liiiiiliitiiiii II' !' ' i t I Class J^^l^lgjl Book__ CojyrigMII' Lc CO£XRIGHT DEPOSm AMERICAN POEMS 1776-1922 WITH NOTES AND BIOGRAPHIES BY AUGUSTUS WHITE LONG FORMERLY ASSISTANT PROFESSOR IN ENGLISH AT PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, JOINT EDITOR OF ENGLISH POEMS FROM CHAUCER TO KIPLING REVISED AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO BOSTON ATLANTA 1!>Vs> •>^ Copyright, 190s, 1922, by AUGUSTUS WHITE LONG Entered at Stationers' Hall, London LONG S AM. POEMS E. p. I MADE IN U. S. A. AUG 23 1922 INTRODUCTION The purpose of this volume is not to thrust upon the public another anthology which, after decorating the drawing-room table a few days at Christmas, shall go to rest under the dust on the top shelf. On the contrary, it is intended to serve in the hands of students as a useful collection of American verse, with notes of explanation and interpretation, which shall illustrate the growth and spirit of American life as expressed in its literature. Moreover, it should, by giving new perceptions of power and beauty, lift the spirit and increase the sum of human enjoyment. "Literature is the record of the best thoughts," says Emerson; and the best thoughts of the best Americans are most assuredly Vorthy of careful study. The notes are intended, primarily, not to ask puzzling ques- tions but to give information. It may be objected by some critics that much is explained that is already obvious; such criticism, however, is most likely to be made by those who have never taught school. The brief critical comments which have been added to the explanatory notes are meant to interpret the poems to the student and to win his attention and sympathy. In the biographical sketches, the aim has been to avoid all matters which are obscure or which may lead to fruitless dis- cussion. The purpose of these sketches is to inform, and, if possible, to entertain and awaken interest. As a whole, the volume does not pretend to exhaustiveness, either in its selec- tions or its notes, but is rather meant to serve as an introduction to the systematic study of American poetry. 3 4 INTRODUCTION The field has been divided into four periods. The Early Period begins with Freneau, and includes the writers who pre- ceded Bryant. These writers had many traits in common. They were imitators, for the most part, of English models; and their work was often marred by sentimentality. But they show growth in literary form, and their work gives evidence that the young nation was developing into national consciousness. The Middle Period includes not only the greater names, — Bryant, Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Poe, Holmes, and Lowell, — but many lesser names that cluster about them. This period closes with Mr. Thompson's The High Tide at Gettysburg, which may be said to mark the culmination of the impulse given to letters by the Civil War. Deep feeling and imaginative power stamp this period as the greatest in our literary history. The two chief forces that made it great were the revival of letters in New England and the Civil War. The Later Period includes writers who did most of their work after the Civil War and before 1900. At the end of this period came the War with Spain, which left its strongest impress, perhaps, on William Vaughn Moody. Moody's fearless inten- sity, however, is shared by few other writers of his day. The poetry of the period is marked rather by grace, urbanity, humor, lightness of touch, and dexterousness of form. A new school of poetry, however, has arisen since 1900. The makers of Recent Poetry, with a few shining exceptions, were born after the Civil War. Many of them were children at the time of the War with Spain. These newer poets began to attract attention even before the World War burst forth. Suddenly men and women began to sing. Nobody knew why. A new impulse, however, had come from somewhere. Still more strange, the public had begun to read poetry as it probably never did before in America. To-day the magazines and news- papers print more poetry than they ever have. Much of this new poetry has lifted itself out of the beaten paths. It frequently iiSITRODUCTiON 5 discards what is commonly known as ''poetic diction" and shows scant regard for ordinary metrical forms. It is marked by an intense love of nature and by democratic feeling. It cares less for the past than it does for the life that ebbs and flows around us, and it seeks ever for some new angle of truth or beauty. Special acknowledgment for permission to use copyrighted selections is given as follows: to Maynard, Merrill & Co. for the selections by N. P. Willis; to J. B. Lippincott Company for the selections by T. B. Read and G. H. Boker; to the Robert Clarke Company for "Antony to Cleopatra," from their edition of the Poems of General William Haines Lytle; to Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for the selections by P. H. Hayne; to McClure, Phillips & Co., publishers, for the selection by Edwin Markham; to Harper^ s Weekly for the selection by G. W. Carryl. The selections by Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier Holmes, Lowell, W. W. Story, Julia Ward Howe, T. W. Parsons, Bayard Taylor, J. T. Trowbridge, E. C. Stedman, T. B. Aldrich, John Hay, Bret Harte, E. R. Sill, Maurice Thompson, E. M. Thomas, F. D. Sherman, L. L Guiney, W. V. Moody, Abbie Farwell Brown, and Amy Lowell are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers of their works. For additional courtesies in matters of copyright, the editor is indebted to: D. Appleton & Co.; The Bobbs-Merrill Co.; The Century Co.; Henry T. Coates & Co.; Small, Maynard & Co.; G. P. Putnam's Sons; F. M. Finch; G. J. Preston; Rosa N. Ticknor; Will H. Thompson; W.T.Meredith; Lloyd Mifflin; John Vance Cheney; Arthur Peterson; W. Gordon McCabe; James R. Randall; and E. F. Ware. The editor is further indebted to the following for permission to use copyright material: The Atlantic Monthly for W. F. Stafford's "Invocation"; Benjamin R. C. Low and Dodd, Mead and Company for "The Little Boy and the Locomotive" from The House that Was; Harcourt, Brace and Company for 6 INTRODUCTION ''Mia Carlotta" from Carmina, by T. A. Daly; B. W. Huebsch, Inc. for "High Tide" from Growing Fains, by Jean Starr Untermeyer; The International Magazine Company for "The Crucible", by O. Henry; Lizette Woodworth Reese and Thomas B. Mosher for "Tears"; Mrs. George H. Oilman for "A Man Must Live," copyright 1898, Small Maynard and Company; C. B. Going and The New York Times for "Armistice"; and Katharine Lee Bates for "America the Beautiful." Bliss Carman's "A More Ancient Mariner" is reprinted by and with permission of Small, Maynard and Company. "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" from Poems, by Alan Seeger, copyright 1916, and van Dyke's "The Name of France" are used by special arrangement with the publishers, Charles Scribner's Sons. "Mending Wall" from North of Boston, by Robert Frost, is reprinted by special arrangement with the publishers, Henry Holt and Company. To the late Mr. E. C. Stedman the special acknowledgment of the editor is due, and is cordially given, for the free use made of the texts in An American Anthology, and for indispensable help from the biographical notes. Many other books have also been of service. For illuminating suggestion, mention should be made of Professor Wendell's! Literary History of America, Professor Woodberry's America in Literature, and Professor Trent's American Literature. To Professor Henry van Dyke, Professor T.W.Hunt, Professor T. M. Parrott, and Professor H. F. Covington, of Princeton Uni- versity, and to Mr. W. M. Reed, Col. R. T. Kerlin, and Mr. J. J. Momentjthe editor is indebted for assistance in numberless ways. A. W. L. CONTENTS EARLY PERIOD PAGE PHILIP FRENEAU The Indian Burying Ground i6 The Wild Honeysuckle • . . 17 Eutaw Springs 18 JOSEPH HOPKINSON Hail Columbia 19 FRANCIS SCOTT KEY The Star-spangled Banner 21 CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE A Visit from St. Nicholas 23 JOHN PIERPONT The Exile at Rest 25 Warren's Address to the American Soldiers . ... 26 The Ballot 27 SAMUEL WOOD WORTH The Old Oaken Bucket 27 RICHARD HENRY WILDE My Life is Like the Summer Rose 29 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE Home, Sweet Home! . . . 30 FITZ-GREENE HALLECK On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake 31 Marco Bozzaris 32 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE The American Flag .36 EDWARD COATE PINKNEY A Health 39 A Serenade 40 GEORGE POPE MORRIS Woodman, spare that Tree! . . . . . . .41 7 8 CONTENTS PAGE ALBERT GORTON GREENE The Baron's Last Banquet . . . . . ^ . .42 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS Unseen Spirits 45 Spring 46 CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN Monterey 47 SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH America 49 PARK BENJAMIN The Old Sexton ......•.,.50 EPES SARGENT A Life on the Ocean Wave 51 PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE Florence Vane 52 THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH Ben Bolt .54 MIDDLE PERIOD I. BRYANT, EMERSON, LONGFELLOW, WHITTIER, POE, HOLMES, AND LOWELL WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT Thanatopsis 58 The Flood of Years 60 The Battlefield 65 The Death of the Flowers 66 The Evening Wind . 67 To the Fringed Gentian . 69 To a Waterfowl 69 America 71 RALPH WALDO EMERSON Concord Hymn 75 The Problem 75 Each and All 78 Days 79 Forbearance 80 The Humble-bee 80 The Snow-storm 82 The Rhodora 83 Good-by, Proud World ! . . 83 CONTENTS PAGE HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW The Skeleton in Armor ......... 86 The Cumberland 91 The Wreck of the Hesperus 93 The Village Blacksmith 96 The Bridge 98 The Day is Done 100 My Lost Youth loi The Poet and his Songs 104 Nature 105 Hymn to the Night 106 In the Churchyard at Tarry town 106 The Republic 107 Daybreak 108 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Proem no Ichabod 112 The Lost Occasion . . . ^ 113 The Farewell 115 Laus Deo! 118 Skipper Ireson's Ride 120 The Barefoot Boy 123 TeUing the Bees 126 My Playmate 128 Amy Wentworth . 130 The Eternal Goodness .132 EDGAR ALLAN POE To Helen 139 To One in Paradise 139 The Bells 140 The Raven 144 The Haunted Palace 148 The City in the Sea 149 Israfel 151 The Sleeper 153 Ulalume 155 Annabel Lee 158 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Old Ironsides 161 The Last Leaf . ^ . 162 The Chambered Nautilus , , , 164 lO CONTENTS PAGE The Living Temple , = . . 165 Nearing the Snow-line 167 The Boys 167 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL What is so Rare as a Day in June? 171 The Courtin' 173 A Vision of Peace. (From The Biglow Papers) . . . .176 Lincoln 178 Virginia. (From Under the Old Elm) 180 To the Dandelion 181 Hebe 183 She Came and Went 184 Auf Wiedersehen 185 11. ADDITIONAL POETS WALT WHITMAN O Captain ! My Captain ! 186 As Toilsome I wandered Virginia's Woods 187 When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom'd . . . .188 HENRY PETERSON From an Ode for Decoration Day 193 WILLIAM WETMORE STORY lo Victis 194 JULIA WARD HOWE Battle Hymn of the Republic 196 THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS On a Bust of Dante 197 THEODORE O'HARA The Bivouac of the Dead 199 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ Drifting 203 JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON Music in Camp 206 FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR Little GifEen 209 GEORGE HENRY BOKER A Ballad of Sir John Franklin 210 Dirge for a Soldier 215 CONTENTS II PAGE BAYARD TAYLOR Bedouin Song 216 America 218 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Abraham Lincoln 219 FRANCIS MILES FINCH The Blue and the Gray 225 JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE The Vagabonds _ MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON A Grave in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond (J.R.T.) . . 