the idle and the vile, 190 
 
 And keeps the heart of Man forever up 
 To the heroic level of old time. 
 To be forgot at first is little pain 
 To a heart conscious of such high intent 
 As must be deathless on the lips of men ; 
 But, having been a name, to sink and be 
 
PROMETHEUS. 37 
 
 A something which the world can do without, 
 
 Which, having been or not, would never change 
 
 The lightest pulse of fate, — this is indeed 
 
 A cup of bitterness the worst to taste, 200 
 
 And this thy heart shall empty to the dregs. 
 
 Endless despair shall be thy Caucasus, 
 
 And memory thy vulture ; thou wilt find 
 
 Oblivion far lonelier than this peak. 
 
 Behold thy destiny ! Thou think'st it much 
 
 That I should brave thee, miserable god ! 
 
 But I have braved a mighter than thou, 
 
 Even the tempting of this soaring heart, 
 
 Which might have made me, scarcely less than thou, 
 
 A god among my brethren weak and blind, 210 
 
 Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thing 
 
 To be down-trodden into darkness soon. 
 
 But now I am above thee, for thou art 
 
 The bungling workmanship of fear, the block 
 
 The awes the swart Barbarian ; but I 
 
 Am what myself have made, — a nature wise 
 
 With finding in itself the types of all. 
 
 With watching from the dim verge of the time 
 
 What things to be are visible in the gleams 
 
 Thrown forward on them from the luminous past, 220 
 
 Wise with the history of its own frail heart. 
 
 With reverence and with sorrow, and with love, 
 
 Broad as the world, for freedom and for man. 
 
 Thou and all strength shall crumble, except Love, 
 
38 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 By Avhom, and for whose glory, ye shall cease: 
 
 And, when thou'rt but a weary moaning heard 
 
 From out the pitiless gloom of Chaos, I 
 
 Shall be a power and a memory, 
 
 A name to fright all tyrants with, a light 
 
 Unsetting as the pole-star, a great voice 230 
 
 Heard in the breathless pauses of the fight 
 
 By truth and freedom ever waged Avith wrong, 
 
 Clear as a silver trumpet, to awake 
 
 Far echoes that from age to age live on 
 
 In kindred spirits, giving them a sense 
 
 Of boundless power from boundless suffering wrung : 
 
 And many a glazing eye shall smile to see 
 
 The memory of my triumph (for to meet 
 
 Wrong with endurance, and to overcome 
 
 The present with a heart that looks beyond, 240 
 
 Are triumph), like a prophet eagle, perch 
 
 Upon the sacred banner of the Right. 
 
 Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed. 
 
 And feeds the green earth with its swift decay. 
 
 Leaving it richer for the growth of truth ; 
 
 But Good, once put in action or in thought, 
 
 Like a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed down 
 
 The ripe germs of a forest. Thou, weak god, 
 
 Shalt fade and be forgotten ! but this soul, 
 
 Fresh-living still in the serene abyss, 250 
 
 In every heaving shall partake, that grows 
 
 From heart to heart among tJie sons of men, — 
 
 As the ominous hum before the earthquake runs 
 
PROMETHEUS. 39 
 
 Far through the ^gean from roused isle to isle, — 
 
 Foreboding wreck to palaces and shrines, 
 
 And mighty rents in many a cavernous error 
 
 That darkens the free light to man : — This heart, 
 
 Unscarred by thy grim vulture, as the truth 
 
 Grows but more lovely 'neath the beaks and claws 
 
 Of Harpies blind that fain would soil it, shall 260 
 
 In all the throbbing exultations share 
 
 That wait on freedom's triumphs, and iu all 
 
 The glorious agonies of martyr-spirits. 
 
 Sharp lightning-throes to split the jagged clouds 
 
 That veil the future, showing them the end, 
 
 Pain's thorny crown for constancy and truth, 
 
 Girding the temples like a wreath of stars. 
 
 This is a thought, that, like the fabled laurel. 
 
 Makes my faith thunder-proof ; and thy dread bolts 
 
 Fall on me like the silent flakes of snow 270 
 
 On the hoar brows of aged Caucasus : 
 
 But, oh thought far more blissful, they can rend 
 
 This cloud of flesh, and make my soul a star ! 
 
 Unleash thy crouching thunders now, Jove ! 
 Free this high heart, which, a poor captive long. 
 Doth knock to be let forth, this heart which still. 
 In its invincible manhood, overtops 
 Thy puny godship, as this mountain doth 
 The pines that moss its roots. 0, even now. 
 While from my peak of suffering I look down, 28O 
 
 Beholding with a far-spread gush of hope 
 
40 LOWELL S POEMS. 
 
 The sunrise of that Beauty, in whose face, 
 
 Shone all around with love, no man shall look 
 
 But straightway like a god he be uplift 
 
 Unto the throne long empty for his sake, 
 
 And clearly oft foreshadowed in brave dreams 
 
 By his free inward nature, which nor thou, 
 
 Nor any anarch after thee, can bind 
 
 From working its great doom, — now, now set free 
 
 This essence, not to die, but to become 200 
 
 Part of that awful Presence which doth haunt 
 
 The palaces of tyrants, to scare off. 
 
 With its grim eyes and fearful whisperings 
 
 And hideous sense of utter loneliness, 
 
 All hope of safety, all desire of peace, 
 
 All but the loathed forefeeling of blank death, — 
 
 Part of that spirit which doth ever brood 
 
 In patient calm on the unpilfered nest 
 
 Of man's deep heart, till mighty thoughts grow fledged 
 
 To sail with darkening shadow o'er the world, 300 
 
 Filling with dread such souls as dare not trust 
 
 In the unfailing energy of Good, 
 
 Until they swoop, and their pale quarry make 
 
 Of some o'erbloated wrong, — that spirit which 
 
 Scatters great hopes in the seed-field of man, 
 
 Like acorns among grain, to grow and be 
 
 A roof for freedom in all coming time ! 
 
 But no, this cannot be ; for ages yet, 
 In solitude unbroken, shall I hear 
 
PROMETHEUS. 41 
 
 The angry Caspian to the Euxine shout, 310 
 
 And Euxine answer with a muffled roar, 
 
 On either side storming the giant walls 
 
 Of Caucasus with leagues of climbing foam 
 
 (Less, from my height, than flakes of downy snow), 
 
 That draw back baffled but to hurl again. 
 
 Snatched up in wrath and horrible turmoil, 
 
 Mountain on mountain, as the Titans erst. 
 
 My brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove, 
 
 Heaved Pelion upon Ossa's shoulders broad 
 
 In vain emprise. The moon will come and go 320 
 
 With her monotonous vicissitude ; 
 
 Once beautiful, when I was free to walk 
 
 Among my fellows, and to interchange 
 
 The influence benign of loving eyes. 
 
 But now by aged use grown wearisome ; — 
 
 False thought! most false ! for how could I endure 
 
 These crawling centuries of lonely woe 
 
 Unshamed by weak complaining, but for thee, 
 
 Loneliest, save me, of all created things, 
 
 Mild-eyed Astarte, my best comforter, 330 
 
 With thy pale smile of sad benignity ? 
 
 Year after year will -pass away and seem 
 To me, in mine eternal agony, 
 But as the shadows of dumb summer clouds. 
 Which I have watched so often darkening o'er 
 The vast Sarmatian plain, league-wide at first, 
 l)ut, with still swiftness, lessening on and on 
 
42 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Till cloud and shadow meet and mingle where 
 
 The gray horizon fades into the sky, 
 
 Far, far to northward. Yes, for ages yet 340 
 
 Must I lie here upon my altar huge, 
 
 A sacrifice for man. Sorrow will be. 
 
 As it hath been, his portion ; endless doom, 
 
 While the immortal with the mortal linked 
 
 Dreams of its wings and pines for what it dreams, 
 
 With upward yearn unceasing. Better so : 
 
 For wisdom is stern sorrow's patient child, 
 
 And empire over self, and all the deep 
 
 Strong charities that make men seem like gods ; 
 
 And love, that makes them be gods, from her breasts 350 
 
 Sucks in the milk that makes mankind one blood. 
 
 Good never comes unmixed, or so it seems. 
 
 Having two faces, as some images 
 
 Are carved, of foolish gods ; one face is ill ; 
 
 But one heart lies beneath, and that is good, 
 
 As are all hearts, when we explore their depths. 
 
 Therefore, great heart, bear up ! thou art but type 
 
 Of what all lofty spirits endure, that fain 
 
 Would win men back to strength and peace through love : 
 
 Each hath his lonely peak, and on each, heart sco 
 
 Envy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong 
 
 With vulture beak ; yet the high soul is left ; 
 
 And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love 
 
 And patience which at last shall overcome. 
 
THE PRESENT CRISIS. 43 
 
 THE PRESENT CRISIS. 
 
 When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad 
 
 earth's aching breast 
 Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to 
 
 Avest, 
 And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within 
 
 him climb 
 To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime 
 Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of 
 
 Time. 
 
 TI. 
 
 Through the walls of hut and ])alace shoots the instan- 
 taneous throe. 
 
 When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to 
 and fro ; 
 
 At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start, 
 
 Nation wildly looks at nation, standing Avith mute lips 
 apart, 
 
 And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath 
 the Future's heart. lo 
 
 So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a 
 
 chill. 
 Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill. 
 
44 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies 
 
 Avith God 
 In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be druid^ up by 
 
 the sod. 
 Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the 
 
 nobler clod. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears 
 
 along, 
 Round the eartli's electric circle, the swift flash of right 
 
 or wrong; 
 Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast 
 
 frame 
 Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy 
 
 or shame ; — 
 In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal 
 
 claim. 20 
 
 V. 
 
 Once to every man and nation comes the moment to 
 
 decide. 
 In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or 
 
 evil side ; 
 Some great cause, God's new IVIessiah, offering each the 
 
 bloom or blight, 
 Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon 
 
 the right, 
 And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and 
 
 -that lit^ht. 
 
THE PRESENT CRISIS. 4o 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hast thou chosen, my people, on whose party thou 
 
 shalt stand, 
 Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust 
 
 against our land ? 
 Though the cause of Evil prosper, 3'et 'tis Truth alone 
 
 is strong, 
 And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her 
 
 throng 
 Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all 
 
 wrong. 30 
 
 VIT. 
 
 Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments 
 
 see, 
 That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through 
 
 Oblivion's sea ; 
 Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding 
 
 cry 
 Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet 
 
 earth's chaff must fly ; 
 Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment 
 
 hath passed by. 
 
 viri. 
 Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but 
 
 record 
 One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems 
 
 and the Word : 
 
46 LQ] VEL L'S P OEMS. 
 
 Truth forever on the scaffokl, Wrong forever on the 
 
 throne, — 
 Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim 
 
 unknown, 
 Standetli God within the shadow, keeping watch above 
 
 his own. 40 
 
 AVe see dimly in the Present what is small and what is 
 great. 
 
 Slow of faith, how weak an arm may turn the iron helm 
 of fate, 
 
 But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din. 
 
 List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave 
 ■within, — 
 
 *' They enslave their children's children who make com- 
 promise with sin." 
 
 Slavery, the earth-born Cj'clops, fellest of the giant 
 brood, 
 
 Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched 
 the earth with blood. 
 
 Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer 
 day. 
 
 Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable 
 prey ; — 
 
 Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless chil- 
 dren play ? 50 
 
TEE PRESENT CTiltilS. 47 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then to side with Truth is noble wlien we share her 
 wretched crust, 
 
 Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous 
 to be just; 
 
 Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward 
 stands aside, 
 
 Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is cruci- 
 fied, 
 
 And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had 
 denied. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, — they were souls 
 that stood alone, 
 
 While the men they agonized for hurled the contume- 
 lious stone, 
 
 Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam 
 incline 
 
 To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith 
 divine. 
 
 By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's 
 supreme design. go 
 
 XIII. 
 
 By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I 
 
 track, 
 Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns 
 
 not back, 
 
• 
 
 48 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And these mounts of anguish number how each genera- 
 tion learned 
 
 One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet- 
 hearts hath burned 
 
 Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face 
 to heaven upturned. 
 
 For Humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the martyr 
 stands, 
 
 On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his 
 hands ; 
 
 Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling 
 fagots burn, 
 
 While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe re- 
 turn 
 
 To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden 
 urn. 70 
 
 XV. 
 
 'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves 
 
 Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves, 
 
 AVorshippers of light ancestral make the present light a 
 
 crime ; — 
 Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by 
 
 men behind their time ? 
 Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make 
 
 Plymouth Rock sublime ? 
 
THE PRESENT CRISIS. 49 
 
 They were men of present valor, stalwart old icono- 
 clasts, 
 
 Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the 
 Past's ; 
 
 But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that 
 hath made us free, 
 
 Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender 
 spirits flee 
 
 The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them 
 across the sea. 80 
 
 They have rights who dare maintain them ; we are 
 
 traitors to our sires. 
 Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar 
 
 fires ; 
 Shall we make their creed our jailer ? Shall we, in our 
 
 haste to slay. 
 From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral 
 
 lamps away 
 To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of 
 
 to-day ? 
 
 New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancient 
 
 good uncouth ; 
 They must upward still, and onward, who would keep 
 
 abreast of Truth ; 
 
50 LOWELL'S PO EMS. 
 
 Lo, before us gleam her camp-tires ! we ourselves miast 
 Pilgrims be, 
 
 Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the 
 desperate winter sea, 
 
 Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood- 
 rusted key. 90 
 
 December, 1844. 
 
 THE FATHERLAND. 
 I. 
 Where is the true man's fatherland ? 
 Is it where he by chance is born ? 
 Doth not the yearning spirit scorn 
 In such scant borders to be spanned ? 
 yes ! his fatherland must be 
 As the blue heaven wide and free ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Is it alone where freedom is, 
 
 Where God is God and man is man ? 
 
 Doth he not claim a broader span 
 For the soul's love of home than this ? 
 yes ! his fatherland must be 
 As the blue heaven wide and free ! 
 
 III. 
 Where'er a human heart doth wear 
 Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's gyves, 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE. 51 
 
 Where'er a human spirit striv^es 
 After a life more true and fair, 
 There is the true man's birthplace grand, 
 His is a world-wide fatherland ! 
 
 Where'er a single slave doth pine. 
 
 Where'er one man may help another, — 
 Thank God for such a birthright, brother, 
 
 That spot of earth is thine and mine ! 
 
 There is the true man's birthplace grand, 
 
 His is a world-wide fatherland 
 
 AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE. 
 I. 
 What visionary tints the year puts on. 
 When falling leaves falter through motionless air 
 
 Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone ! 
 How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, 
 As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills 
 The bowl between me and those distant hills, 
 And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair ! 
 
 II. 
 
 No more the landscape holds its wealth apart, 
 Making me poorer in my poverty. 
 
 But mingles with my senses and my heart ; lo 
 
52 LO WEL L'S P OEMS. 
 
 My own projected spirit seems to me 
 111 her own reverie the world to steep ; 
 'Tis she that waves to sympathetic sleep, 
 Moving, as she is moved, each field and hill and tree. 
 
 III. 
 
 How fuse and mix, with what unfelt degrees, 
 Clasped by the faint horizon's languid arms. 
 
 Each, into each, the hazy distances ! 
 The softened season all the landscape charms ; 
 
 Those hills, my native village that embay, 
 
 In waves of dreamier purple roll away, 20 
 
 And floating in mirage seem all the glimmering farms. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far distant sounds the hidden chickadee 
 Close at my side ; far distant sound the leaves ; 
 
 The fields seem fields of dream, where Memory 
 Wanders like gleaning Riitli ; and as the sheaves 
 Of wheat and barley wavered in the eye 
 Of Boaz as the maiden's glow went by, 
 So tremble and seem remote all things the sense receives. 
 
 The cock's shrill trump that tells of scattered corn, 
 Passed breezily on by all his flapping mates, so 
 
 Faint and more faint, from barn to barn is borne, 
 Southward, perhaps to far Magellan's Straits ; 
 
AN INDIAN- SUMMER REVERIE. 53 
 
 Dimly I catch the throb of distant flails ; 
 Silently overhead the hen-hawk sails, 
 With watchful, measuring eye, and for his quarry waits. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The sobered robin, hunger-silent now, 
 Seeks cedar-berries blue, his autumn cheer; 
 
 The chipmunk, on the shingly shagbark's bough, 
 Now saws, now lists with downward eye and ear. 
 Then drops his nut, and, cheeping, with a bound 40 
 Whisks to his winding fastness underground ; 
 The clouds like swans drift down the streaming atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O'er yon bare knoll tlie pointed cedar shadows 
 Drowse on the crisp, gray moss ; the ploughman's call 
 Creeps faint as smoke from black, fresh-furrowed 
 meadows ; 
 The single crow a single caw lets fall ; 
 And all around me every bush and tree 
 Says Autumn's here, and Winter soon will be. 
 Who snows his soft, white sleep and silence over all. 
 
 The birch, most shy and ladylike of trees, 50 
 
 Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves. 
 And hints at her foregone gentilities 
 
54 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 With some saved relics of her wealth of leaves; 
 The swamp-oak, with his royal purple on, 
 Glares red as blood across the sinking sun, 
 As one who proudlier to a falling fortune cleaves. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He looks a sachem, in red blanket wrapt, 
 Who, mid some council of the sad-garbed whites, 
 
 Erect and stern, in his own memories lapt, 
 With distant eye broods over other sights. 
 
 Sees the hushed wood the city's flare replace, 
 
 The wounded turf heal o'er the railway's trace, 
 And roams the savage Past of his undwindled rights. 
 
 The red-oak, softer-grained, yields all for lost, 
 And, with his crumpled foliage stiff and dry, 
 
 After the first betrayal of the frost, 
 Rebuffs the kiss of the relenting sky ; 
 
 The chestnuts, lavish of their long-hid gold, 
 To the faint Summer, beggared now and old, 
 Pour back the sunshine hoarded 'neath her favoring 
 eye. 70 
 
 XI. 
 
 The ash her purple drops forgivingly 
 And sadly, breaking not the general hush ; 
 The maple-swamps glow like a sunset sea, 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE. 55 
 
 Each leaf a ripple with its separate flush ; 
 
 All round the wood's edge creeps the skirting blaze 
 Of bushes low, as when, on cloudy days, 
 Ere the rain fall, the cautious farmer burns his brush. 
 
 XII. 
 
 O'er yon low wall, which guards one unkempt zone. 
 Where vines and weeds and scrub-oaks intertwine 
 Safe from the plough, whose rough, discordant 
 stone 80 
 
 Is massed to one soft gray by lichens fine, 
 
 The tangled blackberry, crossed and recrossed, 
 
 weaves 
 A prickly network of ensanguined leav^es ; 
 Hard by, with coral beads, the prim black-alders shine. 
 
 Pillaring with flame this crumbling boundary, 
 Whose loose blocks topple 'neath the ploughboy's foot, 
 
 Wlio, with each sense shut fast except the eye, 
 Creeps close and scares the jay he hoped to shoot. 
 
 The woodl)ine up the elm's straight stem aspires, 
 
 Coiling it, harmless, with autumnal fires ; oo 
 
 In the ivy's paler blaze the martyr oak stands mute. 
 
 Below, the Charles — a stripe of nether sky, 
 Now hid by rounded apple-trees between, 
 
56 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Whose gaps the misplaced sail sweeps bellying by, 
 Now flickering golden through a woodland screen, 
 Then spreading out, at his next turn beyond, 
 A silver circle like an inland pond — 
 Slips seaward silently through marshes purple and 
 green. 
 
 Dear marshes ! vain to him the gift of sight 
 Who cannot in their various incomes share, loo 
 
 From every season drawn, of shade and light, 
 Who sees in them but levels brown and bare ; 
 Each change of storm or sunshine scatters free 
 On them its largess of variety, 
 For Nature Avith cheap means still works her wonders 
 rare. 
 
 In Spring they lie one broad expanse of green, 
 O'er which the light winds run with glimmering feet : 
 
 Here, yellower stripes track out the creek unseen, 
 There, darker growths o'er hidden ditches meet ; 
 
 And purpler stains show where the blossoms crowd, 
 
 As if the silent shadow of a cloud in 
 
 Hung there becalmed, with the next breath to fleet. 
 
 All round, upon the river's slippery edge, 
 Witching to deeper calm the drowsy tide, 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER BEVERIE. bl 
 
 Whispers and leans the breeze-entangling sedge; 
 Through emerald glooms the lingering waters slide, 
 Or, sometimes wavering, throw back the sun, 
 And the stiff banks in eddies melt and run 
 Of dimpling light, and with the current seem to glide. 
 
 In Summer 'tis a blithesome sight to see, 120 
 
 As, step by step, with measured swing, they pass, 
 
 The wide-ranked mowers wading to the knee, 
 Their sharp scythes panting through the wiry grass ; 
 Then, stretched beneath a jick's shade in a ring, 
 Their nooning take, while one begins to sing 
 A stave that droops and dies 'neath the close sky of 
 brass. 
 
 XTX. 
 
 Meanwhile that devil-may-care, the bobolink, 
 Remembering duty, in mid-quaver stops 
 
 Just ere he sweeps o'er rapture's tremulous brink, 
 And 'twixt the winrows most demurely drops, 130 
 
 A decorous bird of business, who provides 
 For his brown mate and fledglings six besides. 
 And looks from right to left, a farmer mid his crops. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Another change subdues them in the Fall, 
 But saddens not; they still show merrier tints, 
 
i>S LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Though sober russet seems to cover all ; 
 When the first sunshine through their dew-drops 
 glints, 
 Look how the yellow clearness, streamed across, 
 Redeems with rarer hues the season's loss, 
 As Dawn's feet there had touched and left their rosy 
 prints. 140 
 
 Or come when sunset gives its freshened zest, 
 Lean o'er the bridge and let the ruddy thrill. 
 
 While the shorn sun swells down the hazy west, 
 Glow opposite ; — the marshes drink their fill 
 And swoon with purple veins, then slowly fade 
 Through pink to brown, as eastward moves the 
 shade, 
 Lengthening with stealthy creep, of Simond's darken- 
 ing hill. 
 
 Later, and yet ere Winter wholly shuts. 
 Ere throiigh the first dry snow the runner grates, 
 And the loath cart-wheel screams in slippery 
 ruts, 150 
 
 While firmer ice the eager boy awaits. 
 
 Trying each buckle and strap beside the fire, 
 And until bedtime plays with his desire. 
 Twenty times putting on and off his new-bought 
 skates ; — 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE. 59 
 
 Then, every morn, the river's banks shine bright 
 With smooth plate-armor, treacherous and. frail, 
 
 By the frost's clinking hammers forged at night, 
 'Gainst which the lances of the sun prevail, 
 Giving a pretty emblem of the day 
 When guiltier arms in light shall melt away, leo 
 And states shall move free-limbed, loosed from war's 
 cramping mail. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And now those waterfalls the ebbing river 
 Twice every day creates on either side 
 
 Tinkle, as through their fresh-sparred grots they 
 shiver 
 In grass-arched channels to the sun denied ; 
 
 High flaps in sparkling blue the far-heard crow, 
 The silvered flats gleam frostily below, 
 Suddenly drops the gull and breaks the glassy tide. 
 
