w?$ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDODE^ba]^ "bf ' y * ^ -. . & . ? ** v \ V? ** v \ f» «/\ ^0' * > ^ • V < ^0* "fct ' <•> ♦ J? 6 G , 4>"^ "o. "'TVs'- < Copyright 1910, 1920 ■ By Scott, Foresman and company • I92U ROBERT O. LAW COMPANY EDITION BOOK MANUFACTURERS CHICAGO. U. S. A ©CI.A570135 i PREFACE. The increasing use of selections from our native poets is one of the commendable changes in sec- ondary education. That our poets are equal in merit to the greatest of England or of the world no compe- tent critic would care to assert, but that they should be ignored is also far from reason. An acquaintance with them will minister to both culture and a na- tional self-knowledge. For the sake of the latter the teaching of them should begin as far down as possible in the English curriculum. In connection with the former we may see that the same principle which chooses The Merchant of Ymu-c rather than Hamlet, The Lady of lh<> Lake rather than In Memo- nam, for study in preparatory schools, applies to them; they appeal strongly to younger students. For these two reasons, therefore, it is well that they should be represented in the list of entrance re- .quiremcnts. The aim of the present volume is to make easy the approach to three of the notable and typical poems of three of our best poets. The editor would suggest that, in the consideration of any one of the 1 poems, the first thing to do is to read it with the least possible reference to comment?. A more careful study may follow, but even then the beauty 5 6 Preface of the poetry and the spirit of the writer are the things that should stand out in the student's mind. The plan of editing and the method of annotating will largely explain themselves. In the biographical and critical sections the effort has been to include significant facts and distinctive phases rather than a mass of details which few students would compre- hend or remember. In the notes the purpose has been to clear up difficulties and to stimulate by an occasional comment rather than to flaunt an editorial erudition. In omitting definitions — a plan violated but seldom in this vohime — the idea has been that a free use of the dictionary on the part of the student will train the perceptions and make for accuracy of speech. It is the sincere hope of the editor that the work will prove flexible and adaptable, and that it- will lead the student to crave further knowledge of the glories of our literature. The Univeesity of Arkansas, March, 1910. TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Preface .'.....-. 5 Edgar Allan Poe 9 life writings the raven The Raven— Text 21 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 29 LIFE writings the courtship of miles standish The Courtship of Miles Standish — Text .... 4] John Greenleaf Whittier . . ' Ill LIFE writings snow-bound Snow-Bound — Text 121 Notes . . : 147 Appendix Helps to Study 155 Theme Subjects 159 Selections for Class Reading 160 EDGAR ALLAN POE. I. Poe was born January 10. 1809, in Boston, Massa- chusetts, where his actor-parent? were then filling a theatrical engagement. His father was of Colt it- blood and the son of a Revolutionary patriot. His mother was of English descent. The parents died, within a few days of each other, at Richmond, Vir- ginia; and thus at the age of two Poe was left, along with an older brother and a younger sister, without a protector. He was adopted by a tobacco merchant, Mr. John Allan, who became well-to-do. The future poet was a beautiful, bright child, and speedily became a good declaimer, a lover of horses and dogs, and the pet of the Allan household. In his seventh year he was taken to England and put into school in a suburb of London. Reminiscences of the five years that followed may be traced in his story, "William Wilton. Afterwards he spent five years in private academies in Richmond, where he dis- tinguished himself in athletics, especially swimming and boxing, and in French. Here, too, he met, in the mother of one of his schoolmates, the first of his numerous Helens and Lenores. Doubtless she was attracted by the amiable and refined qualities which won for him through life the high regard of women. For months after her death he is said to have haunted 9 10 Edgar A llan Poe her grave. To her inspiration is due one of his most magical lyrics, To Helen, probably written when he was only fourteen. He enrolled in the University of Virginia in 1826 and remained there a year, achieving distinction in Latin, French, and Italian, but confirming an in- herited taste for drink, and gambling recklessly. Already it was beginning to be clear that, although his nature was unmoral rather than immoral, his life was destined to be tragic. A rupture with Mr. Allan, consequent upon his delinquencies, led to his going to Boston, where he published, in 1827, a thin volume of verse, Tamerlane and Oilier Poems. Void of the means of subsistence, he enlisted, under an assumed name, in the United States army. After two years of faithful service he obtained his release through Mr. Allan, and later secured an appointment to a cadet- ship at West Point. His impulsive and imperious nature could not brook the discipline, however, and he brought about his own expulsion. As Mr. Allan was thereafter completely alienated, Poe found himself in 1831 driven to reliance upon himself. A second lite- rary venture, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829), had meantime proved as barren of financial profit as the first. He now issued another volume of poems, containing, with less notable pieces, To Helen, Israfel, The City in the Sea, The Sleeper, and Le- nore; and plunged into a Bohemian life and a bitter struggle for very existence. For the attainment of material success he was wholly unfitted both by nature and by training. He Edgar Allan Poe 11 was as perverse as he was impractical, and there was a pettiness about him that made him hard to assist. Ingratitude was sometimes mingled with his folly. The age, too, was crude, unpoetic. Much of his work was a drudgery against which he chafed. Thus his passionate love for beauty was thwarted on every hand. His pen was his only resource; and, though he wielded it with speed and dexterity, the grim shadow of poverty continued to hang over him. Against his tendency to drink he fought bravely, and for long periods with success, though he was hampered by an irresolute will. In 1833, after two obscure years, he made a fair start in his literary life by winning a $100 prize in Baltimore and thereby gaining the attention of John P. Kennedy, a public man who was also prominent as a writer of fiction. A position on the staff of The Southern Literary Messenger re- sulted. His work, especially his criticisms, gave the magazine a great reputation : but in 1837 he lost his position, largely through his own fault. Some years were spent, largely at hack work, in Philadelphia, in which city he held for short periods the editorship of The Gentleman's Magazine and Gra- ham's Magazine and published (1840) his Tales of the Grotescpie and Arabesque. Previously, in 1836, he had married his child-cousin, Virginia Clemm. His devotion to her was beautiful ; and when in sing- ing for him in 1842 she broke a blood vessel in her throat, he suffered the agony of many deaths. In 1844 he went to New York. The publication the next year of The Raven made him famous the world 12 Edgar A llari Foe over. The poem, along with others, was quickly in- eluded in hook form ; and another volume of Talrs was given to the public Poe moved in 1846, with his wife and his loyal mother-in-law. to a cottage at Fordham, near the field of his labor in New York. Sick and poverty- stricken, lie saw his Virginia fading from his side; and in January, 1847, wrapped in a military cloak that had been her last shield from the cold, he fol- lowed her body to the grave. He was no longer him- self; his balance of mind, health of body, and strength of character were alike impaired; and the remainder of his life is a sad record of decline. Nevertheless, he published Ulalume late in 1847. He also wrote Annabel Lee, an exquisite tribute to his dead wife, and The Bells, though neither of these poems was printed during his lifetime. On Septem- ber 30, 1849, he started, with $1,500 raised by means of a subscription lecture, from Richmond to Xew York. On October 3 he was found, drugged and robbed, in an election booth — the back room of a sa- loon — in Baltimore. Four days later he died. II. Distinction fell to Poe in three fields of literary activity*— criticism, the short story, and poetry. It was as a critic that he enjoyed his chief con- temporary fame. Almost alone among our early men of letters he possessed the necessary critical attributes Edgar Allan Foe 13 — a definite ideal in literature, exquisite sensibilities, and a hio-h standard of excellence. To these he added an analytical turn of mind that enabled him to dis- cern very quickly the qualities of promise in young writers. His criticisms, therefore, were often lumi- nous and acute. Unfortunately', they too often ad- hered to the abusive methods of the old school and were marred by prejudice and personal rancor, as in his unwarrantable attack on the gentlest of our poets in an article entitled Mr. LongfelVow and Other Plagiarists. Such strenuous censure brought two- fold results — first, a perceptible improvement in the quality of American letters, and, second, a hostility toward Poe himself that sought by base means to blacken his memory. In the world of fiction his influence is still greater. It cannot be denied that he was one of the originator- of the short story as a distinctive literary form. The modern detective story, in particular, must ascribe its origin to him. Yet the marked ingenuity which he practiced and stimulated lias been less fruitful as a model than his habit, seen in most of his best work, of laying the emphasis not on incident but on tone and impression. . The purpose of a writer, he maintained, should lie to work out. "with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect/' Guided by this precept, he produced a series of tales that have a strange fascination and are, in some cases, absolutely flawless as specimens of art. They add to a (i reek- sense of form an oriental love for ornament, subdued to the purpose in band by an unerring taste. They # 14 Edgar Allan Poe are tempered, of course, by the peculiar disposition of the author. They may be divided into three classes, viz., stories of horror, stories of ratiocination or the unraveling of mysterious problems, and stories of the supernatural. Well-known examples are The Pit and the Pendulum and The Black Cat; The Gold-Bug and The Purloined Letter; and The Fall of the House of Usher and Ligeia. It is with Poe as a poet that we are concerned. In this province, as in others, he is unique, alone — the Ishmael of American literature. And his rank is high. Indeed, it has come to be recognized that he is the only one of our poets who possessed genius in any strict sense of the word. He is the only one of his day who was entirely an artist, though Longfel- low and Bryant have large claims; and he is the only one who adds to careful art the imagination and the plastic touch necessary to achieve anything assuredly lasting. Abroad he is one of the three American writers who have won a literaiy following, and his influence is more decided than Hawthorne's or Whit- man's. In France particularly, his vogue is strong. Though Poe is entitled to fairer laurels than our other poets, he must rest his poetical fame upon a dozen short lyrics. In the frugal body of his work lie is comparable to Gray, Collins, and Keats. His meagre product, like that of these poets, has a rare distinction. To Helen is filled with a delicate and classic grace. Israfel has a rapturous and exalted fire and a yearning at the close for that imperishable perfection to which lofty souls must aspire. The City Edgar A llan Poe 15 in the Sea is shadow};, but vivid, lurid, terrible. The Sleeper distils the essence of a sorrowful and eerie vagueness. The Haunted Palace is a tremendous and ethereal picture of the mind's overthrow. The Con- queror Worm is the knell of human life and hope. The Raven, as Poe himself said, is the emblem — a superb one — of "mournful and never-ending remem- brance." Ulalume, in many ways his most charac- teristic poem, is a cloud-structure built from an elfin music. The Bells is the most triumphant wedding of sound to sense in the English language. Annabel Lee is as noble a love lyric as literature affords. There are, in addition, a few other pieces that a lesser genius might prize ; but none, perhaps, fully worthy of Poe. A reading of these poems, together with the lectures on The Philosophy of Composition and The Poetic Principle, will show Poe's merits and also his defects. The poems are clothed with a diction that is flexible and chaste. They are surcharged with a melody that is seldom surpassed. They are radiant with visions of beauty, a beauty afflicted and in ruins. Often they are brilliantly imaginative, always serene and secure in their grace and poise. They are fre- quently graphic, and yet they are permeated with a dreamy languor, a delicious vagueness that is both an end in itself and a power to suggest. They are everywhere replete with indefinable charms. Yet they exhibit hardly more than a single mood, a single theme; their range is fatally narrow, and it is only for the briefest glimpses that they lead us away from 16 Edgar Allan Poe shadows of the sepulchre. They are almost too perfect; they have been worked over and over until we feel that they are not on lire with an imagination completely unfettered from the devices of form. Their life is not one with the Life of nature; their imagery itself is drawn from a Dream-land that lies "out of Space — out of Time." They are not deeply human, sometimes not human at all; their passion is not vitally real, and the love they sing is well-nigh that of disembodied spirits. They are, while unstained by "the heresy of the didactic," also without that moral element which is present in the works of those writers who accept their duties in the world as it is. These last two deficiencies may perhaps be made to comprise the others. If the poems were more human, they would be more varied, more spontaneous, still more highly imaginative, more indissolubly linked with the heart of nature. If they were solidly based on -moral truth they would be indispensable to man- kind, not merely rare temples of beauty in the realm of art. Poe's lack of a robust and virile substance places him immeasurably below the great world- figures in literature, such as Homer, Dante, and Shakespeare. Nor can we console ourselves with thinking that had he lived longer his achievement would have been of profounder value and wider scope. He had chosen his field and reaped therefrom the utmost harvest. The few themes of his precocious youth were per- fected and enriched, but not increased, by his man- / Edgar Allan Poe 17 hoods The limits set by his own character and by his literary theories gave no room for expansion. The lofty ideal expressed by Arnold — that of "seeing life steadily and seeing it whole" — it was not in the na- ture of things for Poe to approach. His objection to the long poem, his preference for such poetry as that of Shelley to that of Shakespeare, are alike signifi- cant, measuring bis weakness and bis strength. His crowning glory is that in a new country, in an age when technique was lacking and thin moralizing and sentimentality were rampant, he proposed to himself definite poetic ends, and went with admirable sure- ness to an achievement that is chaste and artistic. The charges that were brought against his originality are, on the whole, trivially founded. His earlier poetry was affected, it is true, by Byron, Moore, and Shelley. He owed some of the metrical qualities of The Haven to Mrs. Browning and to Albert Pike. There is sometimes a resemblance, in form and tone, between his works and those of T)r. Chivers, of Georgia, but Poe was less influenced by Chivers than has often been supposed. A kind of prototype he found in Coleridge, whose poetry made him trem- ble, be said, ''dike one who stands upon a volcano, conscious, from the very darkness bursting from the crater, of the fire and the light that are weltering below." But he remains himself — the poet of death, of despair, and of the enchantment of things that are fragile and lovely. His verses will haunt the memo- ries of men so long as the love for pure art endures. 