231 STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER My Old Kentucky Home 233 WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE Antony to Cleopatra 234 HENRY TIMROD Charleston 236 At Magnolia Cemetery 237 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE A Little While I fain would linger Yet 238 The Mocking Bird 240 EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN Kearny at Seven Pines 241 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH Unguarded Gates 242 Palabras Carinosas 244 Batuschka 244 JOHN HAY Jim Bludso of the Prairie Belle 246 JAMES RYDER RANDALL My Maryland 248 ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN The Conquered Banner 251 ANONYMOUS The Confederate Flag . . . . . . . . .252 12 CONTENTS PAGE BRET HARTE John Burns of Gettysburg ........ 254 Chiquita 258 The Aged Stranger 259 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL The Fool's Prayer 261 The Future 262 Eve's Daughter 263 WILLIAM GORDON McCABE Christmas Night of '62 264 JOAQUIN MILLER Columbus 266 Westward Ho ! . 267 SIDNEY LANIER Song of the Chattahoochee ........ 269 Tampa Robins 271 ETHEL LYNN BEERS All quiet along the Potomac . .' 272 WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH Farragut 273 RICHARD WATSON GILDER Sherman 276 Great Nature is an Army Gay 276 MARY WOOLSEY HOWLAND In the Hospital 277 LLOYD MIFFLIN Sesostris 278 MAURICE THOMPSON A Prophecy 279 WILL HENRY THOMPSON The High Tide at Gettysburg 280 LATER PERIOD HENRY VAN DYKE (See also RECENT POETRY) Tennyson 283 An Angler's Wish 285 The Song Sparrow 286 CONTENTS 13 PAGE EUGENE FIELD Wynken, Blynken, and Nod . . . . „ , . .287 Little Boy Blue 289 EDWIN MARKHAM The Man with the Hoe 290 JOHN VANCE CHENEY The Man with the Hoe. A Reply 292 EDITH MATILDA THOMAS Mother England 294 The Mother who died Too 295 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Ike Walton's Prayer 296 EUGENE FITCH WARE Quivera — Kansas 298 HENRY CUYLER BUNNER The Way to Arcady 301 The Chaperon 304 FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN , On a Greek Vase 305 On Some Buttercups 306 LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY The Wild Ride 307 RICHARD HOVEY The Call of the Bugles 307 Unmanifest Destiny 311 Love in the Winds 312 WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY Robert Gould Shaw . .312 GUY WETMORE CARRYL When the Great Gray Ships come In . . . . . .314 RECENT POETRY HENRY VAN DYKE (See also LATER PERIOD) The Name of France 316 LIZETTE WOOD WORTH REESE Tears 317 14 CONTENTS PAGE KATHARINE LEE BATES America the Beautiful 318 O. HENRY The Crucible 31Q CHARLOTTE STETSON OILMAN "A Man Must Live" 320 WENDELL PHILLIPS STAFFORD Invocation 321 BLISS CARMAN A More Ancient Mariner 322 CHARLES BUXTON GOING Armistice 325 EDGAR LEE MASTERS Silence 326 THOMAS AUGUSTINE DALY Mia Carlotta 329 AMY LOWELL Madonna of the Evening Flowers 330 ROBERT FROST Mending Wall 331 SARA TEASDALE "There will come soft Rains" 333 JOYCE KILMER Trees 334 Martin .... 334 JOHN GOULD FLETCHER Lincoln 336 JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER High Tide 337 ALAN SEEGER "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" 338 BENJAMIN R. C. LOW The Little Boy and the Locomotive . . . . . . 339 ABBIE FARWELL BROWN The Heritage 34© NOTES 342 AMERICAN POEMS EARLY PERIOD PHILIP FRENEAU 1752-1832 Freneau was born of French Huguenot parentage in New York city, and died at " Mount Pleasant," Monmouth County, New Jersey. He was graduated from Princeton in 1771, where James Madison, after- ward fourth President of the United States, was his classmate and roommate. Another fellow-student was Light Horse Harry Lee. These quick-witted youths breathed in together the air of burning patriotism which came from John Witherspoon, then president of Princeton, and each did a strong man's work in the great struggle which followed so soon after they were graduated. Freneau was the least brilliant figure of the three, but his labors in the cause of liberty were not less arduous or steadfast, or his courage and patriotism less high. Freneau's long life was one of great activity. He studied law, but afterward became a journalist and a practical navigator, and was inter- ested besides in various business enterprises. During his lifetime he was known chiefly as a patriotic satirist in verse and as a partisan iournalist. None of his satires are familiar to readers of to-day, but they were effective in their own day in quickening public sentiment and in keeping the torch of liberty aflame. His fame to-day rests rather upon a handful of lyrics which have simplicity, sincerity, and beauty. Not even his most enthusiastic admirers would maintain that these lyrics are to be placed by the side of the greatest literary masterpieces, but they do have qualities that will long keep the name of Freneau alive. That this patriot, partisan, and poet should have met a sudden death is only in keeping with his tempestuous life. At the age of eighty, when returning home late one stormy night from a gathering of fnends, he fell and broke his hip ; next morning he was found dead in the snow. 15 1 6 EARLY PERIOD THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND In spite of all the learned have said, I still my old opinion keep ; The posture that we give the dead Points out the soul's eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands ; — 5 The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends, And shares again the joyous feast. His imaged birds, and painted bowl. And venison, for a journey dressed, 10 Bespeak the nature of the soul, Activity, that wants no rest. His bow for action ready bent. And arrows with a head of stone, Can only mean that life is spent, 15 And not the old ideas gone. Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way. No fraud upon the dead commit, — Observe the swelling turf, and say, They do not lie, but here they sit. 20 Here still a lofty rock remains. On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted half by wearing rains) The fancies of a ruder race. Here still an aged elm aspires, 25 Beneath whose far-projecting shade (And which the shepherd still admires) The children of the forest playedo FRENEAU i;? There oft a restless Indian queen (Pale Shebah with her braided hair). And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there. By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews, 5 In habit for the chase arrayed, The hunter still the deer pursues, The hunter and the deer — a shade ! And long shall timorous Fancy see The painted chief, and pointed spear^ 10 And Reason's self shall bow the knee To shadows and delusions here. THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE Fair flower, that dost so comely grow. Hid in this silent, dull retreat. Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, 15 Unseen thy little branches greet : No roving foot shall crush thee here. No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature's self in white arrayed. She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, ao And planted here the guardian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by ; Thus quietly thy summer goes, Thy days declining to repose. Smit with those charms, that must decay, 25 I grieve to see your future doom ; They died — nor were those flowers more gay. The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; long's am. poems — 2 T« EARLY PERIOD Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power Shall leave no vestige of this flower. From morning suns and evening dews At first thy little being came ; If nothing once, you nothing lose, 5 For when you die you are the same ; The space between is but an hour. The frail duration of a flower. EUTAW SPRINGS At Eutavv Springs the valiant died : Their limbs with dust are covered o'er ; > Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide ; How many heroes are no more ! If in this wreck of ruin they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite thy gentle breast, and say xj The friends of freedom slumber here ! Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain. If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted rural reign ; Sigh for the shepherds sunk to rest ! ao Stranger, their humble graves adorn ; You too may fall, and ask a tear : 'TIS not the beauty of the mom That proves the evening shall be clear. They saw their injured country's woe, 25 The flaming town, the wasted field ; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe ; They took the spear — but left the shield. HOPKINSON 19 Led by thy conquering standards, Greene, The Britons they compelled to fly : None distant viewed the fatal plain, None grieved in such a cause to die — But. like the Parthians famed of old, 5 Who, flying, still their arrows threw. These routed Britons, full as bold. Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace our patriot band ; Though far from nature's limits thrown, 10 We trust they find a happier land, A brighter Phoebus of their own. JOSEPH HOPKINSON 1770-1842 It was fitting that the author of Hail Cohimbia should be the son of a signer of the Declaration of Independence, Francis Hopkinson, law- yer, wit, and patriot. Joseph Hopkinson was born and died in Phila- delphia, where he rose to distinction as a lawyer and as a man of parts. He is chiefly remembered to-day by this one patriotic lyric. It was written in 1798, when the United States seemed on the verge of war with France. Washington had been called from retirement at Mount Vernon to assume charge of the American forces in case war should actually break out. The ode was sung first in Philadelphia at the benefit performance of an actor, but its broader purpose was to allay all bitterness between the two political parties in the United States by appealing in a spirited way to the feeling of national patriotism. HAIL COLUMBIA Hail, Columbia ! happy land ! Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 15 Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 20 EARLY PERIOD And when the storm of war was gone. Enjoyed the peace your valor won. Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost ; Ever grateful for the prize, 5 Let its altar reach the skies. Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty ; As a band of brothers joined. Peace and safety we shall find. lo Immortal patriots ! rise once more : Defend your rights, defend your shore : Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Let no rude foe, with impious hand. Invade the shrine where sacred Hes 15 Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. While offering peace sincere and just, In Heaven we place a manly trust. That truth and justice will prevail. And every scheme of bondage fail. 20 Firm, united, etc. Sound, sound, the trump of Fame ! Let Washington's great name Jling through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause i 25 Let every clime to Freedom dear. Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill, and godlike power. He governed in the fearful hour Of horrid war ; or guides, with ease, 30 The happier times of honest peace. Firm, united, etc. KEY 21 Behold the chief who now commands, Once more to serve his country, stands — The rock on which the storm will beat, The rock on which the storm will beat ; But, armed in virtue firm and true, 5 His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, And glooms obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free. Resolved on death or liberty. 10 Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty ; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find. FRANCIS SCOTT KEY I 780-1843 Key was bom in Frederick County, Maryland, and was educated at St. John's College, Annapolis. When the British bombarded Fort McHenry at Baltimore, in 18 14, Key was with the British fleet, having gone there to secure the release of a friend who was held prisoner. All night he watched the battle. When he saw the American flag still afloat the next morning, he sat down and wrote The Star-Spattgled Banner, which has become virtually the national song of America. A volume of Key's poems was published at Baltimore in 1859, with un introductory letter by his brother-in-law, Chief Justice Taney. The volume consists largely of occasional pieces that were not originally intended for publication. They add little or nothing to his fame. The greater part of his life was given to the practice of law in Washington. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 15 What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleammg — 22 EARLY PERIOD Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the clouds of the fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ! And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ; O ! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 5 O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep. Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? ic Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. In full glory reflected now shines on the stream ; 'Tis the star-spangled banner ; O long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave I And where is that band who so vauntingly swore 15 That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more ? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave ; 20 And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. O ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land 25 Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just. And this be our motto, — " In God is our trust: '* And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 30 MOORE 23 CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE 1779-1863 The author of A Visit from St. Nicholas., a household favorite, was born in New York city and educated at Columbia College. For many years he held a professorship in the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church. A collection of his verse was published in 1844, but he is remembered now almost solely by this Christmas piece, with its brisk movement and cheery temper. It was written for his chil- dren at Christmas, and was sent without his knowledge to a newspaper, where it appeared anonymously. A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 'TwAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there ; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 5 While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's napj When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 10 Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the luster of midday to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 15 But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name ; 20 "Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen f 24 EARLY PERIOD On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder zxi^ Blifzen I To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! Now dash away ! dash away ! dash away all ! " As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky ; 5 So up to the house top the coursers they flew. With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkhng, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, lo Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked hke a pedler just opening his pack. 15 His eyes — how they twinkled ! his dimples how merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ! His droll little mouth was drawn up hke a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow ; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, so And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath ; He had a broad face and a little round belly. That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; 25 A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread ; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work. And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, 30 And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose ; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, '^^ Happy Christmas to ail, and to all a good nights* 35 PIERPONT 25 JOHN PIERPONT 1785-1866 PiERPONT was born at Litchfield, Connecticut. After being graduated from Yale, he was successively a teacher, a business man, a lawyer, and finally a Unitarian minister. For twenty-six years he was pastor of the Hollis Street Church, Boston, and was an ardent supporter of the aboli- tion movement — a movement very active in the neighborhood of his church. At the age of seventy-six he volunteered as a chaplain in the Civil War, but his age and bodily infirmities prevented much active service. He was appointed to a clerkship in the government service at Washington, a position which he held until his death. THE EXILE AT REST His falchion flashed along the Nile ; His hosts he led through Alpine snows ; O'er Moscow's towers, that shook the while. His eagle flag unrolled, — and froze. Here sleeps he now, alone ; — not one 5 Of all the kings whose crowns he gave. Nor sire, nor brother, wife, nor son. Hath ever seen or sought his grave. Here sleeps he now, alone ; — the star, That led him on from crown to crown, 10 Hath sunk ; — the nations from afar Gazed, as it faded and went down. He sleeps alone ; — the mountain cloud That night hangs round him, and the breath Of morning scatters, is the shroud 15 That wraps his martial form in death, 26 EARLY PERIOD High is his couch; — the ocean flood Far, far below by storms is curled, As round him heaved, while high he stood, A stormy and inconstant world. Hark ! Comes there from the Pyramids, 5 And from Siberia's waste of snow, And Europe's fields, a voice that bids The world be awed to mourn him? — No ; — The only, the perpetual dirge. That's heard here, is the sea bird's cry, xo The mournful murmur of the surge, The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh. sVARREN'S ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIERS Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves ! WiU ye give it up to slaves ? Will ye look for greener graves ? 15 Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel ? Hear it in that battle peal ! Read it on yon bristling steel 1 Ask it, — ve who will. 2c Fear ve foes who kill for hire ? Will ye to your homes retire ? Look behind you ! they're a-fire ! And, before you, see Who have done it ! — From the vale 25 On they come ! — And will ye quail ? — Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! WOODWORTH 27 In the God of battles trust ! Die we may, — and die we must ; But, O, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where Heaven its dews shall shed 5 On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their heaa, Of his deeds to tell ! THE BALLOT A WEAPON that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod j 10 But executes a freeman's will. As lightning does the will of God. SAMUEL WOODWORTH 1785-1842 WOODWORTH was born at Scituate, Massachusetts, and died in New York city. The poem given here (first entitled "The Bucket") is the only one of a volume of verse which is now remembered. He wrote sev- eral operettas and dramatic pieces, but these have long since been for- gotten. He was associated with Willis and others in the editorship of the New York Mirror, a journal of considerable literary note in its day. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood, 15 And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well — 20 28 EARLY PERIOD The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure, For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 5 The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well — 10 The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my Hps ! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, 15 The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habitation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell. As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well — 20 The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well ! RICHARD HENRY WILDE 1789-1847 Many of the poets of this early period — notably Freneau, Key, and Wilde — were men of affairs in the main, whose verse making occupied only their leisure hours. Nearly all of them are remembered to-day by only one or two poems. The bulk of their writings has gone the way of most occasional verse. It was, in most cases, hastily put together, and was lacking in depth and sincerity of feeling, as well as in grace of form. WILDE 29 Wilde was born at Dublin, Ireland. When he was a mere boy his family came to America and settled in Baltimore. After the death of his father, he removed with his mother to Georgia, where he studied Jaw and entered politics. He served several terms as a member of Congress from his adopted state. After traveling abroad for several years, he settled in New Orleans and devoted the remainder of his life to the successful study and practice of the civil law. MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, But, ere the shades of evening close. Is scattered on the ground — to die ! Yet on the rose's humble bed 5 The sweetest dews of night are shed_ As if she wept the waste to see — But none shall weep a tear for me 1 My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray: 10 Its hold is frail — its date is brief. Restless — and soon to pass away ! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade. The parent tree will mourn its shade. The winds bewail the leafless tree — 15 But none shall breathe r sigh for me ! My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand ; 20 Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race. On that ione shore loud moans the sea — But none, aias ! shall mourn for me ! 30 EARLY PERIOD JOHN HOWARD PAYNE I792-1852 The life of John Howard Payne is of unusual interest. He was born in New York city and entered Union College. He left college early, however, and took to the stage. He won popularity as an actor both in America and in England. He also wrote plays and operas. The song Home, Sweet Home, first appeared in his opera, Clari, the Maid of Milan, which was produced at Covent Garden Theater, London, in 1823. He died at Tunis, Africa, where he was serving as United States consul. In 1883, at the expense of the late Mr. W. W. Corcoran, the philanthropist, his remains were removed to Washington. HOME, SWEET HOME! Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'ei met with elsewhere. Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home ! 5 There's no place like Home ! there's no place like Home ! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing gayly, that came at my call, — Give me them, — and the peace of mind, dearer than all ! 10 Home, Home, sweet, sweet Home ! There's no place like Home ! there's no place like Home ! How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond lather's smile. And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile ! Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam, 15 But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home ! Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet Home ! There's no place Hke Home ! there's no place like Home ! HALLECK 31 To thee I'll return, overburdened with care ; The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there; No more from that cottage again will I roam ; Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. Home ! Home ! sweet, sweet Home ! 5 There's no place hke Home ! there's no place like Home ! FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 1790-1867 Halleck, the friend and co-laborer of Drake, was born at Guilford, Connecticut, but his active life was spent in New York. He first en- tered a banking house, and later was for many years confidential clerk to John Jacob Astor. On the death of Mr. Astor, he received a pen- sion^which enabled him to live in dignified retirement. He spent the last eighteen years of his life in his native town, where he died. Halleck's literary work began with The Croaker Pieces^ which he, together with Drake, contributed to the Evenhtg Post. These verses contained witty and satirical thrusts at local celebrities. He also pub- lished Fanny, a satire on New York life. His best-known short poems are Alnwick Castle, an imitation of Sir Walter Scott ; the spirited Marco Bozzaris, so dear to the heart of the schoolboy declaimer ; and lines on the death of Joseph Rodman Drake, which have directness and sin- cerity. His later years of ease and retirement seem, in a literary way, to have been almost entirely barren. " Halleck long survived," says Mr. Woodberry, "a fine outside of a man, with the ghost of a dead poet stalking about in him, a curious experience to those who met him, with his old-fashioned courtesy and the wonder of his unliterary survival." It has been suggested by the same critic that " trade sterilized " him ; but it seems more than probable that Halleck said all that he had to say. ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. 10 32 EARLY PERIOD Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts, whose truth was proven, 5 Like thine, are laid in earth. There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth ; And I who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine, 10 Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine ; It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow, But I've in vain essayed it, 15 ■ And feel I cannot now. While memory bids me weep thee, Nor thoughts nor words are free, — The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee. 20 MARCO BOZZARIS At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 25 The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet ring : Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 30 As Eden's garden bird. HALLECK 3J At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suhote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, 5 There had the glad earth drunk their blood On old Plataea's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike and soul to dare, 10 As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last ; He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, ^'To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 15 He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke. And shout, and groan, and saber stroke. And death shots falhng thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, • 20 Bozzaris cheer his band : "Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; God — and your native land ! " 25 They fought — like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain. They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw 30 His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close long's am. poems — 3 34 EARLY PERIOD Calmly, as to a night's repose, Ivike flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ! Come to the mother's, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath ; 5 Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke. And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 10 Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song, and dance, and wine ; And thou art terrible — the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear 15 Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; And in its hollow tones are heard 20 The thanks of millions yet to be. Come, when his task of fame is wrought — Come, with her laurel leaf, blood-bought — - Come in her crowning hour — and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 25 To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; Thy summons welcome as the cry 30 That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land wind, from woods of palm, HALLECK 35 And orange groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time. Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 5 Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume Like torn branch from death's leafless tree In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 10 The heartless luxury of the tomb ; But she remembers thee as one Long loved and for a season gone ; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 15 For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babe's first lisping tells ; For thine her evening prayer is said At palace couch and cottage bed ; Her soldier, closing with the foe, ae Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; And she, the mother of thy boys, 95 Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys. And even she who gave thee birth. Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 30 Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's : One of the few, the immortal names, That were not bom to die. 36 EARLY PERIOD JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 1795-1820 Drake was a New Yorker, bom and bred. After his first early struggles with poverty, life seemed to open up with shining prospects. He was graduated in medicine, and then traveled abroad for a year or two. He was happily married and he was rising in his profession. He was, Halleck said, the handsomest man in New York. Buoyant spirits brought him many friends and he was beginning to make a name for himself in letters. But he was smitten with consumption, and died at the age of twenty-five. Drake began to write verse at a very early age ; but it was The Croaker Pieces^ w^hich he and Halleck wrote together, that first brought him into literary notice. They first appeared anonymously in the Evetiing Post^ which later on William Cullen Bryant was to edit so Ions: and so brilliantlv. These wittv verses, with their slv thrusts at well-known men and women of the day. soon became the talk of the town, and created much curiosity as to their authorship. The longest poem that Drake wrote was The Culprit Fay. It is a conventional tale of some tiny fairies that were supposed to haunt the Hudson River. Drake's purpose in writing the poem was to try to prove to his fidends that American streams lent themselves to poetic treatment as readily as the streams of the Old World. It was reserved for Irving, however, at a later day, to show more conclusively in his Sketch Book than Drake did in The Culprit Fay that the spirit of romance really does hover about the Hudson. But Drake's poem contains some pleasing fancies, more or less gracefully told. To-day the best-remembered poem of Drake's is The American Flag. This may be pitched in too high a key to please the most rigid taste, but its patriotic appeal will probably be lasting. THE AMERICAN FLAG When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. DRAKE 37 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light ; Then from his mansion in the sun 5 She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, lo To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm. And rolls the thunder drum of heaven. Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 15 To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke. To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 20 The harbingers of victory ! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone. And the long line comes gleaming on. 25 Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet. Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn. And, as his springing steps advance, 30 Catch war and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 38 EARLY PERIOD And "gory sabers rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall shrink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below 5 That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the beUied sail, lo And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack. Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee. And smile to see thy splendors fly 15 In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel hands to valor given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. 20 Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us. With Freedom's soil beneath our feet. And Freedom's banner streaming o*er us? EDWARD COATE PINKNEY 1802-1828 PiNKNEY was born in London while his father, William Pinkney of Baltimore, a lawyer and public speaker of distinction, was United States minister to Great Britain. On his return to America, he was put to school in Baltimore, but later entered the navy as a midshipman. He resigned from the navy to enter upon the practice of the law, but his PINKNEY 39 health failed and he died in Baltimore at the age of twenty-six. Dur- ing his lifetime he published a tiny volume of verses which are notable for their ease and grace. Those given in this collection do not suffer greatly by comparison with similar verses by the English Cavalier poets. Thev were highly praised by Poe. A HEALTH I FILL this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon ; To whom the better elements 5 And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, Hke the air, 'Tis less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, Like those of morning birds, 10 And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words ; The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee 15 Forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours ; Her feehngs have the fragrancy. The freshness of young flowers ; And lovely passions, changing oft, 20 So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns,— The idol of past years ! Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, 35 40 EARLY PERIOD And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. 1 fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — lo Her health ! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry. And weariness a name. A SERENADE Look out upon the stars, my love, 15 And shame them with thine eyes. On which, than on the lights above, There hang more destinies. Night's beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light ; 30 Then, lady, up, — look out, and be A sister to the night ! Sleep not ! thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast : Sleep not ! from her soft sleep should fly 25 Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day. 30 MORRIS 41 GEORGE POPE MORRIS I 802-1 864 Morris iived a long and busy life, writing much in both prose and verse, but his name is kept alive by a single poem. Woodman, spare that Tree may seem a slender thread on which to hang a literary reputation, but the appeal which it makes, though not very strong, is sincere and universal. The cutting down of a tree, however insig- nificant, invariably awakens lively interest and often provokes heated discussion. Morris was born in Philadelphia, but spent the greater part of his life in New York city, where he died. His life work was journalism. For nearly twenty years he edited the Mirror, which he and Samuel Woodworth, author of The Old Oaken Bucket, had founded together in 1823. He and N. P. Willis also founded the Home Journal. These two journals published much of the current literature of the day, and the editors were no inconsiderable literary figures in their time. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE I Woodman, spare that tree ! Touch not a single bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand $ That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy ax shall harm it not. That old familiar tree. Whose glory and renown i« Are spread o'er land and sea — And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! Cut not its earth-bound ties ; Oh, spare that aged oak 15 Now towering to the skies ! 42 EARLY PERIOD When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy- Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here ; 5 My father pressed my hand — • Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand. My heartstrings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend ! xo Heie shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree ! the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save, 15 Thy ax shall harm it not. ALBERT GORTON GREENE 1802-1868 Judge Greene was born at Providence, Rhode Island, and was graduated from Brown University. While in college he wrote a popu- lar ballad, Old Grimes. He studied law and was for many years judge of the Municipal Court at Providence. His interests, however, were not wholly centered in the law. He drew up the school bill of Rhode Island, and for fourteen years was president of the Rhode Island His- torical Society. He was also the founder of the Harris Collection of American Poetry now in the possession of Brown University. His own poems were never published in a collected form. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay. GREENE 43 The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. " They come around me here, and say my days of life are o*er, That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more ; They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now, that I, t Their own liege lord and master born, — that I, ha ! ha ! must die. "And what is death? Fve dared him oft before the Paynim spear, — Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here ? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot, — I'll try his might — I'll brave his power ; defy, and fear him not. lo " Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin, — Bid each retainer arm with speed, — call every vassal in. Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet board prepare ; Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there ! " An hundred hands were busy then — the banquet forth was spread — And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread, i6 While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall. Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers poured, On through the portaFs frowning arch, and thronged around the board. ze While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate, " Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine ; There's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to the vine S Are ye all there, my vassals true? — mine eyes are waxing dim ; 25 Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim. 44 EARLY PERIOD " You're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board ; I hear it faintly : — Louder yet ! — What clogs my heavy breath? Up all, and shout for Rudiger, ' Defiance unto Death ! ' " Bowl rang to bowl — steel clanged to steel — and rose a deafenmg cry . 5 That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high : — " Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him? — Slaves, traitors ! have ye flown? Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ! " But I defy him : — let him come ! " Down rang the massy cup, While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing halfway up ; lo And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, There in his dark, carved oaken chair Old Rudiger sat, — dead. NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS 1806-1867 Born in Portland, Maine, educated at Andover and Yale, Willis began his literary career in Boston, where his father had founded the Youth^s Co7npanioti. Later he removed to New York, where he spent the remainder of his life, and became the most prominent man of letters of his day in America. His literary reputation has slowly faded since his death. Much of his work — stories, verses, and letters of travel — lies buried in the files of the Mirror and the Ho?ne Journal. It was distinguished by cleverness rather than by power or depth. But no man ever under- stood the taste of his own age better than did Willis. He fed this taste with sentimental stories, cleverly turned verses, and letters of travel full of personal gossip. His personal qualities, apart from his literary style, also served to increase his power over the men and women of his time. He was tall, handsome, elegant in dress, joyous in spirit, and both amiable in manner and honorable in conduct. He had, too, that deferential attitude towards women which has always been popu- WILLIS 45 lar in America. These qualities made him a social favorite, in Europe as well as in America. So dazzlmg, indeed, were his personal charms that one Englishman spoke of him as a young man likely to attain the presidency, and a Boston merchant said he guessed that Goethe was the N. P. Willis of Germany. Much of Willis's contemporary fame must, therefore, be set down to the magic of his personality. Readers of to-day, untouched by this subtle wand, easily detect in his literary work much that is false in taste, shallow in feeling, and superficial in thought. A few of his best poems, however, seem likely to survive, and his heroic struggle in the waning days of his strength to support his family in comfort will always appeal to men of spirit and honor. UNSEEN SPIRITS The shadows lay along Broadway, 'Twas near the twilight tide, And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Along walked she ; but, viewlessly, 5 Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet And Honor charmed the air ; And all astir looked kind on her. And called her good as fair. ic For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true, For her heart was cold to all but gold, 15 And the rich came not to woo — But honored well are charms to sell If priests the selling do. 46 EARLY PERIOD Now walking there was one more fair — A slight girl, lily pale ; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail : 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, 5 And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray ; For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air. Her woman's heart gave way ! — 10 But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven By man is cursed alway ! SPRING The Spring is here — the delicate-footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers, And with it comes a thirst to be away, 15 In lovelier scenes to pass these sweeter hours, A feeling like the worm's awakening wings, Wild for companionship with swifter things. We pass out from the city's feverish hum, To find refreshment in the silent woods ; 20 And nature that is beautiful and dumb, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods — Yet, even there a restless thought will steal. To teach the indolent heart it still must feel. Strange that the audible stillness of the noon, 25 The waters tripping with their silver feet. The turning to the light of leaves in June, And the light whisper as their edges meet — Strange — that they fill not, with their tranquil tone, The sDirit^ walking in their midst aicne. 30 HOFFMAN 47 There's no contentment in a world like this, Save in forgetting the immortal dream ; We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss, That through the cloud rifts radiantly stream ; Birdlike, the prison' d soul will lift its eye 5 And pine till it is hooded from the sky. CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN I 806-1 884 Hoffman was born in New York city, studied at Columbia College, and practiced law in his native city. His tastes, however, were more literary than legal. He was the first editor of the Knickerbocker Maga- zine, founded in 1833, which was for thirty years the most conspicuous periodical of its kind in the country. It was the forerunner of Harper''s and the Ce7itiiry. Among its contributors were Irving, Bryant, Halleck, Willis, Boker, Bayard Taylor, and George William Curtis. This group of writers formed what is often spoken of as the Knickerbocker School. The chief literary work of Hoifman consists of novels and books of travel, all now forgotten. His verse is also fading, but it had a lyrical quality ab?ve that of the verse of most of his contemporaries. In 1849 Hoifman's mind was sadly darkened by an insanity which kept him in seclusion the last thirty-five years of his life. MONTEREY We were not many — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day — Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if he then could 10 Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed W^hen wounded comrades round them wailed 15 Their dying shout at Monterey. 48 EARLY PERIOD And on — still on our column kept Through walls of flame its withering way; Where fell the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. 5 The foe himself recoiled aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, And braving full their murderous blast, Stormed homo the towers of Monterey, lo Our banners on those turrets wave. And there our evening bugles play ; Where orange boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. 15 We are not many — we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest, Than not have been at Monterey? 20 SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH 1808-1895 The author of this justly celebrated hymn was born in Boston. He was graduated in 1829 from Harvard, where Oliver Wendell Holmes was his classmate. Three years after graduation he wrote this famous hymn. He was a Baptist clergyman, and wrote other hymns, as well as books for boys; but his name would soon be for- gotten were it not for My Country, 'tis of Thee. SMITH 49 AMERICA My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing ; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, | From every mountain side Let freedom ring. My native country, thee. Land of the noble free, — Thy name I love ; lo I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills ; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, 15 And ring from all the trees, Sweet freedom's song \ Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, - 2c The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty. To Thee I sing ; Long may our land be bright 25 With freedom^'s holy Hght ; Protect us by thy might. Great God our King. long's am. poems — 4 50 EARLY PERIOD PARK BENJAMIN 1809-1864 This journalist, lecturer, and poet was born at Demerara, British Guiana, and died at New York, where he spent the greater part of his life. His sister was married to John Lothrop Motley, the author of The Rise of the Dutch Republic. Benjamin edited more than one magazine in New York, and also worked on the Tribinie under Horace Greeley. His poems were never collected. Perhaps the best known is the one given below. THE OLD SEXTON Nigh to a grave that was. newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade ; His work was done, and he paused to wait The funeral train at the open gate. A relic of bygone days was he, 5 And his locks were white as the foamy sea ; And these words came from his lips so thin : " I gather them in, I gather them in. " I gather them in ! for man and boy, Year after year of grief and joy, 10 I've build ed the houses that lie around, In every nook of this burial ground ; Mother and daughter, father and son, Come to my solitude, one by one : But come they strangers or come they kin — 15 I gather them in, I gather them in. " Many are with me, but still I'm alone, I'm king of the dead — and I make my throne On a monument slab of marble cold ; And my scepter of rule is the spade I hold : 20 SARGENT 5 1 Come they from cottage or come they from hall, Mankind are my subjects, all, all, all ! Let them loiter in pleasure or toilfully spin — I gather them in, I gather them in. " I gather them in, and their final rest 5 Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast ! " And the sexton ceased, for the funeral train Wound mutely o'er that solemn plain ! And I said to my heart, when time is told, A mightier voice than that sexton's old 10 Will sound o'er the last trump's dreadful din — " I gather them in, I gather them in." EPES SARGENT 1813-1880 Sargent was a considerable figure in his day as editor, novelist, dramatist, biographer, and poet. In journalism he saw service on the staffs of both the New York Mirror and the Boston Transcript. He wrote popular plays, lives of Henry Clay and Benjamin Franklin, several v/orks on spiritualism, and a volume of poems called Songs of the Sea. He was born at Gloucester, Massachusetts, and died at Boston. A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE A LIFE on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, Where the scattered waters rave, 13 And the winds their revels keep ! Like an eagle caged, I pine On this dull, unchanging shore : Oh ! give me the flashing brine, The spray and the tempest's roar ! 