«&'' TRIBUTE WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. By ROBERT C. WATERSTON, AT THE MEETING OF THE MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL SOCIETY, June 13, 1878. TRIBUTE WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. BY y ROBERT C. WATERSTON, THE MEETING OF THE 'MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL SOCIETY, June 13, 1878. Mitfj an Slppcnliii. BOSTON: (^ PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 1878. 9r Who first, upon the furrowed land, Strewed the bright grains, to sprout, and grow, And ripen to the reaper's hand — We know not, — and we cannot know : But well we know the hand that brought, And scattered, — far as sight can reach, — The seeds of free and living thought. On the broad field of modern speech." At the Meetixo OF THE Massachusetts IIisToniCAi, Society, JuxE 13, 1878, The PitEsiDEXT of the Society, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, axxouxckd, with i jipflissive and appropriate remarks, The Death of William Cullen Buvant, offering the following Resolutions: Erintd from Mr. Winthrnp's Remarks. The death of the venerable William Cullen Bryant has been announced in the public papers at too late a moment before our meeting this morning to allow any of us to speak of it, or to speak of him, as we should desire to speak. But, as we are not likely to hold another meeting for several months, I am unwilling to postpone all notice of so impressive an event. A native of our own State, and long an Honorary Member of our own Society, his death may well find its earliest mention here, even though our tribute be brief and inadequate. As a poet, as a journalist, as a patriot, as a pure and upright man, living to an almost patriarchal age, yet never losing his interest or relaxing his efforts in whatever might advance the honor or welfare of his fellow-men, he has won for himself an imperishable remembrance on the page of history. No one, certainly, as long as our language shall be read or spoken, will forget the author of " Thanatopsis," " The Water-fowl," and the " Land of Dreams; " or ever cease to bo grateful for those inspiring and exquisite strains. His loss is, indeed, primarily and peculiarly, that of our great sister city aJid State, with whose interests and renown he has been for so many years identified. But his name and fame have long ceased to be local, and his death is nothing less than a national bereavement. RESOLUTIONS. Rcsoli'ed, By the Massachusetts Historical Society, tliat in tliedeatliof our distinguished Honorary Member, William Cullen Brvant, our country has lost a patriotic and noble citizen, the press an acconiplislicd and powerful jour- nalist, and American literature one of its earliest, purest, and most enduring ornaments. Resolred, That while we remember with pride that he was born in Massa" chusetts, and educated at one of our own colleges, our warmest sympathies in this bereavement are due, and are hereby offered, to the scholars and to the whole people of New York, with whom he has been so long and so eminently associated, and to whom his genius and his fame have been ever so justly dear. Resolved, That these Resolutions be communicated to the New York Histori- cal Society, with the assurance that our hearts are with them in lamenting the loss, and in doing honor to the meniorj-, of tlieir illustrious associate and vice- president. Resolred, That a Committee of five be appointed by the chair to represent this Society at the funeral of Mr. Bryant. The Resolutions were seconded by the Rev. R. C. Waterston, AT TIIK close of WHOSK KEMAKKS they WEKE ADOPIKD, AKD THE PkESIDENT APPOINTED AS THE COMMITTEE TO ATTEND Ml!. BrYANT'S FUNEHAL, Professor Henry W. Longfellow. Professor Oliver Wendell Holmes. Rkv. Robert C. Waterston. Hon. Richard Frothingham. Mr. Delano A. Goddard. REMARKS OF REV. R. C. WATERSTON. TT is difficult to express the sense of loss which comes to us in the death of William CuUen Bryant. He has so long been the object of our veneration and love, that he seemed to have become an essential part of our life. Few of us can re- member when his name did not stand pre-eminent in our litera- ture. It is now more than sixt}' years since his " Thanatopsis " was published, which at once gained a reputation that has never since been questioned. From that time, his active public career has kept his name constantly before the com- raunitj', and always on the side of patriotism, justice, and humanity. With an inflexible purpose, he has vindicated what he felt to be right. Whatever seemed to him connected with the best interests of humanitj' was dear to his heart. There was hardly an enterprise associated with human progress with which liis name had not become identified. Venerable in age, he still had the fresh energy of youth ; and, tiiough he had arrived at a period of life when most men feel that they ma)^ retire from active service, he sought no relaxation from duty, lie asked no exemption from the weigiit of personal responsibility. With In-eadth of thought and profoundness of conviction, lie could adapt himself to the immediate wants of the time, bringing to eacli occasion what was most needed. Thus, when from tiie midst of sucli activity he has been siid- 6 denly taken a\vay, it is as if a guiding star had been stiicken from the firmament. Mr. Bryant was a scholar, yet his life was not passed either in studious letirenient, or even, in a scholastic way, among books. He was familiar with various languages, ancient and modern, retaining with critical exactness his classical knowl- edge, yet his hours were habitually occupied with the prac- tical business of the time, political economj^ finance, and the changing aspects of national affairs. He was an ardent lover of Nature, yet his days were, for the most part, associated with the crowded