 XXV, 
 
 But crowned in turn by vying seasons three. 
 Their winter halo hath a fuller ring ; no 
 
 This glory seems to rest immovably, — 
 The others were too fleet and vanishing ; 
 When the hid tide is at its highest flow, 
 O'er marsh and stream one breathless trance of 
 snow 
 With brooding fulness awes and hushes everything. 
 
60 LOWELL S POEMS. 
 
 The sunshine seems blown off by the bleak wind, 
 As pale as formal candles lit by day ; 
 
 Gropes to the sea the river dumb and blind; 
 The brown ricks, snow-thatched by the storm in play, 
 Show pearly breakers combing o'er their lee, iso 
 White crests as of some jvist enchanted sea. 
 Checked in their maddest leap and hanging poised mid- 
 way. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But when the eastern blow, with rain aslant, 
 From mid-sea's prairies green and rolling plains 
 
 Drives in his wallowing herds of billows gaunt, 
 And the roused Charles remembers in his veins 
 
 Old Ocean's blood and snaps his gyves of frost, 
 
 That tyrannous silence on the shores is tost 
 In dreary wreck, and crumbling desolation reigns. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Edgewise or flat, in Druid-like device, 190 
 
 With leaden pools between or gullies bare, 
 
 The blocks lie strewn, a bleak Stonehenge of ice ; 
 No life, no sound, to break the grim despair. 
 Save sullen plunge, as through the sedges stiff 
 Down crackles I'iverward some thaw-sapped cliff, 
 Or when the close-wedged fields of ice crunch here and 
 there. 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER HE V^ ERIE. 61 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But let me turn from fancy-pictured scenes 
 To that whose pastoral calm before me lies : 
 Here nothing harsh or rugged intervenes ; 
 The early evening \v'ith her misty dyes 200 
 
 Smooths off the ravelled edges of the nigh, 
 Relieves the distant with her cooler sky, 
 And tones the landscape down, and soothes the wearied 
 eyes. 
 
 There gleams my native village, dear to me, 
 Though higher change's waves each day are seen, 
 
 Whelming fields famed in boyhood's history. 
 Sanding with houses the diminished green ; 
 
 There, in red brick, which softening time defies, 
 
 Stand square and stiff the Muses' factories ; — 
 How with my life knit up is every well-known scene ! 210 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Flow on, dear river ! not alone you flow 
 To outward sight, and through your marshes wind ; 
 
 Fed from the mystic springs of long-ago, 
 Your twin flows silent throngh my world of mind : 
 
 Grow dim, dear marshes, in the evening's gray ! 
 
 Before my inner sight ye stretch away. 
 And will forever, though these fleshly eyes grow blind. 
 
62 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Beyond the hillock's house-hespotted swell, 
 Where Gothic chapels house the horse and chaise, 
 
 Where quiet cits in Grecian temples dwell, 220 
 
 Where Coptic tombs resound with prayer and praise, 
 
 Where dust and mud the equal year divide, 
 
 There gentle Allston lived, and wrought, and died, 
 Transfiguring street and shop with his illumined gaze. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 VirgiUurn vldl tantum, — I have seen 
 But as a boy, who looks alike on all. 
 
 That misty hair, that fine Undine-like mien, 
 Tremulous as down to feeling's faintest call ; — 
 
 Ah, dear old homestead ! count it to thy fame ' 
 
 That thither many times the Painter came ; — 230 
 One elm yet bears his name, a feathery tree and tall. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Swiftly the present fades in memory's glow, — 
 Our only sure possession is the past ; 
 
 The village blacksmith died a month ago, 
 And dim to me the forge's roaring blast ; 
 Soon fire-new medisevals we shall see 
 Oust the black smithy from its chestnut-tree, 
 And that hewn down, perhaps, the bee-hive green and 
 vast. 
 
AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE. G3 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 How many times, prouder than king on throne, 
 Loosed from the village school-dame's A's and B's, 240 
 
 Panting have I the creaky bellows blown, 
 And watched the pent volcano's red increase. 
 
 Then paused to see the ponderous sledge, brought 
 
 down 
 By that hard arm voluminous and brown, 
 From the white iron swarm its golden vanishing bees. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Dear native town ! whose choking elms each year 
 With eddying dust before their time turn gray, 
 
 Pining for rain, ■ — to me thy dust is dear ; 
 It glorifies the eve of summer day. 
 
 And when the westering sun half sunken burns, 200 
 The mote-thick air to deepest orange turns, 
 The westward horseman rides through clouds of gold 
 away, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 So palpable, I've seen those unshorn few. 
 The six old willows at the causey's end 
 
 (Such trees Paul Potter never dreamed nor drew). 
 Through this dry mist their checkering shadows send. 
 Striped, here and there, with many a long-drawn 
 
 thread. 
 Where streamed through leafy chinks the trembling 
 red. 
 
64 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Past ^yhich, in one bright trail, the hangbird's flashes 
 
 blend. I 
 
 xxxvrri. | 
 
 Yes, dearer far thy dust than all that e'er, 260 | 
 
 Beneath the awarded crown of victory, I 
 
 Gilded the blown Olympic charioteer ; 
 Though lightly prized the ribboned parchments three, 
 Yet collcglsse juvat, I am glad 
 That here what colleging was mine I had, — 
 It linked another tie, dear native town, with thee ! 
 
 Nearer art thou than simply native earth, 
 My dust with thine concedes a deeper tie; 
 
 A closer claim thy soil may well put forth, 
 Something of kindred more than sympathy ; 270 
 
 For in thy bounds I reverently laid away 
 
 That blinding anguish of forsaken clay. 
 That title I seemed to have in earth and sea and sky, 
 
 XL. 
 
 That portion of my life more choice to me 
 (Though brief, yet in itself so round and whole) 
 
 Than all the imperfect residue can be; — 
 The Artist saw his statue of the soul 
 
 Was perfect; so, with one regretful stroke. 
 
 The earthen model into fragments broke. 
 And v»ithout her the impoverished seasons roll. 280 
 
ISONG. 65 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Violet ! sweet violet ! 
 Thine eyes are full of tears ; 
 Are they wet 
 Even yet 
 With the thought of other years ? 
 Or with gladness are they full, 
 For the night so beautiful, 
 And longing for those far-off spheres ? 
 
 Loved one of my youth thou wast, 
 Of my merry youth, 
 And I see. 
 Tearfully, 
 All the fair and sunny past, 
 All its openness and truth. 
 Ever fresh and green in thee 
 As the moss is in the sea. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy little heant, that hath with love 
 Grown colored like the sky above, 
 On which thou lookest ever, — 
 
66 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Can it know 
 
 All the woe 
 Of hope for what returneth never, 
 All the sorrow and the longing 
 To these hearts of ours belonging ? 
 
 Out on it ! no foolish pining 
 
 For the sky 
 
 Dims thine eye, 
 Or for the stars so calmly shining ; 
 Like thee let this soul of mine 
 Take hue from that wherefor I long, 30 
 
 Self-stayed and high, serene and strong, 
 Not satisfied with hoping — but divine. 
 
 V. 
 
 Violet ! dear violet ! 
 
 Thy blue eyes are only wet 
 With joy and love of Him who sent thee, 
 And for the fulfilling sense 
 Of that glad obedience 
 Which made thee all that Nature meant thee ! 
 
TO THE DANDELION. 67 
 
 TO THE DANDELION". 
 I. 
 Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
 Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold. 
 
 First pledge of blithesome May, 
 Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, 
 
 High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 
 An Eldorado in the grass have found, 
 
 Which not the rich earth's ample round 
 May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
 Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 
 
 II. 
 Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 
 Through the primeval hush of Indian seas. 
 
 Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
 Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 
 
 'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
 To rich and poor alike, Avith lavish hand, 
 Though most hearts never understand 
 To take it at God's value, but pass by 
 The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 
 To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 
 The eyes thou givest me. 
 
08 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 
 Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
 
 Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 
 In the white lily's breezy tent, 
 His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
 From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, 
 Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 
 
 Where, as the breezes pass, 3 
 
 The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 
 Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
 Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 
 
 That from the distance sparkle through 
 Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 
 Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 
 
 My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee ; 
 The sight of thee calls back the robin's song. 
 
 Who, from the dark old tree 
 Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 40 
 
 And I, secure in childish piety, 
 Listened as if I heard an angel sing 
 
 With news from heaven, which he could bring 
 Fresh every day to my untainted ears 
 When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 
 
A CHIPPEWA LEGEND. 69 
 
 VI. 
 
 How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
 When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! 
 
 Thou teaehest me to deem 
 More sacredly of every human heart, 
 
 Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 50 
 
 Of heavenj and could some wondrous secret sho 
 Did we but pay the love we owe. 
 And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
 On all these living pages of God's book. 
 
 A CHIPPEWA LEGEND.! 
 
 a^ycii'd fj-cf /not Ka\ Aeyeti' effxtt' raSe 
 dAyos 5e aiydy. 
 
 ^SCHYLUS, Prom. Vinct. 197, 198. 
 
 I. 
 
 The old Chief, feeling now wellnigh his end. 
 Called his two eldest children to his side, 
 And gave them, in few words, his parting charge ! 
 " ]My son and daughter, me ye see no more ; 
 The happy huuting-grounds await me, green 
 With change of spring and summer through the year : 
 But, for remembrance, after I am gone, 
 Be kind to little Sheemah for my sake : 
 Weakling he is and young, and knows not yet 
 
 1 For the leading incidents in this tale, I am indebted to the very 
 valuable Algic Researches of Henry R. Schoolcraft, Esq. 
 
70 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To set the trap, or draw the seasoned bow ; 
 Therefore of both your loves he hath more need, 
 And he, who needeth love, to love hath right ; 
 It is not like our furs and stores of corn, 
 AVhereto we claim sole title by our toil, 
 But the Great Spirit plants it in our hearts, 
 And waters it, and gives it sun, to be 
 The common stock and heritage of all : 
 Therefore be kind to Sheemah, that yourselves 
 May not be left deserted in your need." 
 
 II. 
 
 Alone, beside a lake, their wigwam stood. 
 Far from the other dwellings of their tribe 
 And, after many moons, the loneliness 
 Wearied the elder brother, and he said, 
 " Why should I dwell here far from men, shut out 
 From the free, natural joys that fit my age ? 
 Lo, I am tall and strong, well skilled to hunt, 
 Patient of toil and hunger, a,nd not yet 
 Have seen the danger which I dared not look 
 Full in the face ; what hinders me to be 
 A might}'- Brave and Chief among my kin ? " 
 So, taking up his arrows and his bow, 
 As if to hunt, he journeyed swiftly on, 
 Until he gained the wigwams of his tribe, 
 Where, choosing out a bride, he soon forgot. 
 In all the fret and bustle of new life. 
 The little Sheemah and his father's charge. 
 
* A CHIPPEWA LEGEND. 71 
 
 III. 
 