20 52 EARLY PERIOD Once more on the deck I stand Of my own swift-giiding craft : Set sail ! farewell to the land ! The gale follows fair abaft. We shoot through the sparkling foam 5 Like an ocean bird set free ; — Like the ocean bird, our home We'll find far out on the sea. The land is no longer in view, The clouds have begun to frown ; 10 But with a stout vessel and crew, We'll say. Let the storm come down ! And the song of our hearts shall be, While the winds and the waters rave, A home on the rolling sea ! 15 A life on the ocean wave ! PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE 1816-1850 This writer of graceful verses was born at Martinsburg, Virginia. He was educated at Princeton, where he was noted for his love of outdoor sports. He was admitted to the bar, but spent most of his time in writing verses and chasing foxes on his country estate in Virginia. His mind matured early, for he entered Princeton at fifteen and wrote for the Knickerbocker Magazine at seventeen. His talents, however, were obscured by frail health. He died at the age of thirty- four. John Esten Cooke, the novelist, was his younger brother. FLORENCE VANE I LOVED thee long and dearly, Florence Vane ; My life's bright dream and early Hath come again : 20 COOKE 53 I renew in my fond vision My heart's dear pain, My hope, and thy derision, Florence Vane. The ruin lone and hoary, 5 The ruin old, Where thou didst mark my stor)^, At even told, — That spot — the hues Elysian Of sky and plain — 10 I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane. Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime ; Thy voice excelled the closes 15 Of sweetest rhyme ; Thy heart was as a river Without a main. Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane ! 20 But, fairest, coldest wonder ! Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under, — Alas the day ! And it boots not to remember 25 Thy disdain, — To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane. The lihes of the valley By young graves weep, 30 The pansies love to dally Where maidens sleep ; 54 EARLY PERIOD May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane ! THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH I 8 19-1902 The life of Dr. English was unusually active and varied. He practiced both law and medicine at different times ; for a number of years he was active in journalism in New York, when he was associated with Willis and Poe ; he wrote a novel, made a collection of ballads and fairy stories, and from 1891 to 1895 served as a member of Congress, during which time he pubhshed a volume of poems. Dr. English was born in Philadelphia, and was a graduate of the medical school of the University of Pennsylvania. His last years were spent in blindness at Newark, New Jersey, where he died. Through- out his long career he was a man of vigor and of striking personality. BEN BOLT Don't you remember sweet AHce, Ben Bolt, — 5 Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown, Who wept with dehght when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at your frown? In the old church yard in the valley, Ben Bolt, In a corner obscure and alone, 10 They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray. And Alice lies under the stone. Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt, Which stood at the foot of the hill, Together we've lain in the noonday shade, 15 And listened to Appleton's mill. ENGLISH 55 The mill wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, The rafters have tumbled in, And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze Has followed the olden din. Do you mind of the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, 5 At the edge of the pathless wood, And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs, Which nigh by the doorstep stood? The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, The tree you would seek for in vain ; 10 And where once the lords of the forest waved Are grass and the golden grain. And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook in the running brook 15 Where the children went to swim? Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, The spring of the brook is dry. And of all the boys who were schoolmates then There are only you and I. 20 There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, They have changed from the old to che new ; But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth, There never was change in you. Twelvemonths twenty have past, Ben Bolt, 25 Since first we were friends — yet I hail Your presence a blessing, your friendship a truth, Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale. MIDDLE PERIOD I Bryant, Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Poe, Holmes, and Lowell WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 1794-1878 The life of Bryant falls into two rather distinct parts — his work as a poet, and his career as a journalist and citizen. Much of his best poetry was written while he was a resident of Massachusetts, where he practiced law with doubtful success, but during the last fifty years of his life he edited the New York Evening Post, through which he rendered distinguished service to both Hterature and politics. In his later years the venerable poet and publicist was often spoken of as the first citizen of the Republic. The outward facts of Bryant's life may be set down briefly. He was born at Cummington, in the w^estern part of Massachusetts. His father was a physician, who named his son for the once famous Scotch pro- fessor of medicine, William Cullen. On his mother's side the poet was descended from John and Priscilla Alden. Young Bryant was pre- cocious. His first poem was published in a newspaper when he was thirteen years of age. A year later he published The E?nbargo, a satire on President Jefferson, which caused much comment in Boston, where it first appeared. The sentiment of this poem appealed to the preju- dices of the violent Federalists of that time, but the most notable thing about it was its unusual correctness of rhyme and meter. Indeed, care- ful workmanship always marked Bryant's prose and verse. In 18 10 he entered Williams College as a sophomore. At the end of one year he left with an honorable dismissal, intending to enter Yale. Lack of money, however, put a stop to his college career. About this time, 56 BRYANT 57 when only seventeen years of age, he wrote Thanatopsis, his best- known poem, and during his long career he never produced anything better. When it was published in the North American Review^ it won him instant recognition as a, poet. A few months later his justly popu- lar lines To a Waterfowl appeared in the same magazine. In 1821 he read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard a poem called The Ages. It was in this year that he was happily married to Miss Frances Fairchild at Great Barrington, Massachusetts. He now de- termined to give up the law and to devote his life to letters. In 1825 he was persuaded by friends to move to New York, where for a time he helped to edit an unsuccessful magazine. Then came his connection with the Evening Post, which marked a sharp turn in his life. The second important period of Bryant's life had now begun. In his hands the Evenirig Post became a pattern of the purest and most virile English, a literary critic of power and discrimination, and a fear- less, independent, and high-minded upholder of all that is best in the civic affairs of the Republic. Bryant wrote poetry during these fifty years of toil as an editor, but it confirmed rather than increased his reputation as a poet. Either his springs had run dry or his energies had been diverted into another channel. As the years went by he was thought of less as a poet and more as a commanding personality in public aifairs. To those who saw him in his daily round he seemed a dignified, venerable, and almost majestic figure. Secure in fame and fortune, steadfastly devoted to the greatest good to the greatest number, patiently and modestly laborious, gravely gentle in all the relations of life, he walked among men as the noblest embodiment of democratic citizenship. His last public act was in keeping with his character and career. He delivered the oration in 1878 at the unveiling of a statue in Central Park to Mazzini, the Italian patriot, and suffered a sunstroke which proved fatal " Happily," says George William Curtis, " we may believe that he was sensible of no decay. ... He was hale, erect, and strong to the last. All his life a lover of nature and an advocate of liberty, he stood under the trees in the beautiful park on a bright June day, and paid an elo- quent tribute to a devoted servant of liberty in another land. And while his words yet lingered in the ears of those who heard him, he passed from human sight." As a poet, Bryant holds a place in American letters which is high and secure. He has correctness of form, restraint, delicacy, simplicity, 58 MIDDLE PERIOD luminous ness, and he rises at times almost to majesty. What he lacked was the heat which kindles the emotions and fires the imagination. The reason for this lay in the man himself. "He was reserved, and in no sense magnetic or responsive," says one who knew him well. " There was something in his manner of the New England hills among which he was born, — a little stern and bleak and dry, although suf- fused with the tender and scentless splendor of the white laurel." THANATOPSIS To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5 Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come hke a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images lo Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart ; — Go forth, under the open sky, and Hst To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 15 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : — Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 20 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. And, lost each human trace, surrendering up BRYANT 59 Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 10 n 20 2e 30 6o MIDDLE PERIOD In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase 5 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glides away, the sons of men — The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes 10 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join 15 The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night. Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 20 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. THE FLOOD OF YEARS A MIGHTY Hand, from an exhaustless Urn, Pours forth the never-ending Flood of Years, 25 Among the nations. How the rushing waves Bear all before them ! On their foremost edge, And there alone, is L'fe. The Present there Tosses and foams, and fills the air with roar Of mingled noises. There are they who toil, 30 And they who strive, and they who feast, and they BRYANT 6 1 Who hurry to and fro. The sturdy swain — Woodman and delver with the spade — is there, And busy artisan beside his bench, And paUid student with his written roll. A moment on the mounting billow seen, 5 The floods sweep over them and they are gone. There groups of revelers whose brows are twined With roses, ride the topmost swell awhile, And as they raise their flowing cups and touch The clinking brim to brim, are whirled beneath lo The waves and disappear. I hear the jar Of beaten drums, and thunders that break forth From cannon, where the advancing billow ^cnds Up to the sight long files of armed men, That hurry to the charge through flame and smoke. 15 The torrent bears them under, whelmed and hid, Slayer and slain, in heaps of bloody foam. Down go the steed and rider, the plumed chief Sinks with his followers ; the head that wears The imperial diade'm goes down beside 20 The felon's with cropped ear and branded cheek. A funeral train — the torrent sweeps away Bearers and bier and mourners. By the bed Of one who dies men gather sorrowing. And women weep aloud ; the flood rolls on; 25 The wail is stifled and the sobbing group Borne under. Hark to that shrill, sudden shout. The cry of an applauding multitude, Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields The hving mass as if he were its soul ! 