thoroughfares of a populous city. His poetry was generally calm and contemplative, yet he was in daily contact with the most exciting controversies of the period, the contentions of conllicting parties, and the agitating questions that threatened to disturb communities, and even to divide the Nation. It was not so much what he was in any one phase of his character, as in the perfect balance of all his powers, the manner in which every facidty was brought into harmonious action, and the noble spirit with which they were tiniformly and persistently devoted to the public good. We maj- have had elsewhere as faithful citizens ; as indus- trious jinirnalists ; as ripe scholars; — and poets, it may be, equally gifted and inspired, but where have we had another who has combined in his own person all these ? In him a rai'e combination of extraordinary qualities was united; — strength and gentleness; elevation of thouglit and childlike simplicity ; genius, connnon-sense, and practical wisdom. Where there were controverted questions, wiiether men agreed with him or not, they never for an instant doubted his noble- ness of purpose. It was universally acknowledged that his integrity was as immovable as a mountain of adamant ; and that, in all his efforts, he had no motive less elevated than the public good. Bryant, the acknowledged pioneer, lived to become also the patriarch, in our world of letters : while those who have entered the field at a later day, and have since risen to a world-witle reputation, liave never been reluctant to do him homage. Familiar as he has been with the literature of other countries, no one could mistake the nationality of his writ- ings. As there are fruits which take their flavor from the soil in which they grow, so what he has written, by its bloom and aroma, testifies to the land of its birth. Not onl}' the legends and traditions of )iis country, but its scenery and spirit, through him have become familiar. He has identified liimself with our fields and forests. The sky, the stream, and the prairie, speak of him. Tiie winds whisper his name, and in the crowded street he is remembered. The gentian and the violet ever blend the thought of him with their fragrance. Seed- time and harvest, summer and winter, sing his praises. The very freshness of Nature comes to us in all he wrote. The breath of the woods, the atmosphere of the hills, the light of the sun and the stars, are interwoven with his spirit. His love, his hope, his faith, liis exalted thouglit, his rapt devotion, are identified with tliem all. While I speak, I am carried back in thought to pleasant days enjoyed with j\Ir. Bryant at Heidelberg. As we stood by the "Rent Tower;"' or walked together in the famous garden of " Elizabeth," wife of the Count Palatine ; and along the " Terrace," which commands one of the most mag- nificent views in Europe, I felt that, admirable as were the choicest of Mr. Bryant's pi'oductions, he was himself far more than the best that had proceeded from his pen. In him there was robust nobleness, with quiet repose ; vai-iety and completeness ; intuitive insight, and affluence of knowledge. Not under any circumstance was there the faintest approach to ostentation or dispilay, Init as occasion required, all needed information was at hand, and always in the most agreeable manner. Whatever else there was, you were sure of substan- tial reality. JMr. Brj-ant was a man of close observation and exactness. Witli regard to trees and plants, he Iiad the accu- 8 racy of a naturalist. The liistor}- and character of every shrul> were familiar to him, while with these was a sense of beauty and harmony that quivered through liis whole being, an emo- tion all tlie deeper because of its calmness. Outward objects were reflected from his mind like images in a tranquil lake, but not like those destined to pass away. He absorbed them, and they became his own. His eye embraced every thing ; — the stupendous ruin, the winding river, the encircling mountains, the motion of birds, their varied songs, the clouds sailing through the heavens, and each floating shadow on the landscape. Nothing escaped him. Both at Heidelberg and along the Neckar, we climbed the hills, wandering among ancient castles and picturesque ruins, and bringing away memories never to be forgotten. I felt then, as I do now, tliat no man living could be more keenly alive to the most delicate aspects of external nature ; or could interpret, with truer wisdom, her hidden meaning. I had tlie privilege also of being with Mr. Bryant at Naples. He first sliowed me the grave of Virgil. We looked from that beautiful city out over its world-renowned Bay. I list- ened to his inspiring words ujDon Italy, for whose progressive future he cherished an unfailing hope. But there were other thoughts which pressed upon liis mind. Mrs. Bryant, who was journeying witli him, had become suddenly prostrated by serious illness. He liad watched over her througli many anxious weeks. This cloud, which had thrown its ominous shadow over his patlnvay, seemed now lifting, and bursts of sunshine filled his heart with joy. At this time, April 23, 1858, I received from him a note, stating that there was a subject of interest upon which he would like to converse with me. On the following day, the weather being delightful, we walked in the " Villa Reale," the royal park or garden over- looking the Bay of Naples. Never can T forget the beautiful spirit that breatlied tlirough every word lie uttered, tlie reverent love, the confiding trust, the aspiring hope, the deep-rooted faith. Every tliouglit, every view, was generous and conipreliensive. Anxiously watcliing, as he had been doing, in that twiliglit boundary between tliis worhl and another, over one more precious to hira than life itself, the divine truths and jnomi^es had come home to his mind with