 Now when the sister found her brother gone, 
 And that, for many days, he came not back. 
 She wept for Sheemah more than for herself; 
 For Love bides longest in a woman's heart, 40 
 
 And flutters many times before he flies, 
 And then doth perch so nearly, that a word 
 May lure him back to his accustomed nest ; 
 And Duty lingers even when Love is gone, 
 Oft looking out in hope of his return ; 
 And, after Duty hath been driven forth. 
 Then Selfishness creeps in the last of all, 
 Warming her lean hands at the lonely hearth, 
 And crouching o'er the embers, to shut out 
 Whatever paltry warmth and light are left, 50 
 
 With avaricious greed, from all beside. 
 So, for long months, the sister hunted wide, 
 And cared for little Sheemah tenderly ; 
 But, daily more and more, the loneliness 
 Grew wearisome, and to herself she sighed, 
 *' Am I not fair ? at least the glassy pool, 
 That hath no cause to flatter, tells me so ; 
 But, O, how flat and meaningless the tale, 
 Unless it tremble on a lover's tongue ! 
 Beauty hath no true glass, except it be co 
 
 In the sweet privacy of loving eyes." 
 Thus deemed she idly, and forgot the lore 
 Which she had learned of nature and the woods, 
 That beauty's chief reward is to itself. 
 
72 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And that Love's mirror holds no image long 
 
 Save of the inward fairness, blurred and lost 
 
 Unless kept clear and white by Duty's care. 
 
 So she went forth and sought the haunts of men, 
 
 And, being wedded, in her household cares. 
 
 Soon, like the elder brother, quite forgot 70 
 
 The little Sheemah and her father's charge. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But Sheemah, left alone within the lodge, 
 Waited and waited, with a shrinking heart. 
 Thinking each rustle was his sister's step, 
 Till hope grew less and less, and then went out, 
 And every sound was changed from hope to fear. 
 Few sounds there were : — the dropping of a nut, 
 The squirrel's chirrup, and the jay's harsh scream, 
 Autumn's sad remnants of blithe Summer's cheer, 
 Heard at long intervals, seemed but to make so 
 
 The dreadful void of silence silenter. 
 Soon what small store his sister left was gone, 
 And, through the Autumn, he made shift to live 
 On roots and berries, gathered in much fear 
 Of wolves, whose ghastly howl he heard ofttiuies, 
 Hollow and hungry, at the dead of night. 
 But Winter came at last, and, when the snow, 
 Thick-heaped for gleaming leagues o'er hill and plain. 
 Spread its unbroken silence over all. 
 Made bold by hunger, he was fain to glean go 
 
 (More sick at heart than Ruth, and all alone) 
 
A CHIPPEWA LEGEND. 73 
 
 After the harvest of the merciless wolf, 
 Grim Boaz, who, sharp-ribbed and gaunt, A-et feared 
 A thing more wild and starving than himself; 
 Till, by degrees, the wolf and he grew friends, 
 And shared together all the winter through. 
 
 V. 
 
 Late in the Spring, when all the ice was gone, 
 The elder brother, fishing in the lake. 
 Upon whose edge his father's wigwam stood, 
 Heard a low moaning noise upon the shore : lOO 
 
 Half like a child it seemed, half like a wolf. 
 And straightway there was something in his heart 
 That said, '<It is thy brother Sheemah's voice." 
 So, paddling swiftly to the bank, he saw. 
 Within a little thicket close at hand, 
 A child that seemed fast changing to a wolf, 
 From the neck downward, gray with shaggy hair, 
 That still crept on and upward as he looked. 
 The face was turned away, but well he knew 
 That it was Sheemah's, even his brother's face. no 
 
 Then with his trembling hands he hid his eyes, 
 And bowed his head, so that he might not see 
 The first look of his brother's eyes, and cried, 
 " Sheemah ! my brother, speak to me ! 
 Dost thou not know me, that I am thy brother? 
 Come to me, little Sheemah, thou shalt dwell 
 With me henceforth, and know no care or want ! " 
 Sheemah was silent for a space, as if 
 
74 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 'Twere hard to summon up a human voice, 
 And, when he spake, the voice was as a wolf's : 
 " I know thee not, nor art thou what thou say'st ; 
 I have none other brethren than the wolves, 
 And, till thy heart be changed from what it is, 
 Thou art not worthy to be called their kin." 
 Then groaned the other, with a choking tongue, 
 " Alas ! my heart is changed right bitterly ; 
 'Tis shrunk and parched within me even now ! " 
 And, looking upward fearfully, he saw 
 Only a wolf that shrank away and ran, 
 Ugly and fierce, to hide among the woods. 
 
 AMBROSE. 
 
 Never, surely, was holier man 
 
 Than Ambrose, since the world began ; 
 
 With diet spare and raiment thin 
 
 He shielded himself from the father of sin ; 
 
 With bed of iron and scourgings oft, 
 
 His heart to God's hand as wax made soft. 
 
 II. 
 
 Through earnest prayer and watchings long 
 He sought to know 'tween right and wrong. 
 
AMBROSE. 75 
 
 Much wrestling with the blessed Word 
 
 To make it jdeld the sense of the Lord, lo 
 
 That he might build a storm-proof creed 
 
 To fold the flock in at their need. 
 
 III. 
 
 At last he builded a perfect faith, 
 
 Fenced round about with The Lord finis saith; 
 
 To himself he titted the doorway's size, 
 
 Meted the light to the need of his eyes, 
 
 And knew, by a sure and inward sign. 
 
 That the work of his fingers was divine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then Ambrose said, ^' All those shall die 
 
 The eternal death who believe not as I," 20 
 
 And some were boiled, some burned in fire, 
 
 Some sawn in twain, that his heart's desire, 
 
 For the good of men's souls, might be satisfied 
 
 By the drawing of all to the righteous side. 
 
 V. 
 
 One day, as Ambrose was seeking the truth 
 
 In his lonely walk, he saw a youth 
 
 Resting himself in the shade of a tree ; 
 
 It had never been granted him to see 
 
 So shining a face, and the good man thought 
 
 'Twere pity he should not believe as he ought. 30 
 
76 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So he set himself by the 3'oung man's side, 
 And the state of his soul with questions tried ; 
 But the heart of the stranger was hardened indeed, 
 Nor received the stamp of the one true creed ; 
 And the spirit of Ambrose waxed' sore to find 
 Such features the porch of so narrow a mind. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 "As each beholds in cloud and fire 
 
 The shape that answers his own desire, 
 
 So each," said the youth, "in the Law shall find 
 
 The figure and fashion of his mind ; 4o 
 
 And to each in his mercy hath God allowed 
 
 His several pillar of fire and cloud." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The soul of Ambrose burned with zeal 
 And holy wrath for the young man's weal : 
 " Believest thou then, most wretched youth," 
 Cried he, " a dividual essence in Truth ? 
 I fear me thy heart is too cramped with sin 
 To take the Lord in his glory in." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Kow there bubbled beside them where they stood 
 A fountain of waters sweet and good ; so 
 
 The youth to the streamlet's brink drew near 
 Saying, '•' Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, look here ! " 
 
EXTREME UNCTION. 77 
 
 Six vases of crystal then he took, 
 
 And set them along the edge of the brook. 
 
 X. 
 
 " As into these vessels the water I pour, 
 
 There shall one hold less, another more. 
 
 And the water unchanged, in every case. 
 
 Shall put on the figure of the vase ; 
 
 thou, who wouldst unity make through strife. 
 
 Canst thou fit this sign to the Water of Life ? " co 
 
 XI. 
 
 When Ambrose looked up, he stood alone. 
 
 The youth and the stream and the vases were gone ; 
 
 But he knew, by a sense of humbled grace, 
 
 He had talked with an angel face to face, 
 
 And felt his heart change inwardly, 
 
 As he fell on his knees beneath the tree. 
 
 EXTREME UNCTIOK. 
 
 Go ! leave me. Priest ; my soul would be 
 Alone Avith the consoler. Death ; 
 
 Far sadder eyes than thine Avill see 
 
 This crumbling clay yield up its breath ; 
 
78 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 These shrivelled hands have deeper stains 
 
 Than holy oil can cleanse away, 
 Hands that have plucked the world's coarse gains 
 
 As erst they plucked the flowers of May. 
 
 II. 
 
 Call, if thou canst, to these gray eyes 
 
 Some faith from youth's traditions wrung ; : 
 
 This fruitless husk which dustward dries 
 
 Hath been a heart once, hath been young ; 
 On this bowed head the awful Past 
 
 Once laid its consecrating hands ; 
 The Future in its purpose vast 
 
 Paused, waiting my supreme commands. 
 
 III. 
 But look ! whose shadows block the door ? 
 
 Who are those two that stand aloof ? 
 See ! on my hands this freshening gore 
 
 Writes o'er again its crimson proof ! ; 
 
 My looked-for death-bed guests are met ; 
 
 There my dead Youth doth wring its hands, 
 And there, with eyes that goad me yet, 
 
 The ghost of my Ideal stands ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 God bends from out the deep and says, 
 " I gave thee the great gift of life ; 
 
 Wast thou not called in many ways ? 
 Are not my earth and heaven at strife ? 
 
EXTREME UNCTION. 79 
 
 I gave thee of my seed to sow, 
 
 Bringest thou me my hundred-fold ? " so 
 
 Can I look up with face aglow, 
 
 And answer, " Father, here is gold " ? 
 
 I have been innocent ; God knows 
 
 When first this wasted life began, 
 Not grape with grape more kindly grows, 
 
 Than I with every brother-man : 
 Now here I gasp; what lose my kind. 
 
 When this fast ebbing breath shall part ? 
 What bands of love and service bind 
 
 This being to a brother heart ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Christ still was wandering o'er the earth 
 
 W ithout a place to lay his head ; 
 He found free welcome at my hearth. 
 
 He shared my cup and broke my bread: 
 Now, when I hear those steps sublime, 
 
 That bring the other world to this. 
 My snake-turned nature, sunk in slime. 
 
 Starts sideway with defiant hiss. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Upon the hour when I was born, 
 God said, "Another man shall be," 
 
 And the great Maker did not scorn 
 Out of himself to fashion me : 
 
80 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 He sunned me with his ripening looks, 
 And Heaven's rich instincts in me grew, 
 
 As effortless as woodland nooks 
 
 Send violets up and paint them blue. 
 
 VII 1. 
 
 Yes, I who now, witli angry tears, 
 
 Am exiled back to brutish clod, 
 Have borne uiiquenched for fourscore years 
 
 A spark of the eternal God ; 
 And to what end ? How yield I back 
 
 The trust for such high uses given ? 
 Heaven's light hath but revealed a track 
 
 Whereby to crawl away from heaven. 
 
 IX. • 
 
 Men think it is an awful sight 
 
 To see a soul just set adrift 
 On that drear voyage from whose night 
 
 The ominous shadows never lift; 
 But 'tis more awful to behold 
 
 A helpless infant newly born, 
 Whose little hands unconscious hold 
 
 The keys of darkness and of morn. 
 
 X. 
 
 Mine held them once ; I flung away 
 Those keys that might have open set 
 
 The golden sluices of the day, 
 
 liut clutch the keys of darkness yet ; 
 
A PAH ABLE. 81 
 
 I hear the reapers singing go 
 
 Into God's liarvest ; I, that might 
 With them have chosen, here below 
 
 Grope shuddering at the gates of night. so 
 
 XI. 
 
 O glorious Youth, that once wast mine ! 
 
 high Ideal ! all in vain 
 Ye enter at this ruined shrine 
 
 Whence worship ne'er shall rise again ; 
 The bat and owl inhabit here, 
 
 The snake nests in the altar-stone, 
 The sacred vessels moulder near, 
 
 The image of the God is gone. 
 