18 Edgar Allan Poe III. Two of Poe's theories of poetic art — both of them woven into the warp and woof of The Raven — have stirred not a little comment. One he expresses thus : "I hold that a long poem does not exist" ; "what we term a long poem is, in fact, merely a succes- sion of brief ones — that is to say, of brief poetical effects/' By way of illustration he asserts that from its very length Paradise Lost, though poetical throughout, cannot, if read at one sitting, maintain the enthusiasm of the reader, but gives rise rather to "a constant alternation of excitement and depres- sion." This contention for a total and unified im- pression is perfectly sound if we admit that in poetry lyrical and emotional effects alone are legitimate. It ignores the fact that the long poem belongs to an en- tirely different genre, and affords a fuller "criti- cism" of the whole of life. The second theory affirms that "that pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is . . . derived from the contemplation of the beautiful"; that therefore "Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem"; that, in fact, "the Poetry of words is the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty"; and that, with- out "attempting to reconcile the obstinate oils and waters of Poetry and Truth," the bard who would allay his "thirst unquenchable" must wage "war on Vice solely on the ground of her deformity." Since universal experience attests; lie explains further, that the tone by which the highest beauty is manifested is one of sadness, it follows that "the death . . . Edgar Allan. Poe 19 of a beautiful woman . . . " is the most poetical topic in the world." How often Poe acted upon this conclusion his readers need not be told. The theory itself yields a good corrective to the obtrusion of didactics into the realm of aesthetics ; yet it savors too much of "art for art's sake,"' and pays but the slight- est heed to that which is surely essential — a basic moral soundness. In The Philosophy of Composition Poe details a process by which, he insists, The Raven was con- structed. As the initial axiom he assumed "that every plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its denouement before anything be attempted with the pen." The germ of the poem lay in the desire to produce through verse a definite and striking effect. In casting about for means to this end the author evolved, not only the theme and the general tone, but the stanzaic structure as well. In the portrayal of the deepening of the hero's feeling from casual interest to overwhelming despair, a certain verisimilitude was given and curiosity was heightened and prolonged by sucli devices as making the lover mistake the first nutter outside for a "tapping" at the door, and by haying him adopt, when he found only darkness, "the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that knocked." Contrast was deliberately employed in such matters as the tempestuous night and the phys- ical serenity of the chamber : the ebon plumage of the bird and the marble of the bust upon which it perched ; the quaint diction and fantastic air — "approaching as nearly to the ludicrous as was ad- 20 Edgar Allan Pcfe missible" — of some of the earlier parts, and the morbidness of the ultimate impression. Everything was rigorously suppressed to "the climacteric effect" ; and had the poet, in the course of his task, been able to compose stanzas that were disproportionately vig- orous, he would, "without scruple, purposely have en- feebled them." Suspicion of allegorical import was excluded until the very last, when the reader was dexterously apprised that all was symbolic of the memory that is sad and never-ceasing. Poe's statement of his manner of construction we need not accept in iota. He himself gave a hint for modif}dng it when lie declared earlier in life: "With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion." The Raven is not merely a thing of rule and recipe ; in no wise did Poe, in his critical theorizing, account for its fire, it* shaping imagination, its intangible glory. We may admit that it is more nearly a child of mathematics, a. creature of logic, than some of his other poems, and therefore shows a less plastic genius and less convincing passion. Yet in its seductive melody, its necromancers weirdness, its unforgettable picture of the struggle between a human soul and tormenting memories that will not down, there dwells an intense fascination. Indeed, with the exception of Gray's Elegy, The Raven is perhaps the best known and most widely admired short poem in the English language. THE RAVEN Once upon a midnight dreary, while T pondered, weak and wean', Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgot- ten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door : Only this and nothing more." Ah. distinctly T remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the moruow : — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow^sorrow for the lost Lenoir. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore : Nameless here for evermore. 21 22 Edgar Allan Poe And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each pur- ple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic tennis never felt before ; 15 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, T stood repeating " ? Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. Some late visitor entreating entrance at my cham- ber door: This it is and nothing more/' Presently my sonl grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 20 "Sir," said ], "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently yon came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door : — Darkness there and nothing more. 25 Deep into that darkness peering, long T stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, The Raven 23 And the only word there spoken was the whis- pered word, "Lenore?" This T whispered, and an echo murmured hack the word, "Lenore :" 30 Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning - , all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Purely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is. and this mys- tery explore: 35 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : 7 Tis the wind and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter. In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he: not a minute stopped or stayed he: w But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 24 Edgar Allan Poe Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — 45 "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, u art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven, ''Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly, 50 Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his- chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "'Nevermore/' 55 But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his sonl in that one word he did outpour, Nothing further then he nit-red. not a feather then he fluttered, Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have flown before; The Raven 25 On the morrow he will leave me. as my Hopes have flown before/ 5 o Then the bird said, "Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and stoic. Caught from some unhappy master whom unmer- ciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: 5 Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy bur- den bore Of 'Never — nevermore/ " Bat the' Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 3 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Xevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 26 Edgar Allan Poe To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 75 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore ! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 80 Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee— by these angels he hath sent thee Eespite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaif this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore !" Quoth the Eaven, "Nevermore." B5 "Prophet !" said T, "thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore : The Raven 27 Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore I" io Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the dis- tant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore : 15 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore !" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I shrieked, upstarting : "Met thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy ' soul hath spoken ! >o Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door \" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 28 Edgar Allan Poe On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my cham- ber door; 105 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon** that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor : And my soul from out that shadow that lies float- ing on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore ! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. I. Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, on the 27th of February, 1807. He was the second of eight children and came of an old New England family. H\> father, a Harvard graduate and a lawyer, was at one time a member of Congress; bis mother, who bore with constant sweetness of temper the trials of an invalid, could trace back her ancestry to John Alden and Priscilla Mullins, whose story the poet- was to tell in The Courtship of Miles Standish. Longfellow himself was a high-minded and active boy, quick-tempered but easily appeased, orderly, un- selfish, and eager sometimes to impatience. In the beautiful and bustling town of Portland he found much to attract him, and stored his mind vith memories that inspired not a few of his later poems. He also had access to his father's library, which was for that day, unusually full and well chosen. Here he became thoughtful and studious, though not melan- choly. The first book to fascinate him was Irving^ Sketch Bool-. The next year, when only thirteen, he began to cherish literary aspirations and contributed some verses to the Portland Gazette. After finishing at Portland Academy, he entered Bowdoin College, an institution at that time sur- 29 30 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow \ rounded with Indian haunts and legends. Here he continued to write poetry, which was, of course, imitative and immature, and to cultivate his mind through miscellaneous reading. He gave enough at- tention to his studies, however, to graduate fourth in a class whose roll held some memorable names, not the least distinguished of which was that of Nathaniel Hawthorne. The choice of a profession was a matter about which Longfellow was deeply perplexed. While he was strongly inclined toward literature, he saw the wisdom of his father's warning that the America of that day would not support the man who gave him- self wholly to letters. Law, medicine, and the min- istry he considered in turn, finally deciding in favor of the first. "This/' said he, "will support my real existence, literature my ideal one." Fortunate^, at this juncture the trustees of Bowdoin determined to establish a professorship of modern languages and to offer the position to Longfellow upon the condition that he travel in Europe for further study. These terms the poet was glad to accept. Three delightful years, 1826-29, were spent among - the southern nations of Europe, where the poet ob- tained a practical knowledge of French, Spanish, and Italian. In addition to a deepened scholarship, he acquired a passion for the romantic lore and scenery of the Old World that was to help make him an apostle of culture to the New. He now entered upon the duties of his professorship. So limited was the curriculum of that day that he was obliged to com- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 31 (tile his own text books. His responsibilities pro- longed his poetical silence; but he published Outre- Mer (1833-34), a collection of prose sketches about things "Beyond the Sea/' and furnished a few arti- cles on the elementary phases of various literatures to the North American Review. To illustrate these articles he rendered into English a number of for- eign poems, thus beginning that work as a translator in which, for many years, he was to exhibit deft pill, and through which he was to introduce Ameri- cans to much that was good in modern letters. In 1834 he was offered the most prominent position iithin his chosen field, the professorship of mod- ern languages at Harvard. To prepare himself the Sore thoroughly he sailed the following year for ughteen months of study in northern Europe. On :his second trip he gave special attention to German, md one of the results was the publication in 1839 )f his prose romance, Hyperion, which was greatly pvored by German influence. It was on this trip ilso that his first wife, Mary Potter, to whom he had )een married in 1831, died: and that be met Frances ■ppleton, who was to become his bride in 1843. At Cambridge he first occupied and afterwards wiled the famous Craigie house, which overlooked he Charles river, and in which Washington had been uartered for some months during the Eevolution. n 1839 he issued a slender volume of poems, The oicrs of the Night, in which were included, besides veral pieces which he called Earlier Poems, such Hcs as The Psalm of Life and Footsteps of Angels. 32 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow This was the real beginning of his poetic career^ a: it brought him into instant and widespread pop larity. Ballads and Oilier Poems appeared two re- lator, and contained The Skeleton in Armor, 7 Wreck of the Hesperus, The Village Blacksmith, T Rainy Day, and Excelsior. Seven brief lyrics mr the title of Poems of Slavery were published in 18 In this year also, The Spanish Student, a dra came out as a serial. The Belfry of Bruges ■ Other Poems, though dated 1846, was given to public at the end of the preceding year. In 18 moreover, Longfellow published The Poets , Poetry of Europe, and thus finished, with the ex< tion of a single volume, his work as mere comp 1 ' and editor. He had "found himself," and was re; to begin the. second and most fruitful period of 1 literary life. Already he had started Evangeline. This ci brated poem came into print two years later f was widely acclaimed. It was followed by The £ side and the Fireside, containing The Building the Ship, in 1849; by The Golden Legend, the fi and best part of an ambitious trilogy entitled Chris — a Mystery, in 1851 ; by the famous Indian lege of Hiawatha in 1855; and by The Courtship of Mi Standish in 1858. To this second and most frn ful period belong also My Lost Youth, The Ch drens Hour, and some of the best of the Tales a Wayside Inn, the three parts of which were i published, however, until 1863, 1872, and 1873, spectively. By 1854 the poet realized that his Henry Wadsworth Longfellow " 33 , come, outside his salary as professor, was adequate to ; his support; and, impelled by the wish to escape irk- some confinement and to give more of his energy to poetry, he resigned the position he had honored -it Harvard. He continued, however, to reside at Cambridge. The third period of his literary life — the one de- . oted primarily to the translation of Dante — began ...bruptly. In 1861 the poet suffered a terrible be- reavement in the death of his wife from accidental prns. To sustain him in this loss and to console him in the years that remained he had the sympa- hetic friendship of many of the choice spirits of the f,.ge. His children — three girls and two boys — were •also a source of great comfort. Furthermore, his eaders throughout the world were generous in their xpressions of gratitude for the inspiration his poems Lad brought them, and the children of his native land r ,-ionored him, while he was yet living, by celebrating ,;is seventy- fifth birthday. During this period he published several new volumes, some of them de- moted to drama; but the best part of his work had peen clone earlier, and excepting the excellent version of Dante and a few poems, including The Hanging of Hie Crane, Morituri Salutamus, and the sonnets, we do not treasure these productions. The poet died March 24, 1882. Just nine days before, he had pen- ned, in The Bells of San Bias, his last poetic words : Out of the shadow of night The world rolls into light; — It is daybreak everywhere. 34 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow II. At the beginning of Longfellow's poetic life, and perhaps at the end of it, New England had not wholly shaken off the ascetic mood of the Puritan. A stern rectitude had frowned upon beauty, dismissed sen- timent as trivial, and glared with intolerance upon the achievements of art. But now, mingled with this rigor was an unspoken longing for the warmth and color of life — a longing too timorous for passionate expression, but ready for emotions that were quiet and human. In such a people the sheer worshiper of beauty — a Keats or a Poe — would only have awakened alarm ; but Longfellow, reared as he was in a cultured Puritan home, stimulated by travel, and combining with a fine alchemy the artistic and the moral in- stincts, convinced his neighbors, almost before they knew it, that life to be righteous need not be unlovely. It is this simple and unconscious virtue which goes out from Longfellow that gives him his claim to distinction. The qualities we find in more vehement poets are qualities that he neither possesses nor seeks. Creative, profound, imaginative — save at the rarest intervals — he is not. Lofty passages and thunderous convictions are lacking to him. Concentrated strength is found in few places outside the sonnets, where the exactions of form brought a splendid compression. Intellectual subjects and subjects that require heat in the handling are not welcome to him. His taste is far better than his inspiration. In the Poems of Slavery, for instance, he has daintiness and finish Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 35 rather than rugged vehemence : and therefore he fails where the philippic anger of Whittier and the trench- ant derision of Lowell succeed. Even where an inno- vation in form is needed, he is not daring in his de- parture; he casts about for the old and tried, though it he so long out of use that most people have forgotten it. He has no vital touch with the higher aspirations of the race, no enraptured vision of the future, no en- thusiasm that, leaving him cosmopolitan in his sympathies, makes him also the incarnate spirit of one age or place. His peculiar power lies in telling effectively an absorbing story, in singing the cheerful acceptance of the lessons of life, in speaking bravely and plainly and sweetly Of the emotions that are com- mon to all. His pages are filled with purity, gen- uineness, sunshine. We think of him as one to whom were due an even and unruffled life and a serene old age. He resembles Irving, not only in his love for the beaten tracks, in his fondness for mediaeval romance, and in his graceful assimilation of foreign culture, but also in the gentle manliness of his personal char- acter. Along with this tenderness of Longfellow went his quiet, scholarly habits. His impetus to write came in no small degree from his reading. This fact — to which his briefest lyric and his longest narrative alike attest — constitutes his weakness and his strength . Without his library he was lost. The mere mention of a book caused him to pause in fond contemplation, as we see in The Courtship of Miles Standish: 36 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Open wide on hev lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ains« worth, Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. His descriptions, as a rule, were borrowed from the written page rather than taken from nature, and therefore lack the robust local flavor of Whittier's. Some passages, a.: the "goblet" figure in The Bridge, smell decidedly of the lamp. His metrical form was also markedly derivative, being in a great many cases adopted from foreign "models ; The Building of the Ship and Hiawatha aiv instances. On the other hand, his familiarity with a great range of literature contributed, no doubt, to his versatility and his mas- tery of form. In the former quality he exceeds all our other writers; in the latter, all except Poe. He tried, in the course of his prolific career, nearly every species of poetic composition, making a clear failure only in the dramatic; and used all measures with facility except heroic blank verse. In his choice of themes and in his selection of a metrical me- dium he showed the delicate tact of the true artist. The symmetry of his pieces was too often marred by, his tendency to tack on a moral at the end, but otherwise his sense of what was fit and attractive was unusually sure. Of all our poets Longfellow is by far the most gen- erally read. He is known and loved at thousands of firesides where writers who are greater and more com- plex are never guests. He is the poet of the home, of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 37 childhood, of simple affection.