new power. He stated that he had never united liimself with the Church, which with his present feelings he would most gladly do. He then asked if it would be agreeable to me to come to his room on the morrow and administer the Communion, adding that, as he had not been baptized, he desired that ordinance at the same time. The day following was the Sabbath, and a most heavenly daj'. In fulfilment of his wishes, in his own quiet room, a company of seven persons celebrated together the Lord's Supper. With li3-mns, selec- tion from the Scripture, and devotional exercises, we went back in thought to the " large upper room," where Christ first instituted tiie Holy Supper in the midst of liis Disciples. Previous to the breaking of bread, William Cullen Bryant was baptized. With snow-wJiite head and flowing beard, he stood like one of the ancient Prophets, and perhaps never since the da3"s of the Apostles lias a truer disciple professed allegiance to the Divine Master. Had he not this veiy hour of the Holy Communion in his thouglit, when, in his later published Poems (embracing in spiritual sympathy the whole Christian Church), he speaks of — " The consecrated bi'ead, — Tlie mystic loaf that crowns the board, When, round the table of their Lord, Within a thousand temples set, In memory of the bitter death Of Him who taught at Nazareth, His followers are met, And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, As of the Holy One they think, The glory of whose rising, yet Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink." 10 After the service, while standing at the window, looking out with Mr. Bryant over the Bay, smooth as glass, (the same water over wliich the Apostle Paid sailed, in the ship from Alexandria, when he brought Christianity into Italy), the graceful outline of the Island of Capri relieved against the sky, — with that glorious scene reposing before us, Mr. Bryant repeated the lines of John Leyden, the Oriental schoLxr and poet ; lines which, he said, had always been special favorites of liis, and of which he was often reminded by that holy tranquillity which seems, as with conscious recognition, to characterize the Lord's Day. " With silent awe, I liail the sacred morn, That scarcely wakes while all the fields are still ; A soothing calm on every breeze is borne, A graver murmur echoes from the hill. And softer sings the linnet from the thorn. Hail, light serene! Hail, .sacred .Sabbath morn ! " Never did poet have a truer companion, a sincerer s^siritiial helpmate than did Mr. Bryant in his wife. Refined in taste, and elevated in thought, she was characterized alike by good- ness and gentleness. Modest in herself, she lived wholly for him. His welfare, his happiness, his fame, were the cliief objects of her ambition. To smooth his pathway, to cheer his spirit, to harmonize every discordant element of life, were purposes for the accomplishment of which no sacrifice on her part could be too great. And nothing could sui-pass the de- votion which he extended to her, as marked to the very close of her life, a.s in the first year of tlieir union. Never did Dante or Petrarch love more profoundly, or pay more immor- tal homage to the object of their love. In the eaily freshness of lier youtliful bloom, Mr. Bryant had sung: — " Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child. Were ever in the sylvan wild; And all the beauty of the place Is in thv heart and on thy face. 11 The forest depths, by foot impressed, Are not more sinless than thy breast ; The holy peace, that fills the air Of those calm solitudes, is thei'e." Where in tlie whole history of literature can be found a more exquisite tribute than that paid to lier in his lines on the " Future Life '' ? " How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead? For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In tliy serenest eyes the tender thought." On her recover}^ from illness at Naples, Mr. Bryant wrote tlie touching lines on " The Life that is."' Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain. Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath; — To life's free breath and day's sweet light again. From the chill shadows of the gate of death! Twice w'ert thou given me; once in thy fair prime. Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, And all the blossoms of that hopeful time Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set; And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again Given back to fervent jirayers and yearnings strong, From the drear realm of sickness and of pain When we had watclied, and feared, and trembled long. Now may we keep thee from the balmy air And radiant walks of heaven a little space, Where He, who weni; before thee to prepare For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. vSiuce Mr. Bryant's return to this country, now twenty yeai-s ago, I have had pleasant intercourse with him, both at Roslyn and Cummington, seeing him in the quiet enjoy- ment of home, surrounded by his famih' and amid the delight- 12 fill conipanionsliip of books. Nowliere did IVIr. Biyaut appear more attractive ; his iiearty cordiality and genial manners making every one feel at ease, while his conversation, both natural and playful, sparkled with brilliancy ; serious and weighty when occasion required, and overflowing with merri- ment when tliat was in season. Never was he more charming than when, throwing aside formal reserve, he would relate with a glow of humor pleasant incidents, bringing, with grapiiic power, each scene depicted vividly before his hearers. On such occasions he would at times reproduce the voice and manner of others with an aljility absolutely startling ; Words- worth, Rogers, Combe, Webster, seemed to be in your pres- ence ; so individual were the accents, you could hardly believe it was not tiiemselves