 A PAKABLE. 
 J. 
 Said Christ our Lord, " I will go and see 
 How the men, my brethren, believe in me." 
 He passed not again through the gate of birth, 
 But made himself known to the children of earth. 
 
 11. 
 
 Then said the chief priests, and rulers, and kings, 
 " Behold, now, the Giver of all good things ; 
 Go to, let us welcome with pomp and state 
 Him v/ho alone is mighty and great." 
 
82 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 With carpets of gold the ground they spread 
 
 Wherever the Son of Man should tread, 
 
 And in palace-chambers lofty and rare 
 
 They lodged him, and served him with kingly fare. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Great organs surged through arches dim 
 Their jubilant floods in })raise of him ; 
 And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall, 
 He saw his own image high over all. 
 
 V. 
 
 But still, wherever his steps they led. 
 The Lord in sorrow bent down his head. 
 And from under the heavy foundation-stones, 
 The son of Mary heard bitter groans. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And in church, and palace, and judgment-hall, 
 He marked great fissures that rent the wall. 
 And opened wider and yet more wide 
 As the living foundation heaved and sighed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then, 
 On the bodies and souls of living men ? 
 And think ye that building shall endure, 
 Which shelters the noble and crushes the poor ? 
 
A PAR ABLE. 83 
 
 VIII. 
 
 *' With gates of silver and bars of gold 
 
 Ye have fenced my sheep from their Father's fold ; 30 
 
 I have heard the dropping of their tears 
 
 In heaven these eighteen hundred years." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Lord and Master, not ours the guilt, 
 We build but as our fathers built ; 
 Behold thine images, how they stand, 
 Sovereign and sole, through all our land. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Our task is hard, — with sword and flame 
 
 To hold thine earth forever the same, 
 
 And with sharp crooks of steel to keep 
 
 Still, as thou leftest them, thy sheep." 4o 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then Christ sought out an artisan, 
 A low-browed, stunted, haggard man, 
 And a motherless girl, whose lingers thin 
 Pushed from her faintly want and sin. 
 
 XII. 
 
 These set he in the midst of them. 
 And as they drew back their garment-hem, 
 For fear of defilement, " Lo, here," said he, 
 " The images ye have made of me ! " 
 
84 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 TO A. C. L. 
 
 Through suffering and sorrow thou hast passed 
 
 To show us what a woman true may be : 
 
 They have not taken sympathy from thee, 
 
 Nor made thee any other than thou wast, 
 
 Save as some tree, which, in a sudden blast, 
 
 Sheddeth those blossoms, that are weakly grown, 
 
 Upon the air, but keepeth every one 
 
 Whose strength gives warrant of good fruit at last: 
 
 So thou hast shed some blooms of gayety, 
 
 But never one of steadfast cheerfulness ; 
 
 Nor hath thy knowledge of adversity 
 
 Robbed thee of any faith in happiness. 
 
 But rather cleared thine inner eyes to see 
 
 How many simple ways there are to bless. 
 
 1840. 
 
 II. 
 
 What were I, Love, if I were stripped of thee, 
 If thine eyes shut me out whereby I live. 
 Thou, who unto my calmer soul dost give 
 Knowledge, and Truth, and holy Mystery, 
 AVherein Truth mainly lies for those who see 
 Beyond the earthly and the fugitive, 
 V\\\o in the grandeur of the soul believe,. 
 
SONNETS. 85 
 
 And only in the Infinite are free ? 
 Without thee I were naked, bleak, and bare 
 As yon dead cedar on the sea-clitt's brow ; 
 And Nature's teachings, which come to nie now, 
 Common and beautiful as light and air, 
 AVould be as fruitless as a stream which still 
 Slips through the wheel of some old ruined mill. 
 
 1841. 
 
 III. 
 
 I WOULD not have this perfect love of ours 
 
 Grow from a single root, a single stem, so 
 
 Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers 
 
 That idly hide life's iron diadem : 
 
 It should grow alway like that Eastern tree 
 
 Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly ; 
 
 That love for one, from which there doth not spring 
 
 Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing. 
 
 Not ill another world, as poets prate, 
 
 Dwell we apart above the tide of things, 
 
 High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings ; 
 
 But our pure love doth ever elevate 40 
 
 Into a holy bond of brotherhood 
 
 All earthly things, making them pure and good. 
 
 1840. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " For this true nobleness I seek in vain, 
 In woman and in man I find it not ; 
 I almost weary of my earthly lot, 
 
86 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 My life-springs are dried up with burning pain." 
 Thou iind'st it not ? I pray thee look again, 
 Look inivard through the depths of thine own soul. 
 How is it with thee ? Art thou sound and whole ? 
 Doth narrow search show thee no earthly stain ? 
 Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 
 In other men, sleeping, but never dead, 
 Will rise in majesty to meet thine own ; 
 Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, 
 Then will pure light around thy path be shed, 
 And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone. 
 
 1840. 
 
 TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS. 
 
 Great soul, thou sittest with me in my room. 
 
 Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes. 
 
 On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies 
 
 The twilight warmth of ruddy ember-gloom : co 
 
 Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom 
 
 Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries. 
 
 Wrestling with the young poet's agonies, 
 
 Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom : 
 
 Yes ! the few words which, like great thunder-drops, 
 
 Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfLdly, 
 
 Thrilled by the inward lightning of its might. 
 
 Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light. 
 
 Shall track the eternal chords of Destiny, 
 
 After the moon-led pulse of ocean stops. 70 
 
SONNETS. 87 
 
 Great Truths are portions of the soul of man ; 
 
 Great souls are portions of Eternity ; 
 
 Each drop of blood that e'er through true heart rau 
 
 AVith lofty message, ran for thee and me ; 
 
 For God's law, since the starry song began, 
 
 Hath been, and still forevermore must be, 
 
 That every deed which shall outlast Time's span 
 
 Must spur the soul to be erect and free ; 
 
 Slave is no word of deathless lineage sprung ; 
 
 Too many noble souls have thought and died, so 
 
 Too many mighty poets lived and sung. 
 
 And our good Saxon, from lips purified 
 
 With martyr-fire, throughout the world hath run 
 
 Too long to have God's holy cause denied. 
 
 1841. 
 
 I ASK not for those thoughts, that sudden leap 
 
 From being's sea, like the isle-seeming Kraken, 
 
 With whose great rise the ocean all is shaken 
 
 And a heart-tremble quivers through the deep ; 
 
 Give me that growth which some perchance deem sleep, 
 
 Wherewith the steadfast coral-stems uprise, 90 
 
 Which, by the toil of gathering energies. 
 
 Their upward way into clear sunshine keep, 
 
 Until, by Heaven's sweetest influences. 
 
 Slowly and slowly spreads a speck of green 
 
 Into a pleasant island in the seas. 
 
88 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Where, mid tall palms, the cane-roofed home is seen, 
 And wearied men shall sit at sunset's hour, 
 Hearing the leaves and loving God's dear power. 
 
 1841. 
 
 VIII. 
 TO M. W. ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Maidex, when such a soul as thine is born, 
 
 The morning-stars their ancient music make loo 
 
 And, joyful, once again their song awake. 
 
 Long silent now with melancholy scorn ; 
 
 And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn, 
 
 By no least deed its harmony shalt break, 
 
 But shalt to that high chime thy footsteps take, 
 
 Through life's most darksome passes unforlorn ; 
 
 Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall, 
 
 Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free, 
 
 And in thine every motion musical 
 
 As summer air, majestic as the sea, no 
 
 A mystery to those who creep and crawl 
 
 Through Time, and part it from Eternity. 
 
 1S41. 
 
 IX. 
 
 My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die ; 
 
 Albeit I ask no fairer life than this 
 
 AVhose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss, 
 
 While Time and Peace with hands enlocked fly, — • 
 
 Yet care I not where in Eternity 
 
 We live and love, well knowing that there is 
 
SONNETS. 89 
 
 No backward step for those who feel the bliss 
 
 Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high : 120 
 
 Love hath so purified my being's core, 
 
 Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even. 
 
 To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before ; 
 
 Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given, 
 
 Which each calm day doth strengthen more and more, 
 
 That they who love are but one step from Heaven. 
 
 1841. 
 
 X. 
 
 I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away, 
 
 Whose life to mine is an eternal law, 
 
 A piece of nature that can have no flaw, 
 
 A new and certain sunrise every day ; 130 
 
 But, if thou art to be another ray 
 
 About the Sun of Life, and art to live 
 
 Free from what part of thee was fugitive. 
 
 The debt of Love I will more fully pay. 
 
 Not downcast with the thought of thee so high, 
 
 But rather raised to be a nobler man, 
 
 And more divine in my humanity, 
 
 As knowing that the waiting eyes which scan 
 
 My life are lighted by a purer being, 
 
 And ask high, calm-browed deeds, with it agreeing. i4o 
 
 1841. 
 
 XI. 
 
 There never yet was flower fair in vain, 
 Let classic poets rhyme it as they will ; 
 The seasons toil that it may blow again, 
 
90 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And summer's heart doth feel its every ill ; 
 
 Nor is a true soul ever born for naught ; 
 
 Wherever any such hath lived and died, 
 
 There hath been something for true freedom wrought, 
 
 Some bulwark levelled on the evil side: 
 
 Toil on, then, Greatness ! thou art in the right. 
 
 However narrow souls may call thee wrong; i 
 
 Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clecj sight. 
 
 And so thou shalt be in the world's erelong; 
 
 For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may. 
 
 From man's great soul one great thought hide away. 
 
 1841. 
 
 XII. 
 
 SUB PONDERE CRESCIT. 
 
 The hope of Truth grows stronger, day by day ; 
 
 I hear the soul of Man around me waking, 
 
 Like a great sea, its frozen fetters breaking. 
 
 And flinging up to heaven its sunlit spray. 
 
 Tossing huge continents in scornful play, 
 
 And crushing them, with din of grinding thunder, i 
 
 That makes old emptinesses stare in wonder ; 
 
 The memory of a glory passed away 
 
 Lingers in every heart, as, in the shell, 
 
 Resounds the bygone freedom of the sea, 
 
 And every hour new signs of promise tell. 
 
 That the great soul shall once again be free, 
 
 For high, and yet more high, the murmurs swell 
 
 Of inward strife for truth and liberty. 
 
 1841. 
 
SONNETS. 91 
 
 xin. 
 
 Beloved, in the noisy city here, 
 
 The thought of thee can make all turmoil cease ; ito 
 
 Around my spirit, folds thy spirit clear 
 
 Its still, soft arms, and circles it with peace ; 
 
 There is no room for any doubt or fear 
 
 In souls so overfilled with love's increase, 
 
 There is no memory of the bygone year 
 
 But growth in heart's and spirit's perfect ease : 
 
 How hath our love, half nebulous at first, 
 
 Rounded itself into a full-orbed sun I 
 
 How have our lives and wills (as haply erst 
 
 They were, ere this forgetfiilness begun) iso 
 
 Through all their earthly distances outburst, 
 
 And melted, like two rays of light, in one ! 
 
 1842. 
 
 ON READING WOKDSWOKTn's SOXNETS IN DEFENCE OF 
 CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 
 
 As the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth, 
 
 \\'ith the majestic beating of his heart, 
 
 The mighty tides, whereof its rightful part 
 
 Each sea-wide bay and little weed reeeiveth. 
 
 So, through his soul w^ho earnestly believeth. 
 
 Life from the universal Heart doth flow. 
 