30 The waters choke the shout and all is still. Lo ! next a kneeling crowd, and one who spreads The hands in prayer — the engulfing wave o'ertakes And swallows them and him. A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows 35 62 MIDDLE PERIOD To beauty ; at his easel, eager-eyed, A painter stands, and sunshine at his touch Gathers upon his canvas, and Hfe glows ; A poet, as he paces to and fro. Murmurs his sounding lines. Awhile they ride 5 The advancing billow, till its tossing crest Strikes them and flings 'them under, while their tasks Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile On her young babe that smiles to her again ; : The torrent wrests it from her arms ; she shrieks 10 And weeps, and midst her tears is carried down. A beam like that of moonlight turns the spray To glistening pearls ; two lovers, hand in hand, Rise on the billowy swell and fondly look Into each other's eyes. The rushing flood 15 Flings them apart : the youth goes down ; the maid With hands outstretched in vain, and streaming eyes, Waits for the next high wave to follow him. An aged man succeeds ; his bending form Sinks slowly. Mingling with the sullen stream 20 Gleam the white locks, and then are seen no more. Lo ! wider grows the stream — a sealike flood Saps earth's walled cities ; massive palaces Crumble before it ; fortresses and towers Dissolved in the swift waters ; populous realms 25 Swept by the torrent see their ancient tribes Engulfed and lost ; their very languages Stifled, and never to be uttered more. I pause and turn my eyes, and looking back Where that tumultuous flood has been, I see 30 The silent ocean of the Past, a waste Of waters weltering over graves, its shores Strewn with the wreck of fleets where mast and hull Drop away piecemeal ; battlemented walls Frown idly, green with moss, and temples stand 35 BRYANT 62, Unroofed, forsaken by the worshipper. There He memorial stones, whence time has gnawed The graven legends, thrones of kings o'erturned. The broken altars of forgotten gods, Foundations of old cities and long streets 5 Where never fall of human foot is heard, On all the desolate pavement. I beiiold Dim gHmmerings of lost jewels, far within The sleeping waters, diamond, sardonyx, Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrysolite, ic Once glittering at the banquet on fair brows i That long ago were dust ; and all around Strewn on the surface of that silent sea Are withering bridal wreaths, and glossy locks Shorn from dear brows by loving hands, and scrolls 15 O'erwritten, haply with fond words of love And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung Fresh from the printer's engine. There they lie A moment, and then sink away from sight. I look, and the quick tears are in my eyes, 20 For I behold in every one of these A blighted hope, a separate history Of human sorrows, telHng of dear ties Suddenly broken, dreams of happiness Dissolved in air, and happy days too brief 25 That sorrowfully ended, and I think How painfully must the poor heart have beat In bosoms without number, as the blow Was struck that slew their hope and broke their peace. Sadly I turn and look before, where yet 30 The Flood must pass, and I behold a mist Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope, Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers, Or wander among rainbows, fading soon And reappearing, haply giving place 35 64 MIDDLE PERIOD To forms of grisly aspect such as Fear Shapes from the idle air — where serpents lift The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth The bony arm in menace. Further on A belt of darkness seems to bar the way 5 Long, low, and distant, where the Life to come Touches the Life that is. The Flood of Years Rolls toward it near and nearer. It must pass That dismal barrier. What is there beyond ? Hear what the wise and good have said. Beyond 10 That belt of darkness, still the Years roll on More gently, but with not less mighty sweep. They gather up again and sofdy bear All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed And lost to sight, all that in them was good, 15 Noble, and truly great, and worthy of love — The lives of infants and ingenuous youths. Sages and saintly women who have made Their households happy ; all are raised and borne By that great current in its onward sweep, 20 Wandering and rippling with caressing waves Around green islands with the breath Of flowers that never wither. So they pass From stage to stage along the shining course Of that bright river, broadening like a sea. 25 As its smooth eddies curl along their way They bring old friends together ; hands are clasped In joy Unspeakable ; the mother's arms Again are folded round the child she loved And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, 30 Or but remembered to make sweet the hour That overpays them ; wounded hearts that bled Or broke are healed forever. In the room Of this grief-shadowed present, there shall be A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 35 BRYANT 65 The heart, and never shall a tender tie Be broken ; in whose reign the eternal Change That waits on growth and action shall proceed With everlasting Concord hand in hand. THE BATTLEFIELD Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 5 Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah ! never shall the land forget How gushed the life blood of her brave — 10 Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet. Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm, and fresh, arid still ; Alone the chirp of flitting bird. And talk of children on the hill, 15 And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ; Men start not at the battle cry, Oh, be it never heard again ! 2c Soon, rested those who fought; but thou Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now. Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare ! lingering long 25 Through weary day and weary year, A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. long's am. poems — 5 66 MIDDLE PERIOD Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, . And blench not at thy chosen lot. The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 5 The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; The eternal years of God are hers ; lo But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies» among his worshippers. Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, 15 Like those who fell ni battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield. Another hand the standard wave. Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 20 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year. Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 25 And from the wood top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter hght and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? BRYANT 67 Alas ! they are all in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falHng where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 5 And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood. Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. 10 And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come. To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still. And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill. The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, 15 And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf. And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: 20 Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. THE EVENING WIND Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day. Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow ; 25 Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 68 MIDDLE PERIOD Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And sweUing the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! Nor I alone ; a thousand bosoms round 5 Inhale thee in the fullness of delight; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Liveher, at coming of the wind of night ; And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vaSi iiiland stretched beyond the sight. 10 Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! Go, rock the little wood bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 15 Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast ; Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass. And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. 20 The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed 25 Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, *And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. Go — but t'he circle of eternal change, Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, 30 With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more ; BRYANT 69 Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore ; And, Hstening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 5 And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet hght Succeeds the keen and frosty night, Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, is Or columbines, in purple dressed. Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown. And frost and shortening days portend 15 The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky. Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. 20 I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart. May look to heaven as I depart. TO A WATERFOWL Whither, midst falling dew, 25 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy soHtary way ? yo MIDDLE PERIOD Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink 5 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — lo The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 15 Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend. Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 20 Thou'rt gone ! the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, 25 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright. BRYANT 71 AMERICA Oh mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace ! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, Admire and hate thy blooming years. With words of shame 5 And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red ; Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet ; 10 Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Aye, let them rail — those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art, 15 How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide ; 20 How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, hke flowers, the valley shades ; What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; — What cordial welcomes greet the guest 25 By thy lone rivers of the West ; How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and God is feared, In woodland homes. And where the ocean border foams. 30- 5^2 MIDDLE PERIOD There's freedom at thy gates and rest For Earth's down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread. Power, at thy bounds, ^ Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Oh, fair young mother ! on thy brow Shall sit a nobler grace than now. Deep in the brightness of the skies The thronging years in glory rise, lo And, as they fleet. Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour, Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; And when thy sisters, elder born, 15 Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye, Upon their lips the taunt shall die. RALPH WALDO EMERSON 1803-1882 The life of Emerson, although marked by few real hardships^ was not so unruffled as that of Longfellow, Holmes, or Lowell. He was born at Boston, not far from the spot where Benjamin Franklin was born nearly a century earlier, and spent most of his life at Concord, where he died. His father was minister of the First Church at Boston. His ancestors, most of whom were ministers, had been settled in New England for five generations. He thus belonged to what Dr. Holmes called the " Brahmin caste " of New England, and inherited its tradi- lions of plain living and high thinking, as well as of resolute daring. His grandfather was minister of the church at Concord when the EMERSON 73 Revolution broke out, and urged his parishioners on to the fight at Concord Bridge in 1775, — the fight which Ralph Waldo Emerson afterwards celebrated in song. The same fighting quality was shown by Emerson, not in arms, but in a moral and intellectual way. Emerson was eight years old when his father died. He entered the Latin School and spent a studious youth. Puritan influences were still strong, and it is said that he rarely played, and that he never owned a sled. His patriotism, however, was on the alert. While a schoolboy during the War of 1812, when a rumor came that the British were to send a fleet to blockade Boston Harbor, he went with the rest of the boys to build earthworks to protect the city. He also wrote boyish verses celebrating the victories of the American navy. He entered Harvard in 181 7. As his widowed mother found it necessary to take in boarders in order to educate her sons, Emerson [got the appointment at Harvard of " President's Freshman," by which he got his lodgings free by carrying official messages. He also helped to pay his board by serving at the college commons as waiter. While at college Emerson came under the influence of such teachers as Ed- ward Everett and George Ticknor. He was not distinguished as a scholar, but he read widely, and was appointed class poet at graduation. P^or several years after leaving college he assisted his brother in con- ducting in Boston "a young ladies' seminary," earning money to pay his debts and to help his mother, and at the same time studying divinity. In 1829 he was appointed assistant pastor of the Second Church in Boston, and shortly became the regular minister. During this pastorate he married Miss Ellen Tucker, who died a few months afterward. Not long after the death of his wife, he severed his pastoral connection with his church, owing to a difference of opinion with his parishioners as to the importance of celebrating the Lord's Supper. Emerson continued to preach irregularly for some years, but he never again held a charge. His loss to the church was a distinct gain to literature. In 1832 he sailed for Europe, and visited Italy, France, and Great Britain. In England he met Carlyle, Wordsworth, and Coleridge. With Carlyle he formed a lasting friendship. Upon his return from Europe, Emerson settled in Concord, a village near Boston, where he remained for the rest of his life. In 1835 he married Miss Lidian Jackson, with whom for nearly half a century he lived happily. At Concord he farmed, he thought, and he wrote ; he was also a good citizen and neighbor. By inheritance he was an aristocrat. 74 MIDDLE PERIOD He had, however, exquisitely fine democratic ways. In his bearing there was never the slightest assumption of superiority. He was kindly, Just, affable, but with a touch of reticence, and he bore the hard knocks of the world with such smiling serenity that people often thought him self-centered, and at times insolent. But this apparent self-sufficiency was really self-mastery. Not long after Emerson settled at Concord, he published his first book. Nature, and soon afterwards delivered a notable oration on The American Scholar before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard. In this oration he urged American scholars to be self-reliant, and to break av*ay from European influences. Dr. Holmes declared this oration to be "our intellectual Declaration of Independence.'' Lowell, then a senior in college, wrote of the event afterwards : " What crowded and breathless aisles, what windows clustering with eager heads, what enthusiasm of approval, what grim silence of foregone dissent!" After Emerson had published Nature and had delivered the Phi Beta Kappa oration, he was fairly launched as a man of letters. Throughout his long life he worked brilliantly in prose and verse, and he was successful on the lecture platform. His complete works consist of eleven volumes, ten in prose and one in verse. His prose consists mostly of essays, but he wrote two long volumes, Represetitative Men and English Traits. His essays cover a wide range of thought. They discuss manners, morals, love, solitude, and almost everything which bears upon human conduct. The gospel of self-reliance is preached in no uncertain tone ; also the gospel of individualism. Be yourself, and not an imitator ; rely upon 3'ourself, and not upon others ; aim high, and work hard, and be cheerful. " Hitch your waggon to a star," he said, and he did it himself: but he never let the weeds choke his corn, or failed to keep a comfortable balance in the bank. It is this sane blending of ideality and shrewd common sense that makes Emerson so stimulating a force. Emerson's one volume of poetry, in spite of its shortcomings, seems likely to live long. In verse as in prose he was not a workman who polished his wares. Matter seemed to him more worth while than manner. It is to be regretted that his verse lacks smoothness and sensuous charm, and that the element of human passion is weak. It displays, however, a profound love of nature, an abiding patriotism,, and sudden turns of thought which quicken the imagination, invigorate the spirit, and live in the memory. EMERSON 75 CONCORD HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT, APRIL 1 9, 1836 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept ; 5 Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream. We set to-day a votive stone ; lo That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare 15 The shaft we raise to them and thee. THE PROBLEM I LIKE a church ; I like a cowl ; I love a prophet of the soul ; And on my heart monastic aisles Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles : 20 Yet not for all his faith can see Would I that cowled churchman be. ^6 MIDDLE PERIOD Why should the vest on him allure, Which I could not on me endure? Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought; Never from hps of cunning fell 5 The thriUing Delphic oracle ; Out from the heart of nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old; The litanies of nations came, Like the volcano's tongue of flame, lo Up from the burning core below, — The canticles of love and woe : The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity ; 15 Himself from God he could not free ; He builded better than he knew ; The conscious stone to beauty grew. Knowst thou what wove yon wood bird's nest Of leaves and feathers from her breast ? 20 Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, Painting with morn each annual cell ? Or how the sacred pine tree adds To her old leaves new myriads ? Such and so grew these holy piles, 25 Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, As the best gem upon her zone, And Morning opes with haste her lids To gaze upon the Pyramids ; 30 O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, As on its friends, with kindred eye ; For out of Thought's interior sphere EMERSON yy These wonders rose to upper air ; And Nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Ararat. c These temples grew as grows the grass Art might obey, but not surpass. The passive Master lent his hand To the vast soul that o'er him planned ; And the same power that reared the shrine lo Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host, Trances the heart through chanting choirs, And through the priest the mind inspires. 15 The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; The word by seers or sibyls told. In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, 20 Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost. I know what say the fathers wise, — The Book itself before me hes, 25 Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, And he who blent both in his line. The younger Golden Lips or mines, Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines. His words are music in my ear, 30 I see his cowled portrait dear ; And yet, for all his faith could see, I would not the good bishop be. ;^S MIDDLE PERIOD EACH AND ALL Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown Of thee from the hill top looking down ; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, 5 Deems not that great Napoleon Stops his horse, and Hsts with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 10 All are needed by each one ; Nothing is fair or good alone. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven. Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; S5 He sings the song, but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky ; He sang to my eq.r, — they sang to my eye. The dehcate shells lay on the shore ; The bubbles of the latest wave ao Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their sa^e escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 25 But the poor, unsightly, noison.e things Had left their beauty or the shore With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid, As mid the virgin train she strayed, 30 Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, EMERSON 79 Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage ; The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, " I covet truth ; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat ; 5 I leave it behind with the games of youth : '* As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground pine curled its pretty wreath. Running over the club moss burs ; I inhaled the violet's breath ; 10 Around me stood the oaks and firs ; Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground ; Over me soared the eternal sky. Full of light and of deity ; Again I saw, again I heard, 15 The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole ; I yielded myself to the perfect whole. DAYS Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb hke barefoot dervishes, 20 And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, 25 Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. 8o MIDDLE PERIOD FORBEARANCE Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, 5 In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine 1 THE HUMBLE-BEE Burly, dozing humble-bee. Where thou art is clime for me. 10 Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek ; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, 15 Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer. Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! 20 Sailor of the atmosphere ; Swimmer through the waves of air ; Voyager of hght and noon ; Epicurean of June ; Wait, I prithee, till I come 25 Within earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze EMERSON 8 1 Silvers the horizon wall, And with softness touching all. Tints the human countenance With the color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, 5 Turns the sod to violets. Thou, in sunny solitudes. Rover of the underwoods. The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. 10 Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers, Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 15 In Indian wildernesses found ; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure. Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen ; 20 But violets and bilberry bells. Maple-sap and daffodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky. Columbine with horn of honey, 25 Scented fern and agrimony, Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue And brier roses, dwelt among ; All beside was unknown waste. All was picture as he passed. 30 Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher long's am. poems — 6 82 MIDDLE PERIOD Seeing only what is tair^ Sipping only what is sweet. Thou dost mock at fate and care. Leave the chaff and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast 5 Cools sea and land so far and fast^, Thou already slumberest deep ; Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; Want and woe, which torture us^ Thy sleep makes ridiculous.