speaking. (-)rie day at Roslyn he appeared in the full dress obtained at Damascus, slippers, turban, and llowing robes ; wdien, seating himself after the manner of the East, he gave an interesting account of his experience in Syria and Palestine. Fortunate would have been the artist who could have trans- ferred the scene to canvas ! At different times he rejjeated poems of which he was the author, in a low melodious voice, revealing often, with gentle emphasis, unexpected depths of meaning. In sucli recitations tiiere seemed no effort of mem- ory. The thought was not something apart from himself, but a living portion of his nature, through which his life thri)l)bed. Perluips no one, wlio has not tluis heard them, can fully comprehend their true vitality. At Cummington, the place of his birth, it was deeply inter- esting to go with him over scenes associated with his early days. He showed me the spot where the school-house stood, in which he learned his first lessons : and the grassy bank over whose green slope he remembered to have romped and rolled when a child. We visited together the " Rivulet " " whose waters ilrcw [lis little feet wUeii life was new." 13 Hei-e also were felt his earliest poetic impulses, " Duly I sought thy banks, and tried My first rude numbers by thy side." We wandered ahout, over those beautiful regions, da}' after (lay ; and, as memories of the past thronged upon Mr. Bryant's mind, it was a rare pleasure to listen to such reminiscences. We sought out the lonely spot associated with the "Two Graves,"' wliile he related the strange tradition connected with the place. We walked also into the "Entrance to a Wood," " where tlie thicic ronf Of green and stirring branches was alive And musical with birds." We were at "the old homestead," where Mr. Bryant was born, and where he passed all his younger daj-s, remaining into early manhood. His father was well known here as tlie " Beloved Physician." The place for some years had been out of the family, and Mr. Bryant was very happy in the thought that he had come into possession of it again. He had relniilt the mansion, and made various inipnn ements, saving ■whatever could be saved, and especially preserving all the old landmarks. His own words describe precisely the general aspect of the country : — " I stood upon the upland slope, and cast Mine eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, Wliere the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, And hills o"er hills lifted their heads of green, With pleasant vales tcooped out, and villages between." He mentioned that while studying law with Judge Howe, the Judge was greatly concerned when he found him reading volume of Wordsworth, fearing it would injure his style. Serious warnings were more than once extended against the inllumre of that poet. The Judge might have felt still more deeply, had he known the powerful impression that writer had a 14 made upon Br3"iuit's mind. '■ I sliull never forget," says Ricdiard H. Dana, " with wliat feeling m_y friend Brj-ant de- scril)ed to me the effect produced upon liim l)y Wordswortli'.s Balhxds." " A thousand sjMings," he said, "seemed to gush up at once in my lieart, - — and the face of Nature, of a sudden, to change into a strange freshness and life." Mr. Bryant, in speaking of the " Thanatopsis," stated that, at a time when he was about to leave iiome, he placed the original copy of that poem, together with some other manu- script poems, in a drawer in liis father's office. During his absence, his fatlier met with the papers, and was so much pleased with the "Thanatopsis" that he sent it, without his son's knowledge, to tlie editors of the " North American Re- view," that periodical having been recently established. Tiiis was in 1817, and thus it was published. At that time only forty-nine of the eighty-one lines existed, and four verses in riiyme prefaced tiiem, which w^ere never intended for such a jDOsition. The first sixteen and a half lines and the last fif- teen and a half, as they now stand, were afterwards added, and several important alterations also introduced. j\Ir. Bryant's brother John was on a visit to tiie homestead. He was a man of marked ability, and had resided for many years in Illinois. He had much to say of his brother's boy- hood ; his precociousness, his individuality, and the manner in which all the young people of that period looked up to him. When he was 3'et quite a child, liis father would offer him a dollar to write verses upon a given subject. John repeated to me some verses which he yet remembered, written in this waj'. He said, " We all looked up to my brotiier as some- thing wonderful! ()h," he continued, witli peculiar empha- sis, " we thought everything of William." The father also was very proud of his boy. Mr. Bryant himself says : — " he taught my youth The art of verse, and in the bud of life Offered me to the Muses." 15 Mrs. Biyaiit lived eiglit yenvs after her return from Italy, and in 1866 passed peaceful!