 Whereby some conquest of the eternal Woe, 
 
 B)y instinct of God's nature, he achieveth : iso 
 
 A fuller pulse of this all-powerful beauty 
 
92 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Into the poet's g-ulf-like heart doth tide, 
 And he more keenly feels the glorious duty 
 Of serving Truth, despised and crucified, — 
 Happy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest 
 And feel God flow forever through liis breast. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE SAME CONTINUED. 
 
 Once hardly in a cycle blossom eth 
 
 A flower-like soul ripe with' the seeds of song, 
 
 A spirit foreordained to cope with wrong. 
 
 Whose divine thoughts are natural as breath, 200 
 
 Who the old Darkness thickly scattereth 
 
 With starry words, that shoot prevailing light 
 
 Into the deeps, and wither, with the blight 
 
 Of serene Truth, the coward heart of Death : 
 
 Woe, if such spirit thwart its eri'and high, 
 
 And mock with lies the longing soul of man ! 
 
 Yet one age longer must true Culture lie, 
 
 Soothing her bitter fetters as she can, 
 
 Until new messages of love outstart 
 
 At the next beating of the infinite Heart. 210 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE SAME CONTINCED. 
 
 The love of all things springs from love of one ; 
 Wider the soul's horizon hourly grows, 
 And over it with fuller glory flows 
 
SONXE'IS. 93 
 
 The sky-like spirit of God ; a liope begun 
 
 In doubt and darkness 'neatli a fairer sun 
 
 Cometh to fruitage, if it be of Truth ; 
 
 And to the law of meekness, faith, and ruth, 
 
 By inward sympathy, shall all be won : 
 
 This thou shouldst know, who, from the painted feature 
 
 Of shifting Fashion, couldst thy brethren turn 220 
 
 Unto the love of ever-youthful Nature, 
 
 And of a beauty fadeless and eterne ; 
 
 And always 'tis the saddest sight to see 
 
 An old man faithless in Humanity. 
 
 TUE SAME CONTINUED. 
 
 A POET cannot strive for despotism ; 
 
 His harp falls shattered ; for it still must be 
 
 The instinct of great spirits to be free, 
 
 And the sworn foes of cunning barbarism : 
 
 He who has deepest searched the wide abysm 
 
 Of that life-giving Soul which men call fate, 
 
 Knows that to put more faith in lies and hate 
 
 Than truth and love is the true atheism : 
 
 Upward the soul forever turns her eyes : 
 
 The next hour always shames the hour before* 
 
 (_)ne beauty, at its highest, prophesies 
 
 That by whose side it shall seem mean and poor 
 
 No Godlike thing knows aught of less and less, 
 
 But widens to the boundless Perfectness. 
 
94 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE SAME CONTJXUED. 
 
 Theuefoke think not the Past is wise alone. 
 
 For Yesterday knows nothing of the Best, 240 
 
 And thou shalt love it only as the nest 
 
 Whence glory-winged things to Heaven have flown : 
 
 To the great Soul only are all things known ; 
 
 Present and future are to her as past, 
 
 While she in glorious madness doth forecast 
 
 That perfect bud, which seems a flower full-blown 
 
 To each new Prophet, and yet alwaj^s opes 
 
 Fuller and fuller with each day and houi', 
 
 Heartening the soul with odor of fresh hopes, 
 
 And longings high, and gushings of wide power, 250 
 
 Yet never is or shall be fully blown 
 
 Save in the forethought of the Eternal One. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 TUE SAME CONCLUDED. 
 
 Far 'yond this narrow parapet of Time. 
 
 With eyes uplift, the poet's soul should look 
 
 Into the Endless Promise, nor should brook 
 
 One prying doubt to shake his faith sublime ; 
 
 To him the earth is ever in her prime 
 
 And dewiness of morning; he can see 
 
 Good lying hid, from all eternity, 
 
 Within the teeming womb of sin and crime ; 2G0 
 
 His soul should not be cramped by any bar, 
 
His nobleness should be so Godlike high, 
 That his least deed is perfect as a star, 
 His common look majestic as the sky, 
 And all o'erflooded with a light from far, 
 Undimmed by clouds of weak mortality. 
 
 XX. 
 
 TO M. O. S. 
 
 Marv, since first I knew thee, to this hour. 
 
 My love hath deepened, with my wiser sense 
 
 Of what in Woman is to reverence ; 
 
 Thy clear heart, fresh as e'er was forest-flower, 270 
 
 Still opens more to me its beauteous dower; — 
 
 But let praise hush, — Love asks no evidence 
 
 To prove itself well-placed ; we know not whence 
 
 It gleans the straws that thatch its humble bower : 
 
 We can but say we found it in the heart. 
 
 Spring of all sweetest thoughts, arch foe of blame, 
 
 Sower of flowers in the dusty mart, 
 
 Pure vestal of the poet's holy flame, — 
 
 This is enough, and w^e have done our part 
 
 If we but keep it spotless as it came. aso 
 
 1842. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Our love is not a fading, earthly flower : 
 Its winged seed dropped down from Paradise, 
 And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower, 
 Doth momently to fresher beauty rise : 
 
96 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To us the leafless autumn is not bare, 
 
 Nor winter's rattling boughs lack lusty green. 
 
 Our summer hearts make summer's fulness, where 
 
 No leaf, or bud, or blossom may be seen : 
 
 For nature's life in love's deep life doth lie, 
 
 Love, — whose forgetfulness is beauty's death, 200 
 
 Whose mystic key these cells of Thou and I 
 
 Into the infinite freedom openeth. 
 
 And makes the body's dark and narrow grate 
 
 The wide-flung leaves of Heaven's own palace-gate. 
 
 1842. 
 
 xxir. 
 
 IN ABSENCE. 
 
 These rugged, wintry days I scarce could bear. 
 
 Did ] not know, that, in the early spring. 
 
 When wild March winds upon their errands sing. 
 
 Thou wouldst return, bursting on this still air. 
 
 Like those same Avinds, when, startled from their lair, 
 
 They hunt up violets, and free swift brooks 300 
 
 From icy cares, even as thy clear looks 
 
 Bid my heart bloom, and sing, and break all care : 
 
 When drops with welcome rain the April day. 
 
 My flowers shall find their April in thine eyes. 
 
 Save there the rain in dreamy clouds doth stay, 
 
 As loath to fall out of those happy skies ; 
 
 Yet sure, my love, thou art most like to May, 
 
 That comes with steady sun when April dies. 
 
 1843. 
 
SONNETS. yi 
 
 WENDr':LI, PIIILIJPS. 
 
 He stood upon the world's broad threshold ; wide 
 
 The din of battle and of slaughter rose ; 
 
 He saw God stand upon the weaker side, 
 
 That sank in seeming loss before its foes : 
 
 Many there were who made great haste and sold 
 
 Unto the cunning enemy their swords, 
 
 He scorned their gifts of fame, and power, and gold, 
 
 And, underneath their soft and flowery words, 
 
 Heard the cold serpent hiss ; therefore he went 
 
 And humldy joined him to the weaker part. 
 
 Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content 
 
 So he could be the nearer to God's heart, 
 
 And feel its solemn pulses sending blood 
 
 Through all the wide-spread veins of endless good. 
 
 THE STREET. 
 
 They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds. 
 
 Dim ghosts of men, that hover to and fro, 
 
 Hugging their bodies round them like thin shrouds 
 
 Wherein their souls were buried long ago : 
 
 They trampled on their youth, and faith, and love, 
 
 They cast their hope of human-kind away. 
 
 With Heaven's clear messages they madly strove. 
 
 And conquered, — and their spirits turned to clay : 
 
 Lo ! how they wander round the world, their grave. 
 
98 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Whose ever-gaping maw by such is fed, 
 Gibbering at living men, and idly rave, 
 " We, only, truly live, but ye are dead." 
 Alas ! poor fools, the anointed eye may trace 
 A dead soul's epitaph in every face ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I GRIEVE not that ripe Knowledge takes away 
 
 The charm that Nature to my childhood wore, 
 
 For, with that insight, cometh, day by day, 
 
 A greater bliss than wonder was before ; 340 
 
 The real doth not clip the poet's wings, — - 
 
 To win the secret of a weed's plain heai-t 
 
 Reveals some clew to spiritual things, 
 
 And stumbling guess becomes firm-footed art : 
 
 Flowers are not flowers unto the poet's e3'es, 
 
 Their beauty thrills him by an inward sense ; 
 
 He knows that outAvard seemings are bat lies. 
 
 Or, at the most, but earthly shadows, a\ hence 
 
 The soul that looks within for truth may guess 
 
 The presence of some wondrous heavenliness. 350 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 TO J. i;. filDDINGS. 
 
 GiDDiNGS, far rougher names than thine have grown 
 Smoother than honey on the lips of men ; 
 And thou shalt aye be honorably known. 
 As one who bravely used his tongue and pen, 
 As best befits a freeman, — even for those 
 
SONNETS. 99 
 
 To whom our Law's unblushing front denies 
 
 A right to plead against the lifelong woes 
 
 Which are the ISTegro's glimpse of Freedom's skies : 
 
 Fear nothing, and hope all things, as the Right 
 
 Alone may do securely ; every hour sco 
 
 The thrones of Ignorance and ancient Night 
 
 Lose somewhat of their long usurped power, 
 
 And Freedom's lightest word can make them shiver 
 
 AVith a base dread that clings to them forever. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I THOUGHT our lovc at full, but I did err ; 
 
 Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes ; I could not see 
 
 That sorrow in our happy world must be 
 
 Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter: 
 
 But, as a mother feels her child first stir 
 
 Under her heart, so felt I instantly 370 
 
 Deep in my soul another bond to thee 
 
 Thrill with that life we saAV depart from her ; 
 
 O mother of our angel child ! twice dear ! 
 
 Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, 
 
 Her tender radiance shall infold us here, 
 
 Even as the light, borne up by inward bliss, 
 
 Threads the void glooms of space without a fear, 
 
 To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss. 
 
 l'envoi. 
 Whether my neart hath wiser grown or not, 
 In these three years, since I to thee inscribed, sso 
 
100 LOWELL\s POEMS. 
 
 Mine own betrothed, the firstlings of my muse, — 
 
 Poor windfalls of unripe experience, 
 
 Young buds plucked hastily by childish hands 
 
 Not patient to await more full-blown flowers, — 
 
 At least it hath seen more of life and men, 
 
 And pondered more, and grown a shade more sad ; 
 
 Yet Avith no loss of hope or settled trust 
 
 In the benignness of that Providence 
 
 Which shapes from out our elements awry 
 
 The grace and order that we wonder at, 390 
 
 The mystic harmony of right and wrong, 
 
 Both working out His wisdom and our good : 
 
 A trust, Beloved, chiefly learned of thee, 
 
 Who hast that gift of patient tenderness. 
 
 The instinctive wisdom of a woman's heart. 
 
 They tell us that our land was made for song, 
 
 With its huge rivers and sky-piercing peaks, 
 
 Its sealike lakes and mighty cataracts. 
 
 Its forests vast and hoar, and prairies wide, 
 
 And mounds that tell of wondrous tribes extinct. 4oo 
 
 Ikit Poesy springs not from rocks and woods ; 
 
 Her womb and cradle are the human heart, 
 
 xind she can find a nobler theme for song 
 
 In the most loathsome man that blasts the sight 
 
 Than in the broad expanse of sea and shore 
 
 Between the frozen deserts of the poles. 
 
 All nations have their message from on high, 
 
 Each the messiah of some central thought. 
 