-, and of pure-hearted, moral life. In his verse we feel constantly the spirit of the man — one who was compassionate, courteous, home-loving; the true friend and benefactor of us all. III. For a right appreciation of The Courtship of Miles Stand ish it is necessary that we should bear in mind the main incidents in the story of the Pilgrims. For between the actual history of the colony and Long- fellow's narrative there are some discrepancies. The events detailed by the poet are supposed to occur within a. year after the landing. In reality a number of them occurred three or even four years later. The church was not standing and of course} no howitzer was planted on its roof at the time suggested by the poet. The rattlesnake-skin challenge was not made until January, 10??, and the real Standish was not promi- nent in the incident. The expedition against the In- dians was not made and ''the ships of the merchants" (1. 825) did not come until the third year of the setr tlement. Cattle were not brought to the colony until the fourth year, 1. 826 to the contrary notwith- standing. Even in such matters as Priscilla's seem- ing residence away from the seven houses in Plymouth there are slight deviations from strict fact. How can these changes be justified? The poet was not primarily a chronicler of actual incidents; lie was telling a story and using every means to make il ef- fective. A rigid adherence to facts he was forced to discard for the sake of poetic emphasis. If John 38 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Aldeirs struggle between love and friendship had been postponed three or four years, the story would have been robbed of his dramatic temptation to return that first spring on the Mayflower — the only deserter ! If the rattlesnake-skin challenge had been omitted, we should miss one striking instance of the choleric and impetuous nature of the captain. If the cattle had not hastened their coming, the bucolic wedding scene at the close of the poem would have been deprived of much of its charm. Thus every variation from his- toric fidelity has an ample cause back of it. Longfellow used a good deal of freedom also in his treatment of the principal characters. Almost all we know of the real John Alden is conveyed in Brad- ford's words that he "was hired for a cooper at Southampton, where the ship victualled, and being a hopeful young man, was much desired, but left to his own liking to go or stay when he came here." The poet represents him as leaving England for love of Priscilla — a fact to which Standish seems strangely blind. The Priscilla Mullins of history was in all likelihood of Huguenot extraction, and probably was not with the Pilgrims when they were in Holland. Thus the poet, who in this detail strictly follows the conjectural fact, does not have her mingle memories of that country with her charming description of English lanes and streets (11. 269-279). Her father, as Bradford tells us, died during the first winter in the New World. Miles Standish, the bluff Captain of Plymouth, did not belong to the Church of the Puritans. He liked the people, however, and they Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 39 welcomed him for the military prowess he had showed in the course of an adventurous life. He came from the Duxbury Hall or Protestant branch of an old Lancashire family. (See 1. 320 if.). It seems that he was not permanently downcast by his rejection at Priscilla's hands. On the contrary, he consoled him- self by leading to the altar another maiden of whom we know little. Though altering the outer details of history, the poet gives us a penetrating insight into the everyday life, the dress, the habits, the homes, and the stern, religious life of the Puritans. He shows us, on the one hand, how their very language was saturated with the spirit of the Bible, and, on the other, how they could mete out vengeance upon those whom they deemed the enemies of the Lord (1. 818). More- over, he tells a story which, through its excellence of structure (a thing at which Longfellow was not always sure) and its human interest, has the power to stir, sustain, and convince the emotions. Finally, he lets ripple across his pages a bracing* breath from the ocean, the one object in nature which he treats with unfailing skill and affection. This is not the place for an inquiry into his use of the Homeric hexameter, or for a technical discourse on the interspersion in it of spondees with dactyls. Suffice it to say that in Evangeline the poet had adopted, with considerable success, a measure es- teemed sacred to the epics of Greece and Eome and supposed to be useless in English verse. This meas- ure he employed anew in The Courtship of Miles 40 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Stan dish. It consists, normally, of five poetic ieet of three syllables each, followed by one foot of two syllables. The firsl syllable in each foot is heavy and on it the accent falls. L. 25 is typical: This' is the | sword' of Da- I inns' ens I | fought' with in | Flan' ders; this j breast' plate Sometimes one heavy syllable is substituted for two light ones, so that the foot altogether contains but two syllables. Thus 1. 84 would be scanned: Home' ward' j bound' with the | tid' ings of | all' that' j ter' ri- ble j win' ter. If in several successive feet a heavy syllable takes the place of two lighter ones, a considerable variation from the normal rhythm is produced. L. 62 is an example: Beau' ti- ful J Rose' of | love' that' | bloomed' for' | me' by ' the J way' side. Beneath these metrical shiftings lurk many subtle beauties, and the student who searches them out is richly repaid. Scansion is of value also in that it aids in the pronunciation of unfamiliar words and proper names, as Curved' at the j point' and in- | scribed' with its ] mys' ti- cal j Ar' a- bie | sen' tence (1. 9); Fired' point'- j blank' at my ! heart' by a f Span' ish' j ar' ca- bu- j ce' ro (1. 28); As' pin- et, j Sam' o- set, | Cor' bit- ant, 1 Squan' to, or [ Tok' a- ma- | ha' mon (1. 53). Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 41 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. I. MILES STANDISH. In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the- Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.. 5 Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands be- hind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, — Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus. Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, 10 While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 42 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. 15 Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion. Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window : Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon com- plexion, Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty there- of, as the captives Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles but Angels." 20 Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower. Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting. Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Stand isb the Captain of Plymouth. "Look at these arms/ 7 he said, "the warlike weapons, that hang here Burnished and bright and cleaji, as if for parade or inspection ! 25 This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders : this breastplate, Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish : Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet Fired point-blank at my heart. by a Spanish arca- bucero. Henry Wads worth Longfellow 43 Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Stand ish 30 Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses." Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from bis writing : "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed' of the bullet; He in his mercy preserved yon. to be our shield and our weapon !" Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling : 85 "See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging ; That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an ' excellent adage : So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. Then, too, there are nry soldiers, my great, in- vincible army, 40 Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock. Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, And. like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers !" This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams 44 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. 45 Allien- laughed as lie wrote, and still the Captain continued : "Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose. Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irre- sistible logic, Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. 50 Xow we are ready. I think, for any assault of the Indians : Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better, — Let them come if they like, he it sagamore, sachem, or pew-wow, Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Toka- mahamon !" Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, 55 Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, The Courtship of Miles Standish 45 Gloom intermingled with light : and his voice was subdued with emotion, 6o Tenderness, pity, regret, as Sffter a pause he pro- ceeded : "Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Eose Standish ; Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside ! She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower ! Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sowm there, 65 Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished !" Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down and was thoughtful. Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; 70 BarrifrVs Artillery Guide, and tin 1 Commentaries of Caesar, Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, And. as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. Musing a moment before them. Miles Standish paused, as if doubtfv] 4G Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Which of the three he should choose for his con- solation and comfort, ft Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. Finally down from its shelf he dragged the pon- derous Roman, Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb- marks thick on the margin, $u Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, Busily writing epistles important, to go by the Mayflower, Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing ! Homeward bound with 'the tidings of all that terrible winter, 85 Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla, Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ! The Courtship of Miles Standish 4? II. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. N Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying' pen of the stripling, Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 90 After a while he exclaimed, as lie smote with his hand, palm downwards, Heavily on the page: "A wonderful man was this Csesar ! You are a writer, and T am a fighter, but here is a fellow Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful !" Straightway answered and spake /John Alden, the comely, the youthful : 95 '"Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate Seven letters at once at the same tine writing his memoirs." Truly." continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, "Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar! 100 Better be first, he said, in a- little Iberian village. 48 Henry Wadsworth Long fellow Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after; Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered ; He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded ; 105 Finally he was stabbed by his friend,, the orator Brutus ! Now, do you know what he did on a certain occa- sion in Flanders. When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together 'J 1 here was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, no Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns : Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons; So he won the day, the battle of something-or- other. That's what I always say: if you wish a thing to be well" done, 115 You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others I 39 The Courtship of Miles Standish 49 All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling AYriting epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower. Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ; 120 Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla ! Finally closing his book, with a bang of the pon- derous cover, Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier ground- ing his musket, 125 Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth : ""When you have finished your work, I have some- thing important to tell you. Be not however in haste : I can wait ; I shall not be impatient !" Straightway Alden replied, a? he folded the last of his letters. Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention : 130 "Speak; for whenever yon speak, T am always ready to listen, 50 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: " T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. This I have said before, and again and again T re- peat it ; 135 Every hour in the day. 1 think it, and feel it, and say it. V Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary : Sick at heart have T been, beyond the healing of friendship. Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother 140 Died in the winter together ; I saw her going and coming, Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying, Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to my- self, that if ever There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is Priscilla 145 Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. The Courtship of Miles Standish 51 Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it. Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. Go to the damsel Priscilla. the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, 150 Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Net in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning : T am a maker of war. and not a maker of phrases. You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in ele- gant language, Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers. 153 Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden." When he had spoken. John Alden, the fair- haired, taciturn stripling, All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered. Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness. Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom. 160 Just as a timepiece "tops in a house that is stricken by lightning, 52 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered : "Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; If you would have it well done, — I am only re- peating your maxim, — You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others !" 165 But with the air of a man whom nothing ean turn from his purpose. Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Cap- tain of Plymouth : "Truly the maxim is good, and 1 do not mean to gainsay it ; But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. no I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, But march up to a woman with such a proposal. I dare not. I ni not afraid of ballets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, But of a thundering 'No!' point-blank from the .mouth of a woman. That I confess I in afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it ! 