}^ away, " sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust." It was a serious blow, but Mr. Bryant met it with that unshaken Christian fortitude, which alone could give support. Instead of becoming crushed, he braced himself for redoubled activity. With extraoixlinary in- tellectual vigor, at the age of seventy-one, he commenced, in earnest, the translation of the Iliad. He was at work upon this while I was at Cummington. It occupied regularly a portion of the day, but did not interfere with any domestic enjoyment. He told me he translated from the Greek on an average forty lines a day, and at times double that amount. I was every day in his study, and saw no English translation among bis many books. He had a German translation to which he might occasionally refer. He stated that he had always been fond of Greek, and that, when he first acquired the knowl- edge of that language, a fellow-student, who has since risen to eminence in the law, wept because he could not kee];) u}) with him. I took to Mr. Brvant a copy of Felton's Lectures on Greek Literature, which he had not seen, and which inter- ested him. His tran.slation of the Iliad was completed in 1869, after which he at once commenced tlie Od^'Ssey, which he completed in 1871, making six years in which be was engaged ujjou the work. Had he executed nothing else, it would have been a monument to his ability ; an achievement wliieh under the circumstances, at his period of life, may i)e considered unsurpassed. Thus did Mr. Bryant continue in intellectual vigor to the last ; with every faculty in full strength. Even his jjoetic genius and artistic skill were unimpaired. At length, on a beautiful day, June 12th, — the very month in which he bad most desired to go, — he was suddenly taken from us. His last word was a tribute to the cause of Liberty ; and his closing effort a final demonstration of the exertion he was ever ready to make in Ijehalf of others. 16 I I know of notliing more applicable to the present occasion tliaii ]\lr. r>ryanfs liitlierto inipublislied words in a note which I received from him, on the death of President Quincy, July, -j 18C4. As I read the page, seemingly fresh from his pen, it is ' as if he wei'e himself speaking: — " I was about," he writes, " to call it a sad event, but it is so only in a limited sense; — sad to those who survive, and who shall see his venerable form, and hear his wise and kindly words no more ; but otherwise, no more sad than the close of a well-spent day, or the satisfactory completion of anv task j which has long oecuijied our attention. Mr. Quincy, in lay- ing aside the dull weeds of mortality, has with them put off old age with its infirmities, and (passing to a nobler stage of existence) enters again npon the activity of youth, with more exalted powers and more perfect organs. Instead of lament- ing his departure at a time of life considerably beyond the common age of man, the generation which now iidiabits the earth should give thanks that he has lived so long, and should speak of the blessing of being allowed for so many years to have before them so illustrious an example.'" What words conld be found more appropriate to himself? I will onlv add his own eloquent utterance on the death of his friend Washington Irving: "Farewell, thou hast entered into tlie rest prepared, from the foundation of the world, for serene and gentle sjjirits like thine. Farewell, happy in thy life, liappy in thy death, liappier in the rewai'd to which that death was the assured pnissage. The brightness of that enduring fame, which thou hast won on earth, is but a shadowy symbol of the glory to which thou art admitted in the world beyond the grave." APPENDIX. ' Thou hast taught us, with delitjlited eye, To gaze upon the mouutains, — to behold, With deep affection, the pure ample sky And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, To love the song of waters, and to hear The melody of winds with charmed ear."' 18 A N C E S T R Y, STEPHEN BRYANT, tlie fouiuku- of die Bryant family on this continent, came fiom England, in the "Mayflower," about 1640. Ichabod Bryant moved from Raynhain to West Bridgevvater iu 174.5. His son, Philip Bryant, was born in 1732, and practised medicine in North Bridgevvater, Massaciuisetts ; he married a danghter of Dr. Abiel Howard, of Bi-idgewaler. Peter Bryant was boru at North Bridgewater, 17()7. He studied medicine, and succeeded his father in his profession. He became interested in the daughter of Elienezer Snell. Mr. Sn(dl removing with his family to Cninmington, Peter Bryant soon followe, no one enjoyed it more truly than Mr. Bryant. When the services were ended, there were friendly greetings. Mr. Bryant apjieared like a father in the midst of his family. All wished aud received a pleasant word or look, and evidently valued it as a pa- triarchal benediction. Thus closed an occasion not soon by any present to be forgotten. .John II<)\vaim> IjRYant, a younger brother of William, was born at Cunimington, 2'2d Jidy, 1807. In youth, wiiile at the Kensselaer school at Troy, he excelled in Mathematics and the Natural Sciences. In 1831, at the age of twenty-four, he emigrated to the West, establish- ing himself at Princeton, Illinois. At one time he was representative in the State Legislature. Communications from his pen have appeared at various times in leading periodicals. In 1855, a volume of his poems, from the press of his brother William, was published by the Appletons, which was favorably received by the public. While at Cummington, being one morning alone witli Mr. Bryant in his librai'y, he said, " Some of my brother's poems have great merit ; " and taking up a copy of the volume from the table, in which John had written, " For the Old Homestead," Mr. Bryant said, " Let me read to you." He commenced one of the poems, but before pro- ceeding far his voice became tremulous ; more and more he was over- come by emotion ; until no longer able to read, he handed me the book, saying, " Excuse me, — I cannot go on, — please read it yourself." Under a calm and nnimpassioned manner, there was in Mr. Bryant's nature hidden depths of feeling ; and this tribute to his brother lias often come to my recollection, as an instance of his own sensibility, aud a proof of the strong bond which united the lirothers. 