 For the fulfilment and delight of Man : 
 
SONXETS. 101 
 
 One has to teach that labor is divine ; 4iu 
 
 Another Freedom ; and another Mind ; 
 And all, that God is open-eyed and just, 
 The happy centre and calm heart of all. 
 
 Are, then, our woods, our mountains, and our streams, 
 Needful to teach our poets how to sing ? 
 maiden rare, far other thoughts were ours. 
 When we have sat by ocean's foaming marge. 
 And watched the waves leap roaring on the rocks, 
 Than young Leander and his Hero had. 
 Gazing from Sestos to the other shore. 420 
 
 The moon looks down and ocean worships her. 
 Stars rise and set, and seasons come and go 
 Even as they did in Homer's elder time, 
 But we behold them not with Grecian eyes : 
 Then they were types of beauty and of strength, 
 But now of freedom, unconfined and pure, 
 Subject alone to Order's higher law. 
 What cares the Russian serf or Southern slave 
 Though we should speak as man spake never yet 
 Of gleaming Hudson's broad magnificence, 430 
 
 Or green Niagara's never-ending roar? 
 Our country hath a gospel of her own 
 To preach and practise before all the world, — 
 The freedom and divinity of man. 
 The glorious claims of human brotherhood, — 
 Which to pay nobly, as a freeman should. 
 Gains the sole wealth that will not fly away, — • 
 
102 LOWELL- S POEMS. 
 
 And the soul's fealty to none but God. 
 
 These are realities, which make the shov/s 
 
 Of outward Nature, be they ne'er so grand, 
 
 Seem small, and worthless, and contemptible. 
 
 These are the mountain-summits for our bards, 
 
 Which stretch far njDward into heaven itself, 
 
 And give such wide-spread and exulting view 
 
 Of hoiie, and faith, and onward destiny, 
 
 That shrunk Parnassus to a molehill dwindles. 
 
 Our new Atlantis, like a morning-star. 
 
 Silvers the mirk face of slow-yielding Night, 
 
 The herald of a fuller truth than yet 
 
 Hath gleamed upon the upraised face of Man 
 
 Since the earth, glittered in her stainless prime, — 
 
 Of a more glorious sunrise than of old 
 
 Drew wondrous melodies from Memnon huge. 
 
 Yea, draws them still, though now he sit waist-deep 
 
 In the ingulfing flood of whirling sand. 
 
 And look across the wastes of endless gray, 
 
 Sole wreck, where once his hundred-gated Thebes 
 
 Pained with her might}' hum the calm, blue heaven ; 
 
 Shall the dull stone pay grateful orisons, 
 
 And Ave till noonday bar the splendor out, 
 
 Lest it reproach and chide our sluggard hearts, 
 
 Warm-nestled in the down of Prejudice, 
 
 And be content, though clad with angel-wings. 
 
 Close-clipped, to hop about from perch to perch. 
 
 In paltry cages of dead men's dead thoughts ? 
 
 O, rather, like the skylark, soar and sing, 
 
SONNETS. 103 
 
 And let our gushing songs befit the dawn 
 
 And sunrise, and the yet unsliaken dew 
 
 Brinmiing the chalice of each full-blown hope, 
 
 Whose blithe front turns to greet the growing day ! 470 
 
 Never had poets such high call before, 
 
 Never can poets hope for higher one. 
 
 And, if they be but faithful to their trust. 
 
 Earth will remember them Avith love and joy 
 
 And 0, far better, God will not forget. 
 
 For he who settles Freedom's principles, 
 
 Writes the death-warrant of all tyranny; 
 
 AVho speaks the truth ^tabs Falsehood to the heart. 
 
 And his mere word makes despots tremble more 
 
 Than ever Brutus with his dagger could. 4so 
 
 Wait for no hints from waterfalls or woods, 
 
 Nor dream that tales of red men, brute and fierce, 
 
 Repay the finding of this W^estern AVorld, 
 
 Or needed half the globe to give them birth : 
 
 Spirit supreme of Freedom ! not for this 
 
 Did great Columbus tame his eagle soul 
 
 To jostle with the daws that perch in courts ; 
 
 Not for this, friendless, on an unknown sea, 
 
 Coping with mad waves and more mutinous spirits. 
 
 Battled he with the dreadful ache at heart 400 
 
 Which tempts, with devilish subtleties of doubt, 
 
 The hermit of that loneliest solitude. 
 
 The silent desert of a great Ne\y Thought ; 
 
 Though loud Niagara were to-day struck dumb, 
 
 Yet would this cataract of boilinar life 
 
104 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Rush plunging on and on to endless deeps, 
 And utter thunder till the world shall cease, — 
 A thunder worthy of the poet's song, 
 And which alone can fill it with true life. 
 The high evangel to our country granted 
 Could make apostles, yea, with tongues of fire, 
 Of hearts half-darkened back again to clay ! 
 'Tis the soul only that is national, 
 And he who pays true loyalty to that 
 Alone can claim the wreath of patriotism. 
 
 Beloved ! if I wander far and oft 
 From that which I. believe, and feel, and know, 
 Thou wilt forgive, not with a sorrowing heart. 
 But with a strengthened hope of better things ; 
 Knowing that I, though often blind and false 
 To those I love, and 0, more false than all 
 Unto myself, have been most true to thee. 
 And that whoso in one thing hath been true 
 Can be as true in all. Therefore thy hope 
 INIay yet not prove unfruitful, and thy love 
 Meet, day by day, with less unworthy thanks, 
 "Whether, as now, we journey hand in hand, 
 Or, parted in the body, yet are one 
 In spirit and the love of holy things. 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS. 
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 
 
 PRELUDE TO PART I. 
 
 Stanza I. In what frame is the organist's mind as he begins the 
 melody? 
 
 Compare tlie fourtli line with the first line of stanza i. of Brown- 
 ing's " Abt Vogler." 
 
 What serves to render the musician's theme more distinct tiuJ 
 clear? 
 
 Explain the metajjhor in the seventh and eighth lines. 
 
 Questions to be noted after studying the Poem. 
 
 "What connection has the first stanza with the rest of the poem? 
 
 Would the conclusion that Lowell had no conception of his theme 
 and its development when he began to write be necessarily correct? 
 Give reasons. 
 
 Might this stanza be termed a metaphor, in which the organist 
 stands for the poet, the instrument for the mechanical part of the 
 poetry, and the theme of the music for the theme of the poem? 
 
 Is this revery as an introduction better suited to the subject and 
 its handling tlian an abrupt one would be? Why? 
 
 Why is this " musical " figure particularly apt? 
 
 Stanza II. Compare the first two lines with the ninth line of 
 stanza ;. of Wordsworth's " Intimations of Immortality ": — 
 
 " Heaven lies about us in our infancy." 
 
 Could any other word be substituted for "splendors" in the 
 second line and give the thought as well? 
 
 Explain the figure in the fourth lino: " We Sinais climb." 
 
 1C5 
 
lOG LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 It was upon Mount Sinai that God talked with Moses and giive 
 the Ten Command ments and the Law. The Israelites were in the 
 third month of their journey out of Ef^ypt. Mount Sinai is in the 
 northwestern part of Arabia. (Exodus xix. and xx.) 
 
 What clause in the third line explains why " we know it not"? 
 
 Upon what condition does the acquirement of truth by the mind 
 rest? (Cf. St. John vii. 17.) 
 
 Stanza III. What figures are to be found in this stanza? 
 
 From what have our lives "fallen"? To what are our lives 
 "traitor" ? 
 
 Druidism was the religion of the ancient Celts. The priests, the 
 Druids, dwelt in the woods, and there offered their sacrifices, inter- 
 preted to the people the divine will, and exercised over them the 
 authority of judges, prophets, and teachers. 
 
 Compare the second, third, seventh, and eighth lines for similarity 
 of thought with the seventh and eighth lines of stanza iii. of the 
 " Intimations of Immortality " : — 
 
 "The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, 
 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong." 
 
 Why does Lowell represent the "druid wood" as uttering the 
 benedicite, rather than the winds, or the sea? 
 
 With what are the weakness and selfishness of man contrasted? 
 
 Stanza IV. What two thoughts are opposed to each other in 
 this stanza? 
 
 What is the nature of the things which earth "sells" us? 
 
 In what coin do we pay? 
 
 What line suggests the satisfaction we receive from these bar- 
 gains? 
 
 Explain the figures in the seventh and eighth lines. 
 
 What is the nature of the things which God gives us? 
 
 Stanz.i V. What makes the beauty of this stanza? 
 
 Explain tho figure in the third and fourth lines, and jioiiit out its 
 significance. 
 
 To the poet's mind, what natural relation exists between earth 
 and heaven? What line suggests the answer? 
 
 Why is the buttercup, rather than the clover, or violet, spoken of 
 as " catching the sun in its chalice " ? 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS. 107 
 
 "What figure, in the description of the bird, adds to the effect of 
 the summer grace and lightsomeness of the picture? 
 
 Is the use of the word "deluge," in the twentietli line, a happy 
 one artistically? Give reasons for your answer. 
 
 Why have we the expression ''dumb breast " in the twenty-second 
 line? 
 
 What instinct urges her to sing? 
 
 In what sense is the word " nice " used in the twenty-fourth line? 
 
 Stanza VI. What figure is used in the first four lines? How is 
 the sense of largeness imparted by the source of the figure? 
 
 Does the figurative mode of expression used from the thirteenth to 
 the eighteenth lines add to, or detract from, the beauty of the thought ? 
 W^hy? 
 
 Where before has the breeze been spoken of as bearing messages? 
 
 Explain the figure in the twenty-second line. 
 
 Note that in stanzas v. and vi., Lowell, even as Wordsworth, con- 
 ceives of Nature as having a thoughtful, conscious life; — 
 
 " Every clod feels a stir of might. 
 And, groping blindly above it for light, 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." 
 
 " The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
 
 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. 
 And lets his illumined being o'errun 
 
 "With the deluge of summer it receives; 
 His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
 And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest." 
 
 " The breeze conies whispering in our ear. 
 That the robin is plastering his house hard by." 
 
 Stanza VII. In Lowell's mind, what feeling exists between Man 
 and Nature? What influence has the latter upon him? Let the 
 student find instances in the poem thus far, illustrating this thought. 
 
 Explain the figure in the eighth line. 
 
 Why is the work wrought by sin and sorrow aptly likened to the 
 rifts of the volcanic crater? 
 
 What lines express the purpose of the Prelude, and somewhat 
 suggest the story which is to follow? 
 
108 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Stanza I. The Holy Grail. The cnp of emerald from which 
 Christ drank at the last supper. Joseph of Arimathea caught in it 
 some of the blood of Christ at the crucifixion. According to the 
 earliest legend, " Le Petit Saint-Graal," the cup was taken to the 
 "West hy the brother-in-law of Joseph of Arimathea; a later one, 
 "Le Grand-Saint-Graal," relates that Joseph himself took it to 
 England. The Celtic stories connected with King Arthur became 
 blended with those of the Grail. A search for the Grail was insti- 
 tuted among the Knights of the Round Table. Only he whose life 
 was pure and stainless might hope to see the blessed cup. To 
 Galahad was the vision granted. 
 
 Compare the preparations made for the search by Sir Launfal 
 with those made by Percivale's sister, and Sir Galahad, in Tenny- 
 son's " Holy Grail : " stanza viii., lines nine and ten ; stanza ix., lines 
 thirteen and fourteen; and stanza xv., line thirteen. 
 
 Why is the figure in the twelfth line most fitting? 
 