175 So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, The Courtship of Miles Standish 53 Having the grace- of speech, and skill in the turn- ing of phrases." Taking the hand of hi? friend, who still was re- luctant and doubtful, Holding it long in his own. and pressing it kindly, he added : "Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me; 180 Surely you cannot refuse what 1 ask in the name of our friendship !" Then made answer John Alden : "The name of friendship is sacred : What yon demand in that name, T have not tin- power to deny yon !" So the strong will prevailed, subduing and mould- ing the gentler, Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. III. TTTE LOVER'S ERRAND. _ 185 So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand. Oul of the street of the village and into the paths of the forest. Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were building Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, 54 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and free- dom. 190 All around him was calm, but within him coin mo- tion and conflict, Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean ! 195 "Must I relinquish it all/' he cried with a wild lamentation, — "Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion ? Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and wor- shipped in silence? Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New ' England ? 200 Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly ! This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me in anger, The Courtship of Miles Siandisli 55 205 For I have followed too much the heart's desire? and devices. Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. This is the cross I must bear ; the sin and the swift retribution. 7 ' So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shallow. 210 Gathering still, as he went, the Mayflowers bloom- ing around him. Flagrant, filling the air with a strange and won- derful sweetness. Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. "Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of Puri- tan maidens. Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 215 So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the May- flower of Plymouth, Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them : Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish. Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 56 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 220 Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind; Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow ; Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puri- tan anthem, 225 Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and com- forting many. Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the foiun of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding tin 1 ravenous spindle, 230 While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm- book of Ainsworth, Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, Bough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. The Courtship of Miles Standish 57 235 Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem. She, the Puritan girl, *m the solitude of the forest. Making the humble house and the modest apparel of homespun Beautiful with her beaut)', and rich with the wealth of her being-! Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 240 Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand ; All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 245 "Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards ; Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains, Though it pass o ? er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the living, it is the will of the Lord; and his'mercy endureth forever !" So he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the Mnsrin^ 58 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 250 Suddenly ceased; i'or Priseilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage ; For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 255 Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, Finding no words for his thought. He remem- bered that day in the winter, After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village. Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the doorway, 260 Stamping the suoav from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken ; Now it was. all too late; the golden moment had vanished ! The Courtship of Miles Stan-dish 59 265 So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring-time; Talked of their friends at home, and the May- flower that sailed on the morrow. "I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, "Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England, — 270 r l hey are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden: Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, Seeing the village street, and familiar face? of neighbors Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy 27.-) Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. Kind are the people T live with, and dear to mo my religion ; Still my heart is so sad. that T wish myself back in Old England. You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I almost Wish myself back in Old England. T feel so lonely and wretched." 60 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 280 Thereupon answered the youth : "Indeed I do not condemn you; Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ; So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth !" 285 Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters, — Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy ; Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 290 Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless; Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: "If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? The Courtship of Miles Standish 61 295 If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning !" Then John Aklen began explaining and smoothing the matter, Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — Had no time for such things ; — such thing? ! the words grating harshly Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made answer: 300 '"[[as he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married, Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding?. That is the way with you men; you don't under- stand us, you cannot. When you have made up your minds. afte r think- ing of- this one and that one, Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, 305 Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal. And are offended and hurt, and indignant per- haps, that a woman Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, Does not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing. This is not right nor just: for surely a woman's affection 62 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 310 Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but show? it. Had he but waited awhile, , had he only showed that he loved me. Even this Captain of yours — who knows? — at last might have won me, Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can happen." 315 Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuad- ing, expanding: Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his bat- tles in Flanders, How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction, How, in return for his zeal, they had made him • Captain of Plymouth ; 320 He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, Engl and. Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish; Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely de frauded, Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent The Courtship of Miles Standish 63 325 Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon. He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature ; Though he was rough, he was kindly; *\w knew how during the winter He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's: Somewhat hasty and hot. he could not deny it, and headstrong. 330 Stern as a soldier might lie. hut hearty, and pla- cable always, Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature : For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous ; Any woman in Plymouth, nay. any woman i England, Might be- happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish ! 335 But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language. Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled, and. with eyes over- running with laughter. Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" 64 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow IV. .JOHN ALDEN. Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, 340 Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side; Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-wind, Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and lexer within him. Slowly, as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors, Sank the City of God7 in the vision of John the Apostle, 345 So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets up- lifted Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who meas- ured the city. "Welcome, wind of the East!" he exclaimed in his wild exultation, "Welcome, wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic ! 9 50 Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean ! The Courtship of Miles Standish 65 Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me !" Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moan- ing and tossing, 355 Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending; Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, Passionate cries of desire, and importunate plead- ings of duty ! "Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden has chosen between us? 360 Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the victor?" Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet: "It hath displeased the Lord !" — and he thought of David's transgression, Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle ! Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation, 365 Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest contrition : "It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the tempta- tion of Satan!" 66 Henry Wadswotfh Longfellow Then, uplifting hjs head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at anchor, Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow; 370 Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors" "Ay, ay. Sir!" Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 375 Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. ''Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured; "the hand of the Lord is Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bond- age of error, Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue me. 380 Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon. Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. The Courtship of Miles Standish 67 Better to be in my grave in the green old church- yard in England, Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred : Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor ! 385 Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber j With me my secret shall lie, like a buried- jewel that glimmers Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness, — Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter !" Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, 390 Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight. Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth. Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubt- able Captain 395 Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. 68 Henri/ Wadsworth Longfellow "Long have you been on your errand; 17 he said with a cheery demeanor, Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. "Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us; 400 But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming I have fought ten battles and sacked and demol- ished a city. Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened." Then John Alden spake, and related the won- drous adventure From beginning to end, minutely, just as it hap- pened 5 405 How he had seen Priseilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, Words so tender and cruel, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor 413 Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, The Courtship of Miles Standish 69 E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. Wildly he shouted, and loud: ''John Alden ! yon have betrayed me ! Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me ! 415 One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler ; Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a traitor ? Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother; You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping 420 I have intrusted my honor, my thought the most sacred and secret, — You too, Brutus! all, woe to the name of friend- ship hereafter ! Brutus was Caesars friend, ami you were mine, but henceforward Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred !" So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, 425 Chafing and choking witli rage; like cords were the veins on his temples. But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, 70 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance. Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! Straightway the Captain paused, and. without further question or parley, 430 Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron. Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness. 435 Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult. Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood, Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret. Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council. Pound it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming ; 440 Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment, Only one of them old. t\w hill that was nearest to heaven, The Courtship of Miles Standish 71 Covered with snow, bui erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth. God had sifterl three kingdoms to find the wheal for this planting, Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation ; 445 So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people ! Xear them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant. Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect ; While on the table before them was. lying un- opened a Bible. Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, I5Q And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glittered, Filled, like a quiver, with arrows: a signal and challenge of warfare. Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance. This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace. 455 Talking- of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting ; One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder. 72 [( nry Wadsworth Longfellow Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted, Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior ! Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Cap- tain of Plymouth, 460 Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, "What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses? Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils? Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 465 Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon !" Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language : "Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apostles ; Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with !" 470 But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Cap- tain, Who had advanced to the table, and thus con- tinued discoursing: The Courtship of Miles Standish 73 "Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous, Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge !" 473 Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sud- den, contemptuous gesture, Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, Saying, in thundering tones : "Here, take it ! this is your answer !" Silently out of the room then glided the glisten- ing savage, 480 Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. V. THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER. Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth; Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order im- perative, "Forward !" 74 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 485 Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. Standish the stalwart it was. with eight of his valorous army, Led by their Indian guide, by Ilobomok, friend of the white men. Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 490 Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David; Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible, — Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, 495 Fired along the line, and in regular order re- treated. Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys Eose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily- eastward ; The Courtship of Miles Standish 75 500 Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather. Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the Mayflower; Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced. He being gone, the* town, and what should be done in his absence. Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 505 Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows re- joiced at his coming; Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains ; Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding al anchor, Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 510 Loosely against her masts was hanging and Hap- ping her canvas, Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward : anon rang Loud over field and forest the canon's roar, and the echoes 76 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 515 Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure ! Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people! Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty ! Then from their houses in haste came forth/ the Pilgrims of Plymouth, 520 Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. 525 He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, , Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur, Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swearing. Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence; Then he had turned away, and said : "I will not awake him : The Courtship of Miles Standish 77 530 Let him sleep on, it is best; for what is the use of more talking !" Then he extinguished the light, and threw him- self down on his pallet, Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning, — Covered himself witli the cloak he had worn in his campaigns in Flanders, — Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. 535 But with the dawn he arose; in the twilight Alden beheld him Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, Buckle about his waist his trusty Made of Da- mascus, Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to embrace him, 540 Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for pardon ; All the old friendship came back with its tender and grateful emotions: But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him, — Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult. So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 78 Henry Wadstfforth Longfellow )45 Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and lie spake not! Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people were saying, Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture. And. with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore. »50 Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a doorstep Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation ! There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward. Square-Built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him, 555 Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels Into ln's pockets capacious, and messages mingled together Into lii's narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale. One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, The Courtship of Miles Standish 79 560 Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. He too was eager to go. and thus put an end to his anguish, Thinking to fly # from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas. Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. But as he gazed on the crowd, he heheld the form of Priscilla 5C5 Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, implor- ing, and patient, That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. 570 'Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mys- terious instincts ! Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! "Here I 'remain!" hp exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him. Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness, 80 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 575 Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was stagger- ing headlong. "Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. 580 Float, hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! * Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me; I heed not Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. 585 > Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness; Yes ! as my foot was* the first that stepped on this rock at the landing. So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving !" Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important. The Courtship of Miles Standish 81 590 Scanning" with watchful eve the tide and the wind and the weather. Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around him Saying a few last words, and enforcing his care- ful remembrance. Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller. Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, 595 (Had in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the Mayflower! 600 No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing! Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. . Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west- wind. Blowing steady and strong: and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor, 82 Henry Wadsworth Longfelloiv 605 Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, 610 Much endeared to them all, as something living and human : Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth Said, "Let us pray !' ? and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. Mournfully sohhed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them 615 Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard ; Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. The Courtship of Miles Standish 83 620 Lo! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian. Watching them from the hill; but while they spake with each other. Pointing with outstretched hands, and saving, "Look !" he had vanished. So they returned to their homes: but Alden lin- gered a little. Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows 625 Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine. Like the spirit of God. moving visibly over the waters. VI. PRISCILLA. Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean. Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla ; And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, 630 Whatsoever it touches, by subtile lavs of its na- ture, Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. "Are you so much offended, you will not speak- to me?" said she. 84 Henry Wadswofth Longfellow "Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and wayward, 635 Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful per- haps of decorum? Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying What I ought not to have said, yet now T can never unsay it; For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble 640 Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its / secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles Standish, Praising his virtues, transforming his very de- fects into virtues, Praising his courage and strength, and even his righting in Flanders, 645 As if by righting alone you could win the heart of a woman, Quite overlooking } r ourself and the rest, in exalt- ing your hero. Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. The Courts]; ip of Miles Standish 85 You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us, Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken !" 650 Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles Standish : "I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping." "No!" interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive ; *'*Xo; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely. 655 It was wrong, I acknowledge: for it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 660 Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." Thereupon answered John A Id en. the young man, the lover of women : "Heaven forbid it, Priscilla; and truly they seem to me always 86 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, €65 More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden \" "Ah, by these words, I can see/' again inter- rupted the maiden, "How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, 670 Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct and in earnest, Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with flattering phrases. This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you; For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, 675 Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level, Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly If you say aught that implies I am only as one among' many, If you make use of those common and compli- mentary phrases Most men think so line, in dealing and speaking with women, The Courtship of Miles Standish 87 30 But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." Mute and amazed was Alden : and listened and looked at Priscilla, Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty. He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an answer. 685 So the maiden went on, and little divined or im- agined What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and speechless. "Let us, then, be what we are. and speak what we think, and in all things Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. It is no secret I tell yon, nor am I ashamed to declare it: 690 I have liked to be with you, to set 3 you, to speak with you always. So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles Standish. For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your friendship Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero vou think him." 88 Henry Wadswurth Longfellow 695 Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it, Felt all the wonnds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding so sorely, Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said with a voice full of feeling: "Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest \" 700 Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the Mayflower Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feeling, That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the sunshine, 705 Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly : "Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pur- suit of the Indians, Where he is happier far than he wxmld be com- manding a household, You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, When you returned last night, and said how un- grateful you found me." The Courtship of Miles Stcmdish 89 710 Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the story, — Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, "He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment !" But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had suffered, — 715 How he had even determined to sail that day in the Mayflower, And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened, — All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, "Truly I thank you for this: how good you have been to me always !" Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusa- lem journeys, 720 Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs - - of contrition; Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever ad- vancing. Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings, Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by re- morseful misgivings. 90 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow VII. THE MARCH OF MILES STANDI SH. 725 Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was march- ing steadily northward, Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore, All day long, with hardly a halt, the tire of his anger Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. •no Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort : He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted ! Ah ! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed, in his armor! f35 "I alone am to blame/' he muttered, "for mine was the folly. What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gTay in the harness, Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens? The Courtship of Miles Standish 91 'T was but a dream. — let it pass. — let it vanish like so in any others ! What T thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless : 740 Out of my heart will T pluck it. and throw it away, and henceforward Be but a tighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers." Thus he revolved in his mind bis sorry defeat and discomfort, While be was marching by day or lying at night in the forest. Looking up at the trees and the constellations be- yond them. 745 After a three days' march be came to an Indian encampment Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest : Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid with war-paint, Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking to- gether ; "Who. when they saw from afar the sudden ap- proach of the white men. 750 Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket. Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing. Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present; 92 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gi- gantic in stature, 755 Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan; One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of jvampum, Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. 760 "Welcome, English \" they said, — these words they had learned from the traders Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Stand ish. Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man, Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 765 Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man ! But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, The Courtship of Miles Standish 93 Suddenly changing' their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, 7™ And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain : "Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, Angry is he in his heart: but the heart of the brave Wattawamat Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning. 775 Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?' " Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning : 780 "I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle: By and. by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children !" Then stood Peeksuot forth, self- vaunting, in- sulting Miles Standish : 94 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, 785 "By and by it shall see: it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak not ! This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us ! He is a little man: let him go and work with the women !" Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, ■»90 Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. But undaunted lie stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly: So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. Bui when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt and the insult, T95 All the hot blood of Ids race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatch- ing Ids knife from its scabbard, The Courtship of Miles Standisli 95 Plunged it into his heart, and. reeling backward, the savage Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiend like fierce- ness upon it. ) Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop, And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran before it. 803 Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket. Hotly pursued and beset : but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, Fled not: he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward, Seeming in death to hold hack from his foe the land of his fathers. 819 There on the flowers of the meadow the war- riors lay, and above them. Silent, with folded arm-, -food Hohomok, friend of the white man. Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth : 96 Henry Wads worth Longfellow "Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength and his stature, — Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see now 815 Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you !" Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. When the tidings thereof were brought to the vil- lage of Plymouth, And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a fortress, 320 All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, Thanking God in her heart that she had not mar- ried Miles Standish; Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor. VIII. THE SPINNING WHEEL. 825 Month after month passed away, and in autumn the ships of the merchants The Courtship of Miles Standish 97 Came with kindred and friends, with rattle and corn for the Pilgrims. All in the village was peace; the men were intent on their labors, Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merestead, Bus}' with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows, 830 Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. All in the village was peace; but at times the rumor of warfare Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land with his forces, Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies, 835 Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. Anger was still in his heart, but at times the re- morse and contrition Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, Came like a rising tide, that encounter? the rush of a river, Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish. 840 Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, 98 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest. Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes; Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of paper, Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded. *4o There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard : Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the orchard. Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from annoyance, liaghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden's allotment In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time 850 Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal. Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla, Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship. 855 Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling; The Courtship of Miles Standish 99 Ever of her he thought, When he delved in the soil of his garden ; Ever of her he thought, when he read in l> ; - Bible on Sunday Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs, — How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always, 860 How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, How she seekcth the wool and the flax and woik- eth with gladness, How she layeth her hand to the spindle and hold- eth the distaff, How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving! 865 So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, Aklen, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers, As if the thread she was spinning were thai of his life and his fortune, After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle. "Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spin- ning and spinning, 870 Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 100 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment : You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beau- tiful Spinner." Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter; the spindle Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers : 375 While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : "You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia ; She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her, saddle. •880 She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. So shall it be with your own, when the spinning- wheel shall no longer Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their childhood, Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner \" 885 Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, The Courtship of Miles Standish 101. Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was the sweetest, Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alclen : "Come, you must not be idle: if I am a pattern for housewives, -S93 Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. - Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting; Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the manners, Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden I" Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, 895 He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms ex- tended before him, She standing graceful, erect, and winding .the thread from his fingers, Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help* it ? — 900 Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his bodv. 102 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from ' the village. Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! — an Indian had brought them the tidings, — Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, 905 Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces ; All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered ! Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror; 9io But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom," Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, 915 Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, The Courtship of Miles Standish 103 Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and exclaiming : "Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder I" Even as rivulets twain, from distant and sepa- rate sources, Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing 920 Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest ; So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder, Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 925 Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. IX. THE WEDDING DAY. Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, Issued the sun, the great High- Priest, in his garments resplendent. Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 104 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. 930 Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! This was the wedding mora of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, 935 One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. Simple and brief was the wedding as that of Ruth and of Boaz. Softly th^ youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. ■940 Fervently then and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affection, Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine benedictions. Lo ! when the service was ended, a form ap- peared on the threshold, The Courtship of Miles Standish 105 Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! 945 Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder ? Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illu- sion? Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal ? Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed ; 950 Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression . Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain cloud Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, 955 As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting inten- tion. But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth ! 106 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, "Forgi ve me ! 460 I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished the feeling ; I have been cruel and hard, but now. thank God! it is ended. Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Aid en. v £65 Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be forgotten between us, — All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer !" Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, .970 Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly laud- ing her husband. Then he said with a smile: "I should have re- membered the adage, — If you would be well served, you must serve your- self ; and moreover, Xo man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas !" The Courtship of Miles Standish 10? Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, 1)75 Thus to behold once more the sunburnt fare of their Captain, AYhom they had mourned as dead; and they gath- ered and crowded about him, Eager to see him and hear nim, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, Questioning, answering, laughing, and each inter- rupting the other, Till the good Captain declared, being quite over- powered and bewildered, HO He had rather by far break into an Indian en- campment, Than come again to a wedding to which he bad not been invited.. Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the doorway, Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 985 Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore. There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows : But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, 108 Hennj Wadsworth Longfelloiv Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. 990 Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, Friends coming forth from the house, and im- patient of longer delaying, Each with his plan for the da} r , and the work that was left uncompleted. Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, 995 Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. iooo Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by tin' others, Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. "Nothing is wanting now,' 7 he said with a smile, "but the distaff; The Courtship of Miles Standish 109. Then you would be in truth my queen, my beauti- ful Bertha !" loos Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through its bosom, Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the - azure ab}^sses. 1010 Down through the golden leaves the sun was pour- ing his splendors, Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, Mingled their odorous breath with* the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, 1015 Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Eebecca and Isaac, Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. • JOHN GEEEXLEAF WHITTIER. I. Whittier was born near Haverhill, Massachusetts. December IT, 1807. He sprang from a race of sturdy Quaker farmers, whose men were inured to rough manual labor and whose women added to their house- hold duties patient toil at the wheel or loom. Whit- tier himself was not of robust frame, and the hard- ships and exposure he underwent in early life im- paired his health for the rest of his days. Yet his contact with mother earth and his knowledge of rural customs were to be of the greatest service to him. That he was not embittered by privations the readers of Snow -Bound know. The family was very loyal to the religious tenets of the Quakers. Indeed, it will go far to explain Whittier if we bear it in mind that he was a Quaker amid Puritan surroundings. His formal education was meagre. He spent a few weeks each year in the district school, the teacher of which "boarded round" with the patrons; and he devoured eagerly the scanty contents of the family library — the Bible, almanacs, religious pamphlets, and lives of the Quaker worthies. Through the kindness of a teacher a copy of Burns came into his hands. It stirred all his slumbering faculties ; and from this time. Ill 112 John Greenleaf Whittier as he tells us, he began to make rhymes for himself, and to imagine stories and adventures. A sister, without consulting him, forwarded one of his poems to William Lloyd Garrison, then in charge of a local newspaper. So impressed was the editor that he rode out to see the boyish poet, and in their well-known interview he urged an academic training. The elder Whittier, partly from prejudice against Kterary culture but more from the stringent condi- tion of his finances, gave little encouragement. Whit- tier resorted, nevertheless, to making shoes and to employment at keeping books, and thus paid his way for two terms at Haverhill Academy. For a number of years after this he was connected with various papers, though returning at intervals to his home that he might recuperate his health or succor the family fortunes. All the while he was turning off verse of a comparatively facile type, much of it deal- ing with New England legendary, lore. Moreover, he was growing deeply interested in political matters. Shrewd, sympathetic, endowed with unusual skill to foresee the drift of events, he wielded an increasing influence in the affairs of com- munity, section, and nation. He never held, it is true, a higher position than that of representative from his county in the state legislature; his work was of the practical kind that emanates from the power behind the throne. Yet outward recognition, too, in the form of a nomination for Congress lay almost in his grasp, when in 1833 he deliberately chose a course that blasted his political prospects. He joined the aboli- John Greenleaf Whittier 113 tion movement. The cause was at that time highly unpopular, even in the North ; and its advocates were regarded much as we look upon anarchists today. The whole soul of Whittier was enlisted, however — so much so that during the years in which he should have been most productive he in no wise concentrated his energy for a master effort in literature. There could be no better illustration of his unvarying con- viction that the most important thing in his life was his work of reform and not his service of the Muses. Yet he hurled forth stanzas that rang with appeal and denunciation. He also edited a series of aboli- tion papers and became, after a time, a regular con- tributor to a well-known anti-slavery journal, the National Era. Seeing only the awful side of slavery, and because of his outspoken stand suffering the per- secutions of the mob, he differed, nevertheless, from the school of Garrison in wishing to get rid of the evil through existing forces and institutions. He realized that on many subjects of a moral nature practical politics may have a bearing. He had this in mind when he exclaimed : "How absurd is moral action apart from political !" In 1836 he had moved to Amesbury. In this vil- lage he lived for forty years, or until he took up his residence with his kinsfolk at Oak Knoll, in Danvers. From poverty, poor health, or a Quaker reluctance to link himself with one outside his own sect, he never married. His most intimate companion was his sister Elizabeth, wh6 died in 1864. From the ties of home and from admiration for the children of rugged toil 114 John Greenleaf Whittier he had been too loyal to break away wholly, even during the period when he had been engrossed with the slavery question. With such militant vol- umes as Ballads (1838), Anti-Slavery Poems (1838), and Voices of Freedom (1841), he mingled the softer strains of Lays of My Home (1843) and the peace- loving Songs of Labor (1850). During the hostilities between North and South he incited the Union soldiers, whom his religion forbade him to join, to more earnest exertion with an occasional fire-born ballad like Barbara Frietchie; and he greeted the out- come -of the struggle with the ecstatic and fervent Laus Deo. What depths of serenity, of forbearance, and of humble faith lay beneath his animated zeal may be judged from The Eternal Goodness, which was written about this time. With the appearance of Snow-Bound in 1866 began the third and, poetically, the most fruitful of the periods of Whittier's life. Public matters still inter- ested him greatly, but no longer usurped all his en- ergy. Moreover, he was no longer on the unpopular side of great questions, and people had learned to admire the sturdy courage he had shown. Literary recognition was freely accorded. The publication of SnoiD-Bound freed him from financial vexation, and he now had leisure for the reading he had so long neglected, as well as for the cultivation of poetry that was not merely the servant of ulterior aims. In .\867 appeared The Tent on the Beach, two years irter Among the Hills, and in 1870 the Ballad* of New England. The life of the old poet continued John Greenleaf Whittier 115 until September 7, 1892 — its eighty-fifth year. Among Whittier's last words were: "Love — love to ail the world." II. Much as we may admire the character of a writer, we must judge his works solely on the basis of their own merit. It is no extenuation;, therefore, of the blemishes in Whittier's poetry that his life was singu- larly free from blemish. And flaws in his poetry are frequent. One of them is an inequality due to dif- fuseness. Whittier lacked the stern censorship to reject commonplace stanzas and the artistic judgment to know when to leave off. He possessed from the beginning a fatal facility and a tendency to let the first effusion pass without subsequent toning up. This weakness grew in the days of controversy, when he learned to write verses much as he wrote editorials, and often on subjects that were not poetical; and it finally became so ingrained that nothing were easier than to name a long list of his poems that miss 1 excel- lence only through the want of a slight compression and revision. A kindred flaw is the badness of many of h is. rhymes. Dialect may explain, though it cannot ex- cuse, such lame resemblances as Martlia and swarthy, pasture and faster ; but many imperfections of the kind may be accounted for only on the ground of slip-shod method. A third and very grave defect is the willingness to moralize in season and out of sea- son. Such a thing we may expect from a devout 116 . John Greenjeaf Whittier mind that is eager to make poetry serve the occasion and not the occasion poetry, but it is opposed to the very fundamentals of art. It spoils in Whittier the structural symmetry of such vigorous ballads as Bar- clay of Urij, and obtrudes disagreeably upon many delightful passages. There are three main themes that engaged Whittier —reform, religion, and New England life. Their ex- pression, we may note, came often through the bal- lad form, the measure best suited to him ; for he sang more by ear than by a discriminating knowledge of technique. Indeed, he exceeded the rest of our poets in every quality of the balladist except the first and most essential — that of narrative power. In this he was inferior to Longfellow. His reform pieces fall largely in the abolition period, but they include all his poems that make mar- tial protest against evil or ring with the praise of martyrdom. As a rule they are imperative rather than artistic, blaring rather than substantially based. But their scorn and invectives were weapons in great crusades. Time has lessened the value of the ma- jority of them — for in poetry, as in life, « "The Gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul." Yet a few remain as trumpet-blasts in the cause of progress, as the incarnation of the militant spirit. By far the most notable, though among the most tem- perate, of them is Jchahod, which was written in sor- John Greenleaf Whittier -117 row rather than in anger when Daniel Webster seemed to have deserted the opponents of slavery. A much greater importance attaches to his religious pieces, and these easily stamp him our foremost re- ligious poet. The style of the Bible is frequently traceable in his pages, its spirit practicably always. This would suggest that with him the religious ele- ment is pervasive rather than prominent. Such is partly the case. A sentiment of worship, fervent, wholesome, and beautiful, greets us in unsuspected places ; and beyond his calls to zealous action we hear the gentler notes by winch we may know him as an apostle of the meek and lowly Xazarene — as a pure, simple-hearted prophet in an age when doubt and disbelief were not wanting. Yet his faith is also outspoken. He has left behind him an array of hymns, some of them to be numbered with his highest achievements. The supreme expression of his buo} 7 - ant and brotherly creed may be found in two poems, My Triumph and The Eternal Goodness. Most of all is he the poet of Xew England. In sympathetic pictures of her deeds, her legends, and her everyday rural life he stands alone. Every word that he utters about her is intrinsically genuine, for it comes from a first-hand knowledge of both her glories and her faults. Here lies the key, perhaps, of his chief limitation and his greatest distinction. He is not truly a national poet because he finds his material in one group of states; but it is to be remembered that those states have been broadly in- fluential and that he sings of them with fidelity. It 118 John Greenleaf Whittier is a matter of slight consequence that now and then he admits into his unstudied verse an incongruity, as in naming a typical farm girl Maud Muller. It is also of little importance that no such character as Hosea Biglow is horn of his genius. We feel that miles and miles of social and intellectual distance lie hetween Lowell and the people over whom his imagination plays. Xot so with Whittier. He is of the same stuff, though more plentifully endowed. The misery of the loveless farm home he graphically paints in the Prelude to Among the Hills (11. 