2n Before my leaving Cummington, Mr. Bryant wrote liis name, as a token of remembrance, in a volume of liis Poems, arliling the closing verse of his well-known lines to the water-fowl : — " lie who, from zone to zone. Guides through the boundless sky tliy certain flight. In the long xcay that I mwt tread alone. Will lead my steps aright.'' These words, which had then deep significance, are yet more im- pressive now. 26 THE COMMUNION-SERVICE AT NAPLES. The seven persons wlio were gathered togetlier iit Naples, on tlnit beautiful morning in the spring of 1858, were Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, their daughter Julia and her friend Estelle Ives, Mr. and Mrs. AVater- ston and their daughter Helen. The rite of baptism was also adminis- tered to .Julia Bryant and Estelle Ives (now Mrs. Mackie, of Greiit Barrington). The three young people united with Mr. Bryant in partaking of the Holy Comnnniion for tiie first time. Helen Ruthven Waterston, to whom Mr. Bryant paid so exquisite a tribute in one of his " Letters from Spain," was in the bloum of her youtli and beauty. An illness soon followed ; and, on the 25th of] July, — three months from the day and hour of that hallowed service, — her spirit passed avvay, on a peaceful Sunday morning. As will be readily understood, such tender associations united us all together by very sacred ties. 27 WILLIA:\[ C. BRYANT AND RICHARD H. DANA. WiiEX the '• TliaiKUo|isis," :indless light." " Even then he trod The threshold of the world unknown; Already, from the seat of God, A ray upon his garments shone." " Why weep ye then for him, -who, having won The bound of man's appointed years, at last. Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, Serenely to his final rest has passed; While tlie soft memory of his virtues, yet, Lingers, like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? ' POETICAL TRIBUTES F R A N (; E 8 F. B R Y A N T, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. EStittcit at i'l'arimis Seasons , TIIROfGII MANY YEARS OF DKVOTKD AKKKCTION. TiiESK poems, adilrcssed to Mrs. Bryant, are reprinted from Mr. Bryant's collected works, partly as a tribute to her memory, and in part that tliey may stand together and be so read. As usually printed, the reader might not necessarily associate them with Mrs. Bryant; for instance, in tlie lines headed '' Tlie Twenty-seventh of March," no mention is made that this was the birthday of Mrs. Bryant. These lines, for several years, like other tributes to her, were retained in manuscript, and held as too private and sacred for general publication. Mrs. Bryant's unaffected modesty shrunk from pulilicity, which was doubtless the reason why the name was originally witliheld ; but now that she has entered into tliat state of being where they are in heavenly companionship, it is pleasant to bring these unsurpassed expressions together, as the utterance of a love that knew no change save that it grew deeper and stronger as the years wore away. I 39 OH, FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS. Tliis poem, addressed by Mr. Bryant to Fninccs Faircliikl, was written amid tlic beautiful scenery of Great Barrington early in that acquaintance wliicli led to their union in 1821. — the same year in which liis poem of "The Ages " was given betbre tlie Plii Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge. /^H, fairest of tlie rural maid.s! ^-^ Thy birth was iu the forest shades ; (Ireen boughs, and glimpses of the sky, Were all that met thine infant eye. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, AVere ever in the sylvan wild; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart, and on thy face. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks; Thy step is in the wind, that weaves Its playful way among the leaves. Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen ; Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook. The forest depths, by foot uupressed, Are not more sinless than thy breast; The holy peace, that fills the air Of those calm solitudes, is there. 40 THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MARCH. Mrs. Bri/ant's Urthdmj. Widlen March, 18.55. Oil, gentle one, thy birthday sun should rise Amid a chorus of the merriest birds That ever .sang the stars out of the sliy In a June morning. Rivulets should send A voice of gladness from their winding paths, Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, Stirring the loaded stems, .should shower the dew Upon the glassy water. Newly blown Roses, by thousands, to the garden walks Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. The longest, brightest day in all the year Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes First opened on the earth, to make thy haimts Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. Thus might a poet say; but I must bring A birthday offering of an humbler strain, And yet it may not please thee less. I hold That 'twas the fitting season for thy birlh When March, just ready to depart, begins To soften into April. Then we have The delicatest and most welcome flowers. And yet they take least heed of bitter wind And lowering sky. The periwinkle then, In an hour's sunshine, lifts her azure blooms Beside the cottage-door: within the woods Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak. The squirrel-cups, a graceful company, Hide in their bells a soft aerial blue — Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest nooks. And yet within who.se smallest bud is wrapt A world of promise ! Still the north wind breathes His frost, and .still the sky sheds snow and sleet; Yet ever, when the sun looks forth again, The flowers smile up to him from their low seats. 41 Well hast tliou borne the bleak March day of life. Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart; The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, That light upon the fields in early spring. Making them greener. In its milder hours, The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen The glorious bloom of June, and in the note Of early bird, that comes a messenger From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard The choir that fills the summer woods with song. Now be the hours that yet remain to thee Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, That inextinguishably dwell withiu Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light To the most desolate moments, like the glow Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; And kindly words and offices of good Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on, Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the gates Of a more genial season, and thy path Be lost to human eye among the bowers And living fountains of a brig-hter land. THE FUTURE LIFE. IVfitlen in 1837. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead ; When all of thee that time could wither sleeps And perishes among the dust we tread? For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ■ My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? G 42 In meadows fanned by heaven's life-bi'eatbing wind. In the resplendence of that glorions sphere, And larger movements of the unfettered mind, Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? The love that lived through all the stormy past, And meekly with my harsher nature bore. And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, Shall it expire with life, and be no more? A liap)iier lot than mine, and larger light. Await tliee there, for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of riglit. And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell .Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name. The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home. The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — The wisdom which is love — till I become Thy fit companion in that laud of blLss? THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. See before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the ground ; Thither leads the path we walk in, blending with that gloomy bound. Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mystery they screen ; Those who once have passed within it never more on earth are seen. Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seeming distance lowers, Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer-green and flowers. 43 Yet it blots the way for ever; there our journey ends at last; Into that Jark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the past. Thou who, ill this flinty pathway, leading through a stranger-land, I'assest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand in hand, Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim Unknown V Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path alone? Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white with fear. And thou clingest to my side — as comes that darkness sweeping near. " Here," thou say'st, " the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound the feet; But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the rivulet's song is sweet; Roses breathe from tangled thickets; lilies bend from ledges brown ; Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sunshine gushes down; Dear are those who w'alk beside us, they whose looks and voices make All this rugged region cheerful, till I love it for their sake. Far be yet tlie hour that takes me where that chilly shadow lies, From the things I know and love, and from the sight of loving eyes." So thou murmurest, fearful one: but see, we tread a rougher wav; Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine, that upon the dark rocks play; Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the crags o'er which we pa.ss: Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass. (Ine by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear; One by one the kindly faces in that shadow disappear. Yet upon the mist before us fix thine eyes with closer view; See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glimmers through. One whose feet the thorns have wounded, jiassed that barrier and came back. With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the dreary track. Boldly enter where He entered; all that seems but darkness here, When thou hast passed beyond it, haply shall be crystal-clear. Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of human life may lie, Like the page of some famihar volume, open to thine eye; Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thon may'st stretch an unseen hand. To support the wavering steps that print with blood the rugged land. Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near, Thou may'st whi,sper words of warning or of comfort to his ear, Till, beyond tiie border where that brooding mystery bars the sight, Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light. 44 THE LIFE THAT IS. iVritlm at Ciistcllcimare, ajier Mrs. Brijanl's recovery from illness in Naples, May, 1858. Tiioti, who so long liast pres.secl the couch of pain, Oh. welcome, welcome back to life's free breath; — To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, From the chill shadows of the gate of death. For thon liadst reached the twilight bound between The world of spirits and this grosser sphere; Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. And now. how gladly we behold, at last. The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; The very wind's low whisper breathing past, In the light leaves, is music to thee now. Thou wert not weary of thy lot; the earth Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; Still clung thy loves about the household hearth; And sweet was every day's returning light. Then welcome back to all thou would'st not leave, To this grand march of seasons, days, and hours ; The glory of the morn, the glow' of eve. The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers ; To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; To voices w'hich it is thy joy to hear ; To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best. The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. Welcome to grasp of friendly hands; to prayers Offered where crowds in reverent worship come ; Or softly breathed amid the tender cares And loving inmates of thy quiet home. Tliou bring'st no tidings of the better land. Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there Are what the faithful heart may understand In its still depths, yet words may not declare. 45 And well I deem, that, from the brighter side Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays, Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide Upon thy spirit through the coming days. Twice wert thou given rac; once in thy fair prime, Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, And all the blossoms of that hopeful time Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set. And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, From the drear realm of sickness and of pain, AVhen we had watched, and feared, and tremljled long. Now may w'e keep thee from the balmy air And radiant walks of heaven a little space. Where He, who went before thee to prepare For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. '' Death should come Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee. As light winds wandering through groves of bloom Detach the delicate blossoms from the tree : Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without i)ain; And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.'' Ills love of truth, too -warni, too strong For Hope or Fear to chain or chill, His hati' of tyranny and wrong ]!iii-n ill the hreasts he kindled still." ME. BRYANT'S LAST ADDRESS, IN THE CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK, 29iH OF Mav, 1878. " ]Maii foretells afar Tlie courses of the stars ; — the very liour He knows when they shall darken or grow bright ; ■^ ^ -ift -^S- -Jfe Sif- 'if; Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death Come — unf ore warned ! " Voices from the mountains speak, Apennines to Alps reply ; Vale to vale and peak to peak Toss an old-remembered cry : 'Italy — shall be fkee!' Such the mighty shout that fills All the passes of her hills." 49 Kxtrncts from ^fr. Bri/nnt's Achlress in ihe Central Parle, '2M Mai/, 1878. OX UNVEILING THE BUST OF MAZZINI, THE ITALIAN STATESMAN. IIiSToRV, my fiiends, has recorded tlie deed.s of IMazziiii on a tablet wliic-li will endure while the annals of Italy are read. To-day a bust is unveiled which will make millions familiar with the Divine image stamped on the countenance of oiie of the greate.st men of our times. The idea of Italian unity and liberty was the passion of Mazzini's life. It took possession of him in youth ; it grew stronger as the 3-ears went on, and lost none of its power over him in his age. Nor is it at all surprising that it should have taken a strong hold on his youthful imagination. I )-ecollect very well that when, forty-four years ago, I first entered Italy, — then held down under the weight of a score of despotisms, — the same idea forcibly sugge^^ted itself to my mind as I looked soutii- ward from the slopes of the mountain country. There lay a great sister- hood of provinces, requiring only a confederate republican government to raise them to the rank of a great power, presenting to the world a single majestic fi'ont, and parcelling out the powers of local legislation and government among the different neighl)orhoods in such a maimer as to educate the whole population in a knowledge of the duties and rights cif fieemeu. There were the industrious Piedmontese, the enterprising (Genoese, among whom Mazzini was born, — a countrvmau of Colum- lius ; there were the ambitious Venetians and the Lombards, rejoicing in their fertile plains ; and there, as the imagination followed the ridge of the Apennines toward the Strait of Messina, were the Tuscans, famed in letters ; the Umbrians, wearing in their aspect the tokens of Latin descent ; the Eomans, in their centre of arts ; the gay Neapoli- tans ; and, further south, the versatile Sicilians, over whose valleys rolls the smoke of the most famous volcano in the world. As we traverse these regions in thought, we recognize them all as parts of one Italy, yet each inhabited by Italians of a diiferent char- 7 I 50 acter from the rest; all speaking Italian, but with a (lifforence in each province ; each region cherishing its peculiar traditions, wiiich reach back to the beginning of civilization, and its usages observed for ages. Well might the great man, whose bust we at this time disclose to the public gaze, be deeply moved by this spectacle of his countrymen and kindred bound in the shackles of a brood of local tyrannies which kejit them apart, that they might with more ease be oppressed. AVhen he further considered the many great men who had risen from time to time in Italy, as examples of the intellectual endowments of her people, — statesmen, legislators, men of letters, men eminent iu philoso- phy, in arms, and in arts, — I say that he might well claim for his birth- place of such men the unity of its provinces to make it great, and the liberty of its people to raise them up to the standard of their mental endowments. Who shall blame hira — who in this land of freedom — for demanding in behalf of such a country a political constitution fiamed on the most liberal pattern which the world has seen ? For such a constitution he plainied; for that he labored ; that object he never suffered to be out of sight. No proclaimer of a new religion was ever more faithful to his mission. Here, where we have lately closed a sanguinary but successful war in defence of the unity of the States which form our Republic; here, where we have just broken the chains of three millions of Iiondsmen, is, above all others, the place where a memorial of the great chanipi