 When before has the divine Voice come to men in cloud and 
 dream? (Judges vii. 13; Daniel ii. and iv. ; Joel ii. 28; St, Matthew 
 ii. 12, 13. St. Matthew xvii. 5.) 
 
 Stanza II. What line decides one that here is described a mid- 
 summer morning ? 
 
 Why does not the castle add to the picture of summer fulness and 
 joy? 
 
 What figure is there within the simile of the sixth and seventh 
 lines expressed by the words, " outpost of winter"? 
 
 (The castle, symbolic of feudal times, when sharp lines marked 
 the divisions of society, and chilled the feeling of the brotherhood of 
 man, even as in winter Nature is cold and unresponsive, — stands as 
 an outpost of whatever remains that would separate man from his 
 neighbor; observing with jealous glance the enemy which it sees in 
 the tendency to break down caste, figured in the lavish generosity, 
 and blending of the summer life.) 
 
 Why has the poet used the ancient mode of spelling in " coun- 
 tree"? 
 
 What are the " pavilions " of summerreferred to in the fourteenth 
 line? 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS. 109 
 
 What common occurrence has the poet noticed in the last line? 
 Stanza III. By wliat poetical artifice is the music of the first 
 two lines produced ? Notice the frequent use of the same throughout 
 the entire poem. 
 
 What figure used in the second stanza is continued in the third? 
 Why does the use of this figure add to the effectiveness of the 
 description ? 
 
 What serves to render the tenth and eleventh lines melodious? 
 
 In what spirit does Sir Launfal start out in his search for the 
 Holy Grail? 
 
 What is his motive in the search ? (See the closing lines of the 
 Prelude to Part I.) Do you find any hint so far that there is aught 
 of holy desire and longing to see the Grail? 
 
 Stanza IV. What contrast is there in this stanza? 
 
 How does the castle " rebuff " the gifts of the sunshine? 
 
 Why could it not live its life of isolation without affecting its 
 surroundings either one way or the other? 
 
 Explain the figure in the sixth and seventh lines. 
 
 Stanza V. What is the meaning and significance of the expres- 
 sion, " made morn through the darksome gate "? 
 
 What effect does the leper produce upon Sir Launfal? 
 
 What clause emphasizes the abased attitude of the leper's mind? 
 
 What is the force of the simile in its application in the seventh 
 and eighth lines? 
 
 What is Sir Launfal's motive in giving the gold to the beggar? 
 
 Stanza VI. Why does the leper refuse the gift? 
 
 With what does he contrast the gold ? 
 
 How does he characterize that which is given from a sense of 
 duty? 
 
 Meaning of " gives to that which is out of sight " ? 
 
 Compare the fifth line with Luke xi. 41 (Revised Version). 
 
 What is the source of all beauty? 
 
 What is the " thread which runs through all and doth all unite " ? 
 
 What is the largeness of such a gift, though it be " but a slender 
 mite"? 
 
 Why does he say that " a god goes with it " ? 
 
110 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 PRELUDE TO PART II. 
 
 Stanza I. What change in Nature is now introduced ? 
 
 wold = an unwooded country (whether a plain or hill). 
 
 What is the first touch by which the picture is relieved of its 
 intense coldness and loneliness ? 
 
 groin = the i^rojecting, solid angle formed by the meeting of two 
 vaults, growing more obtuse as it approaches the summit. 
 
 What makes the beauty of the simile in the twefth and thirteenth 
 lines? 
 
 Does the introduction of the word " s^eeZ-stemmed " into this pic- 
 ture of Nature strengthen, or weaken, the desired effect? Why? 
 
 arabesque = a style of ornamentation consisting of a pattern in 
 which plants, fruits, and figures of men and animals are fantastically 
 interlaced. 
 
 What attribute of heaven is mentioned ? 
 
 Note the attractive way in Avhich personification is used ; or, 
 rather, the active, joyous life with which the poet invests Nature 
 even in winter. 
 
 What would you say of Lowell's attitude toward Nature? Give 
 instances in the poem to substantiate your answer. 
 
 Notice the frequent use of alliteration in this Prelude. 
 
 What lines indicate the models from which the brook-builder 
 fashioned his house? 
 
 In this use of personification of the frost-builder, is the poet quite 
 consistent? Note and compare the eighth line with the thirty- 
 seventh? 
 
 What is there in the latter half of the stanza to soften the winter 
 severity? 
 
 Stanza II. By what figure is the merriment of Christmas 
 heightened ? 
 
 corbel = a bracket used in architecture to support the spring of 
 an arch ; much used in the Gothic style of architecture. A common 
 form consists of a series of stones or bricks, each projecting slightly 
 beyond the one below it. 
 
 Yule-log = a large log of wood, formerly put on the hearth on 
 Christmas Eve as the foundation of the fire. It was brought in with 
 much ceremony. 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS. Ill 
 
 pennon = a flag or streamer. 
 
 to belly = to swell out. 
 
 Name the different figures used in this stanza. 
 
 Note the device by ■which the musical effect of the last four lines 
 is gained. 
 
 What effect upon the outer cold does this glimpse of Christmas 
 warmth and cheer make? 
 
 Why does the poet, even in this stanza, but briefly allude to the 
 "song and laughter," and then turn to the pictures and reveries sug- 
 gested by the Yule-log's tongues of fire and scattering sparks? 
 
 Stanza III. What sounds are introduced into this stanza? With 
 what are they contrasted in the preceding stanza? 
 
 Notice the metaphor iu the second line. What is there in the 
 season of the year to render the wind's Christmas carol especially 
 sad? 
 
 seneschal = an officer in the houses of princes and dignitaries, in 
 the Middle Ages, who had the superintendence of feasts and do- 
 mestic ceremonies. 
 
 Yv^hat effect does the voice of the seneschal have upon Sir Laun- 
 fal? What figure conveys this idea? 
 
 How is his loneliness affected by the nearness of the hall in which 
 are " song and laughter " ? 
 
 Stanza I. Compare the metaphor, "the river's shroud," with 
 the metaphor in the first stanza, lines eight and nine, of the Prelude 
 to this Part. What is the difference in the effect of the two? 
 
 What kind of a sky would one imagine for such a morning? 
 
 What is the poet's reason for giving us here a morning so different 
 from the one in Part I. ? 
 
 What is the most forcible impression made by the stanza? What 
 lines convey it? 
 
 Stanza II. What figure is there in the first line? 
 
 siirooat = a long, flowing garment of knights, worn over the armor, 
 and often emblazoned with the arms of the wearer. 
 
 Why was not Sir Launfal disturbed by the loss of his earldom ? 
 
 Was he hot in greater need of home and comfort than when he 
 Started out in his search for the Grail? 
 
112 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 What lines indicate that there iiad grown into his heart a genuine 
 sympathy for suffering and sorrow? 
 
 Stanza III. What word may be substituted for "idle" in the 
 second line? 
 
 Explain the figure in this line. 
 
 To what do the words "black and small" refer in the eighth line? 
 Why does Sir Launfal gain more comfort in the "light and 
 warmth of long ago," than in the sight of the ruddy glow sent out 
 from the "great hall fire" ? 
 
 What renders the picture of the " little spring " so attractive? 
 Stanza IV. What interrupts his i-every of the past? 
 What line marks a difference in Sir Launfal's attitude toward 
 the leper as contrasted with that of the first time he saw him in the 
 vision? 
 
 What constitutes the peculiar horror of the disease of leprosy? 
 Explain the significance of the simile in lines five and six. 
 Stanza V. Whom does Sir Launfal see in the leper? 
 Had it taken him a long, or a short time, even in the vision, to 
 come to that state where he could behold the Christ in every fellow- 
 being? 
 
 Whom is he addressing in the last two lines? 
 Cf . the last line with St. Matthew xxv. 40. 
 
 Stanza VI. Cf. with the first line the first line of stanza vi., 
 Part I. How is the difference in the attitude of the leper to be 
 explained ? 
 
 "straightway he." To whom does the pronoun refer? 
 Do you agree with the poet in thinking that the heart of Sir 
 Launfal was "ashes and dust"? In what sense does Lowell mean 
 it? 
 
 What was Sir Launfal's gift to the leper when he first met 
 him ? 
 
 What is it now ? 
 
 Why does the leper spurn the gold in Part I., but here accept the 
 " mouldy crust " and the icy water as " fine wheaten bread " and 
 " red wine " ? 
 
 Does Sir Launfal give the whole of his crust to the leper? 
 
 Would it have been better had he done so? 
 
 Notice later the spiritual lesson Lowell would teach. 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS. 113 
 
 What figure is used in the last two lines? 
 
 What change do we find in "the soul that was starving iu dark- 
 ness before " ? See Part I., stanza vi. 
 
 Note the use of alliteration in this stanza. 
 
 Stanza VII. Into whom is the leper transformed ? 
 
 Is this metaphor in which Christ is likened to a gate original with 
 the poet? (St. John x. 7.) 
 
 Cf. with the miracle which took place at the Beautiful gate of 
 the Temple, recorded in Acts iii. 1-8. 
 
 Stanza VIII. Why are the leaves of the pine used, rather than 
 those of some other tree ? 
 
 What is the force of the simile in the second and third lines? 
 
 What need might there be for the first words of the Voice? 
 
 Although in the many years, Sir Launfal had failed to find the 
 Holy Grail, why do you think the search had not been wholly " with- 
 out avail " ? 
 
 What significance lies in the fact that it was at his own door, 
 rather than in some distant clime, that he found the Grail at last? 
 
 Compare the first use of the Holy Grail with the service rendered 
 by Sir Launfal by which his search is rewarded. 
 
 What is the kernel of the thought in the last six lines? 
 
 Does modern charity fulfil the requirement of these lines? Give 
 reasons for your answer. 
 
 Compare these obligations which are laid by Lowell upon the soul 
 with those which Christ lays upon us. (St. John xv. 12, 13.) 
 
 How is it that when the gift is prompted by the true spirit, not 
 only Christ, and the "hungering neighbor," are fed, but the act 
 serves as food to the giver also? 
 
 Why is it impossible for the human soul to be satisfied in a selfish 
 life? 
 
 Stanza IX. What beside the dream did Sir Launfal feel that 
 the sleep had brought him? 
 
 Does Lowell evidently think that God speaks to us through our 
 " higher instincts" and intuitions as well as through the Scriptures? 
 
 What is the " stronger mail " referred to in the fifth line? 
 
 What idea is expressed by the use of the auxiliary verb in this line ? 
 
 Stanza X. By what figure is the hospitality with which all are 
 welcomed to the castle emphasized ? 
 
114 LOWELL'S POEMS. 
 
 What change is introduced in this stanza into the picture of the 
 castle as given us in the second stanza of Part I. ? 
 
 Is the figure from the fifth to the tenth lines a new one ? 
 
 Was it necessary that Summer sliould enter tlie castle in disguise? 
 
 What shows that Sir Launfal had truly learned the lesson of the 
 vision ? 
 
 How did he show it in his life? 
 
 Are the words mostly of Latin, or Anglo-Saxon origin? 
 
 What is the most common device by which the melodious effect 
 of the poem is produced ? 
 
 From what source is the majority of the figures drawn? 
 
 Is the poet consistent throughout in the structure of the verse? 
 
 Is the setting of each Part in harmony with the thought? 
 
 Comparing the poem with Tennyson's " Holy Grail," which would 
 you consider the greater? Give reasons. 
 
 What is the central tliought of each? 
 
 From this poem, would one conclude that Lowell agrees with that 
 philosopher who defined love as " unity of life " ? 
 
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