44- 98). His pride in honest toil is conveyed in the rhetorical stanzas of the Songs of Labor. The more beautiful aspects of the life he has shared, idealized by memory, give a wistful tenderness to Telling the Bees, a Sea Dream, My Playmate, In School-Days, Marguerite, and The Barefoot Bog : and reach a con- summate expression in Snow-Bound. Other poets of the section know the ways of the cities and speak well enough on more general themes — but none are so local as he; none have sifted so thoroughly the life of the thrifty, plain, and earnest common people or have set it forth in numbers with equal truth and charm. III. In Snow-Bound we have an accurate portrayal of the Whittier household during the long and lonely months of winter. Before us as they lived and were are the various inmates of the home — besides the poet himself, the father, mother, uncle, aunt, brother John Greenleaf Whittier 119 Matthew, sisters Mary and Elizabeth, school-master (George Haskell), and passionate, eccentric, half- fanatical guest, Harriet Livermore. We see their every-day life, their quaint custom?, and their methods of beguiling the tedium of imprisonment. And we almost feel, at the end, as if we ourselves had been among them. The poem has comparatively few of the prevalent flaws of Whittier's verse, and, on the other hand, it is full of his characteristic merits. Grammar and syntax are handled loosely in a few places, as in the latter half of 1. 182. Accents are occasionally shifted, as in 1. 310 and 1. 719. But had rhymes, though not absent, are not numerous. Compactness and unity are secured, to a greater extent than is usual with Whittier, through a fairly close adherence to the main theme and a suppression of the tendency to moralize. The poem exhibits a sense of proportion, a balance be- tween restraint and adequacy, very rare in Whittier; and blends the meditations admirably with the tone of the whole. Color and contrast are employed, not only in details, but also in the choice of guests for the circle by the fireside. There is the usual frugality of pretentious decoration. The movement is easy and natural. I Especially to be commended is the concord between an imaginative idealism and a homely real- ism, and the facility of transition from one to the other. In 11. 15-40, for instance, we pass from the former quality to the latter, back again to the former, and thence once more to the latter ; and these changes are managed so well as to enhance the charm, the 120 John Greenleaf Whittier impressiveness, and the convincing reality of the passage. Finally, we should remember that Snow-Bound en- shrines in artistic form a phase of life that was and still is typical of no mean portion of our continent. Hence it seems assured of a sectional, if not a national, immortality. In less than a thousand lines of verse Whittier does for us what countless diaries have attempted, without surpassing his fidelity to fact or approaching his power to interpret. SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. 'As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire : and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spir- its, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." — Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, Book I. ch. v. "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm." — Emerson, The Snow Storm. The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid- vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east ; we heard the roar Of ocean on his wintry shore, 121 122 John Greenleaf Whittier And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with Low rhythm our inland air. Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — 20 Brought in the wood from out of doors, Littered the stalls, and from the mows Baked down the herdVgrass for the cows : Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, 25 Tm patient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, The cock his crested helmet bent 30 And down his querulous challenge sent. Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 35 As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts 40 Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. So all night long the storm roared on : The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, 45 In starry Hake and pellicle Snow-Bound 123 All day the hoary meteor fell : And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown. On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, — A universe of sky and snow ! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden-wall or belt of wood ; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road : The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; And even the long sweep, high aloof. In its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. A prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted : "Boys, a path !" AVell pleased, (for when did farmer boy Count such a summons less than joy?) Our buskins on our feet we drew : With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, To guard our necks and ears from snow, We cut the solid whiteness through : And, where the drift was deepest, made 124 John GrcenJcaf Whittier /5 A tunnel walled and overlaid With dazzling crystal : Ave had read Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours 80 To test his lamp's supernal powers. We reached the barn with merry din, And roused the prisoned brutes within. The old horse thrust his long head out, And grave with wonder gazed about; 85 The cock his lusty greeting said, And forth his speckled harem led; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, And mild reproach of hunger looked; The horned patriarch of the sheep, 90 Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot. All day the gusty north-wind bore The loosening drift its breath before; 95 Low circling round its southern zone, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. !00 A solitude made more intense By dreary-voiced elements, . The shrieking of the mindless wind. The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, And on the glass the unmeaning beat Snow-Bound 125 Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. Beyond the circle of our hearth Xo welcome sound of toil or mirth Unbound the spell, and testified Of human life and thought outside. We minded that the sharpest ear The buried brooklet could not hear, The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship. And, in our lonely life, had grown To have an almost human tone. As night drew on, and, from the crest Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank From sight beneath the smothering bank, We piled with care our nightly stack Of wood against the chimney-back, — The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, And on its top the stout back-stick; The knotty forestick laid apart, And filled between with curious art The ragged brush ; then, hovering near, We watched the first red blaze appear, Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, Until the old, rude-furnished room Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; While radiant with a mimic flame Outside the sparkling drift became, And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 126 John Greenleaf Whittier 135 Our own warm heartli seemed blazing free. The crane and pendent trammels snowed, The Turk's heads on the andirons glowed ; While childish fancy, prompt to tell The meaning of the miracle, 140 Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree When fire outdoors turns merrily, There the witches are making tea." The moon above the eastern wood Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 145 Transfigured in the silver flood, Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, Dead white, save where some sharp ravine Took shadow, or the sombre green Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black (50 Against the whiteness of their back. For such a world and such a night Most fitting that unwarming light, Which only seemed where'er it fell To make the coldness visible. 155 Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north-wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat 160 The frost-line back with tropic heat; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed. The merrier up its roaring draught S now-Bound 127 The great throat of the chimney laughed. The house-dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head. The cat's dark silhouette on the waL 1 A couchant tiger's seemed to fall: And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons* straddling feet The mug of cider simmered slow. The apples sputtered in a row, And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. What matter how the night behaved ? What matter how the north-wind raved ? Blow high, blow low, not ail its snow Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. Time and Change! — with hair as gray As was my sire's that winter day. How strange it seems, with so much gone Of life and love, to still live on ! Ah, brother ! only I and thou Are left of all that circle now, — The dear home faces whereupon That fitful firelight paled and shone. Henceforward, listen as we will, The voices of that hearth are still; Look where w r e may, the wide earth o'er. Those lighted faces smile no more. We tread the paths their feet have worn. We sit beneath their orchard treos. We hear, like them, the hum of bees 128 John Greenleaf Whittier And rustle of the bladed corn; 193 We turn the pages that they read, Their written words we linger o'er, But in the sun they cast no shade, No voice is heard, no sign is made, No step is on the conscious floor ! 200 Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust (Since He who knows our need is just) That somehow, somewhere, meet we must, Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 205 Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 210 That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own ! We sped the time with stories old, Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, Or stammered from our school-book lore 215 "The chief of Gambia's golden shore." How often since, when all the land Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, As if a far-blown trumpet stirred The languorous, sin-sick air, I heard 220 "Does not the voice of reason cry, Claim the first right which Nature gave, From the red scourge of bondage fly Nor deign to live a burdened slave!" Snow-Bound 129 Our father rode again his ride 225 On Memphremagog's wooded side; Sat down again to moose and samp In trappers hut and Indian camp; Lived o'er the old idyllic ease Beneath St. Francois' hemlock trees; 230 Again for him the moonlight shone On Norman cap -and bodiced zone ; Again he heard the violin play Which led the village dance away, And mingled in its merry whirl 235 The grandam and the laughing girl. Or, nearer home, our steps he led Where Salisbury's level marshes spread Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 240 Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along The low green prairies of the sea. We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, And round the rocky Isles of Shoals The hake-broil on the driftwood coals ; 245 The chowder on the sand-beach made, Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. We heard the tales of witchcraft old, And dream'and sign and marvel told 250 To sleepy listeners as they lay Stretched idly on the salted hay, Adrift along the winding shores, When favoring breezes deigned to blow 130 John Greenleaf Whittier The square sail of the gundalow, 255 And idle lay the useless oars. Our mother, while she turned her wheel Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, Told how the Indian hordes came down At midnight on Cochecho town, 260 And how her own great-uncle bore His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. Eecalling, in her fitting phrase, So rich and picturesque and free (The common unrlrymed poetry 255 Of simple life and country ways), The story of her early days, — She made us welcome to her home i Old hearths grew wide to give us room; We stole with her a frightened look 270 At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, The fame whereof went far and wide Through all the simple country-side ; We heard the hawks at twilight play, The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 275 The loon's weird laughter far away ; We fished her little trout-brook, knew What flowers in wood and meadow grew, What sunny hillsides autumn-brown She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 280 Saw where in sheltered cove and bay The duck's black squadron anchored lay, And heard the wild geese calling loud Beneath the gray November cloud. Snow-Bo u ii: I 131 Then, haply, with a look more grave, And soberer tone, some tale she gave From painful SewePs ancient tome, Beloved in every Quaker home, Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom. Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint, — - Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint !— AYho, when the dreary calms prevailed, And water-butt and bread-cask failed, And cruel, hungry eyes pursued His portly presence, mad for food, With dark hints muttered under breath Of casting lots for life or death, Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, To be himself the sacrifice. Then, suddenly, as if to save The good man from his living grave, A ripple on the water grew, A school of porpoise flashed in view. 'Take, eat," he said, "and be content ; These fishes in my stead are sent By Him who gave the tangled rain To spare the child of Abraham."' Our uncle, innocent of books, "Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, The ancient teachers never dumb Of Xature's unhoused lyceum. In moons and tides and weather wise, He read the clouds as prophecies, And foul or fair could well divine, 132 John Greenleaf Whittier By many an occult hint and sign, 315 - Holding the cunning-warded keys To all the woodcraft mysteries; Himself to Nature's heart so near That all her voices in his ear Of beast or bird had meanings clear, 320 Like Apollonius of old, Who knew the tales the sparrows told, Or Hermes, who interpreted "What the sage cranes of Xilus said; A simple, guileless, childlike man, 325 Content to live where life began ; Strong only on his native grounds, The little world of sights and sounds Whose girdle was the parish bounds, Whereof his fondly partial pride 330 The common features magnified, As Surrey hills to mountains grew In White of Selborne's loving view, — He told how teal and loon he shot, And how the eagle's eggs he got, 335 The feats on pond and river done, The prodigies of rod and gun; Till, warming with the tales he told, Forgotten was the outside cold, The bitter wind unheeded blew, 340 From ripening corn the pigeons flew, The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink Went fishing down the river brink. In fields with bean or clover gay, The wood chuck, like a hermit gray, Snow-Bound 133 Peered from the doorway of his cell; The muskrat plied the mason's trade, And tier by tier his mud-wails laid ; And from the shagbark overhead The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer And voice in dreams I see and hear, — The sweetest, woman ever Fate Perverse denied a household mate, "Who, lonely, homeless, not the less Found peace in love's unselfishness, And welcome whereso'er she went, A calm and gracious element, Whose presence seemed the sweet income And womanly atmosphere of home, — Called up her girlhood memories The huskings and the apple-bees, The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, Weaving through all the poor details And homespun warp of circumstance A golden woof-thread of romance. For well she kept her genial mood And simple faith of maidenhood; Before her still a cloud-land lay, The mirage loomed across her way ; The morning dew, that dried so soon W 7 ith others, glistened at her noon; Through years of toil and soil and care, From glossy tress to thin gray hair, All unprofaned she held apart 380 134 Jolin Grcenleaf Whittier 375 The virgin fancies of the heart. Be shame to him -of woman horn Who had for such but thought of scorn. There, too, our elder sister plied Her evening task the stand beside ; A full, rich nature, free to-trust, Truthful and almost sternly just, Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, And make her generous thought a fact, Keeping with many a light disguise The secret of self-sacrifice. heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest. Eest from all bitter thoughts and things ! How many a poor one's blessing went With thee beneath the low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings ! 385 390 As one who held herself a part Of all she saw, and let her heart Against the household bosom lean, Upon the motley-braided mat 395 Our youngest and our dearest sat, Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, Now bathed within the fadeless green And holy peace of Paradise. Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 Or from the shade of saintly palms, Or silver reach of river calms, Do those large eyes behold me still ? With me one little year ago: — Snow-Bound 135 The chill weight of the winter snow For months upon her grave has lain ; And now, when summer south-winds blow And brier and harebell bloom again, I tread the pleasant paths we trod, I see the violet-sprinkled sod, Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak The hillside flowers she loved to seek, Yet following me where'er I went With dark eyes full of love's content. The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills The air with sweetness; all the hills Stretch green to June's unclouded sky ; But still I wait with ear and eye For something gone which should be nigh, A loss in all faniiliar things, In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, Am I not richer than of old ? _ Safe in thy immortality, "What change can reach the wealth I hold? What chance can mar the pearl and gold Thy love hath left in trust with me ? And while in life's late afternoon, Where cool and long the shadows grow, t I walk to meet the night that soon Shall shape and shadow overflow, I cannot feel that thou art far, Since near at need the angels are ; And when the sunset gates unbar, Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 136 John Greenleaf Whittier 435 And, white against the evening star, The welcome of thy beckoning hand ? Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, The master of the district school 440 Held at the fire his favored place ; Its warm glow lit a laughing face Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared The uncertain prophecy of beard. He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 445 Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, Sang songs, and told us what befalls In classic Dartmouth's college halls. Born the wild Xorthern hills among, From whence his yeoman father wrung 450 By patient toil subsistence scant, Xot competence and yet not want, He early gained the power to pay His cheerful, self-reliant way; Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 455 To peddle wares from town to town ; Or through the long vacation's reach In lonely lowland districts teach, Where all the droll experience found » At stranger hearths in boarding round, 460 The moonlit skater's keen delight, The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, The rustic party, with its rough Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, 465 His winter task a pastime made. Snow-Bound 137 Happy the snow-locked homes wherein He timed his merry violin, Or played the athlete in the barn, Or held the good dame's winding yarn, Or mirth-provoking versions told Of classic legends rare and old, Wherein the scenes of Greece and Borne Had all the commonplace of home, And little seemed at best the odds 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; Where Pindus-born Arachthus took The guise of any grist-mill brook, And dread Olympus at his will Became a huckleberry hill. A careless boy that night he seemed ; But at his desk he had the look And air of one who wisely schemed, And hostage from the future took In trained thought and lore of book. Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he Shall Freedom's young apostles be, Who, following in War's bloody trail, Shall every lingering wrong assail; All chains from limb and spirit strike, Uplift the black and white alike ; Scatter before their swift advance The darkness and the ignorance, The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, Made murder pastime, and the hell 138 John Grcenleaf Whittier Of prison-torture possible; The cruel lie of caste refute, Old forms remould, and substitute For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, 500 For blind routine, wise-handed skill; A school-house plant on every hill, Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence The quick wires of intelligence; Till Xorth and South together brought 6C5 Shall own the same electric thought, In peace a common flag salute, And, side by side in labor's free And unresentful rivalry, Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 510 Another guest that winter night Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. Unmarked by time, and yet not young, The honeyed music of her tongue And words of meekness scarcely told 515 A nature passionate and bold, Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, Its milder features dwarfed beside Her unbent will's majestic pride. She sat among us, at the best, 520 A not unfearecl, half-welcome guest, Rebuking with her cultured phrase Our homeliness of words and ways. A certain pard-like, treacherous grace Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, 525 Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; Snow-Bound 139 And under low brows, black with night, Rayed out at times a dangerous light ; The sharp heat-lightnings of her face Presaging ill to him whom Fate Condemned to share her love or hate. A woman tropical, intense In thought and act, in soul and sense, She blended in a like degree The vixen and the devotee, Revealing with each freak or feint The temper of Petruchio's Kate, The raptures of Siena's saint. Her tapering hand and rounded wrist Had facile power to form a fist ; The warm, dark languish of her eyes "Was never safe from wrath's surprise. Brows saintly calm and lips devout Knew every change of scowl and pout ; And the sweet voice had notes more high And shrill for social battle-cry. Since then what old cathedral town Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, "What convent-gate has held its lock Against the challenge of her knock ! Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thorough- fares, Up sea-set Malta's rocky stair?, Gray olive slopes of hills that hem Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, Or startling on her desert throne The crazy Queen of Lebanon 1.40 John Greenleaf Whittier With claims fantastic as her own, Her tireless feet have held their way ; And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, She watches under Eastern skies, 56P With hope each day renewed and fresh, > The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! Where'er her troubled path may be, The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! 565 The outward wayward life we see, The hidden springs we may not know. Nor is it given us to discern What threads the fatal sisters spun, Through what ancestral years has run 570 The sorrow with the woman born, What forged her cruel chain of moods, What set her feet in solitudes, And held the love within her mute, What mingled madness in the blood, 575 ' A lifelong discord and annoy, Water of tears with oil of joy, And hid within the folded bud Perversities of flower and fruit. It is not ours to separate 580 The tangled skein of will and fate, To show what metes and bounds should stand Upon the soul's debatable land, And between choice and Providence Divide the circle of events; 585 But He who knows our frame is just, Snow-Bound 141 Merciful and compassionate, And full of sweet assurances And hope for all the language is, That He remembereth we are dust ! At last the great logs, crumbling low, Sent out a dull and duller glow, The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, Ticking its weary circuit through, Pointed with mutely-warning sign Its black hand to the hour of nine. That sign the pleasant circle broke : My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, And laid it tenderly away, Then roused himself to safely cover The dull red brand with ashes over. And while, with care, our mother laid The work aside, her steps she stayed One moment, seeking to express Her grateful sense of happiness For food and shelter, warmth and health, And love's contentment more than wealth, With simple wishes (not the weak, Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, But such as warm the generous heart, O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) That none might lack, that bitter night, For bread and clothing, warmth and light. Within our beds awhile we heard 142 John Greenleaf Whittier 615 The wind that round the gables roared, With now and then a ruder shock, Which made our very bedsteads rock. We heard the loosened clapboards tost, The board-nails snapping in the frost; 620 And on us, through the unplastered wall, Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall; But sleep stole on, as sleep will do When hearts are light and life is new; Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, 625 Till in the summer-land of dreams They softened to the sound of streams, Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, And lapsing waves on quiet shores. Next morn we wakened with the shout 630 Of merry voices high and clear; And saw the teamsters drawing near To break the drifted highways out. Down the long hillside treading slow We saw the half-buried oxen go, 635 Shaking the snow from heads uptost, Their straining nostrils white with frost. Before our door the straggling train Drew up, an added team to gain. The eiders threshed their hands a-colcl, 540 Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes From lip to lip ; the younger folks Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, Then toiled again the cavalcade O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, Snow-Bound 143 And woodland paths that wound between Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. From every barn a team afoot, At every house a new recruit, Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, Haply the watchful young men saw Sweet doorway pictures of the curls And curious eyes of merry girls, Lifting their hands in mock defence Against the snow-balls' compliments, And reading in each missive tost The charm which Eden never lost. We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; And, following where the teamsters led, The wise old Doctor went his round, Just pausing at our door to sa} r , In the brief autocratic way Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, Was free to urge her claim on all, That some poor neighbor sick abed At night our mother's aid would need. For, one in generous thought and deed, What mattered in the sufferer's sight The Quaker matron's inward light, The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? All hearts confess the saints elect Who, twain in faith, in love agree, And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity ! So days went on : a week had passed 144 John Greenledf Whittier 675 Since the great world was heard from last. The Almanac we studied o'er, Eead and reread our little store Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; One harmless novel, mostly hid 680 From younger eyes, a book forbid, And poetry, (or good or bad, A single book was alLwe had,) Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, A stranger to the heathen Nine, 685 Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, The wars of David and the Jews. At last the floundering carrier bore The village paper to our door. Lo ! broadening outward as we read, 690 To warmer zones the horizon spread ; In panoramic length unrolled We saw the marvel that it told. Before us passed the painted Creeks, And daft McGregor on his raids 695 In Costa Eica's everglades. And up Taygetus winding slow Eode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, A Turk's head at each saddle bow ! Welcome to us its week-old news, 700 Its corner for the rustic Muse, Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, Its record, mingling in a breath The wedding bell and dirge of death; Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, 705 The latest culprit sent to jail ; Snow-Bound 145 Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, Its vendue sales and goods at cost, And traffic calling loud for gain. We felt the stir of hall and street, The pulse of life that round us beat; The chill embargo of the snow Was melted in the genial glow ; Wide swung again our ice-locked door, And all the world was ours once more ! Clasp, Angel of the backward look And folded wings of ashen gray And voice of echoes far away, The brazen covers of thy book; The weird palimpsest old and vast, Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; Where, closely mingling, pale and glow The characters of joy and woe; The monographs of outlived years, Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, Green hills of life that slope to death, And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees Shade off to mournful cypresses With the white amaranths underneath. Even while I look, I can but heed The restless sands' incessant fall, Importunate hours that hours succeed, Each clamorous with its own sharp need, And duty keeping pace with all. Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; I hear as^ain the voice that bids 146 John Grecnleaf Whittier The dreamer leave his dream midway For larger hopes and graver fears : Life greater] s in these later years, The century's aloe flowers to-day! 740 Yet, haply, in some lull of life, Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, Dreaming in throngful city ways Of winter joys his boyhood knew ; 745 And dear and early friends — the few Who yet remain- — shall pause to view These Flemish pictures of old days; Sit with me by the homestead hearth, And stretch the hands of memory forth 750 To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! And thanks untraced to lips unknown Shall greet me like the odors blown From unseen meadows newly mown, Or lilies floating in some pond, 755 Wood-f ringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; The traveller owns the grateful sense Of sweetness near, he knows not' whence, And, pausing, takes with forehead bare The benediction of the air. NOTES ON "THE RAVEN/ 5 Line 2. Forgotten lore. Poe prided himself upon his knowledge of old books that nobody else read. This knowl- edge was not always profound, for his scholarship was wide rather than thorough ; but it served his turn in ministering to many a poetic effect. Naturally such an attribute of his own he gave to some of his characters. Of Berenice, one of the tales, Professor Woodberry says : "In it Poe's hero first comes upon the stage, a man struck with some secret dis- ease, given to the use of drugs and to musing over old books in an antiquated and gloomy chamber, and reserved for a horrible experience." 10. Lenorc. A favorite word with Poe because of its sonorous sound. Read the opening stanzas of Ulalume for an example of his musical use of fictitious proper names. 13. Cf. Hie Sleeper: The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully— so fearfully, Cf. also the fourth stanza in the conclusion of Lady Ger- aldine's Courtship by Mrs. Browning; the line, With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air the purple curtain, is clearly echoed by Poe. 20. This line and lines 03-60 may be applied to the poet himself. 41. Pallas was the Greek goddess of wisdom, and the replies of the bird, thus associated with her, become the words of fate. 47. Plutonian shore: the land of Pluto, Greek god of the underworld. 48. Nevermore. Another word the sonorous roll of which recommended it to Poe. Cf. Sonnet to Zante : No more ! alas, that magical sad sound, Transforming all ! 81. "Wretch"! The lover addresses himself. He has three objects of hope — forgetfulness, an allaying balm, and a reunion with his lost love. These are to be dispelled in turn. Perhaps the frantic inquiries of the lover »*« led 147 148 Notes less by the expectation of a favorable answer than by "the human thirst for self-torture." 82. Nepenthe: a potion that banishes pain and induces forgetfulness. S9. Balm in Gilead: a reference to Jeremiah 8 :22 — "Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?" 93. Aidenn Eden. 106. Would this have been possible? NOTES ON "THE COUETSHIP OF MILES STANDI SH." 1. Old Colony: a name given to Plymouth after the "Massachusetts Bay" settlements had been made around Bos- ton and Salem. 3. Cordova is a city in Spain. It was celebrated for a preparation of goat-skin. Look up the derivation of cord- icainer. 8. Sword of Damascus. The Saracens were noted for their workmanship in steel. In the twenty-seventh chapter of Scott's Talisman, which recounts the trial of skill be- tween the Saladin and Richard Coeur de Lion, we have proof of the finely tempered edge of the weapons made at Damascus. 19. Ancient Britain was overrun in the fifth century by Angles, Saxons, and other Teutonic tribes. When, a cen- tury later, Pope Gregory the Great, then a deacon, saw the fair complexions of some captives in Rome, he inquired who they were. The answer was, "Angles" ; whereupon he ex- claimed, "Not Angles but Angels!" 25. Flanders, Hainault, and Brabant, all of which are mentioned in 1. 396, were counties of the Netherlands. In the war of the United Provinces, as Holland was then called, for independence from Spain, many English soldiers and adventurers besides Standish joined the forces of the patriots. 42. This line gives one of the secrets of Caesar's popu- larity with his men. 64. Of the one hundred Pilgrims fifty died during the first "terrible winter." The remainder took the method here explained of concealing the extent of the loss. 85-86. Are these linos effective from the standpoint of the story-teller's art? Do they hint new relations and hurry us on to the next section* 3 Notes 149 100. Better be first, he said. The incident back of these well-known lines is given in Plutarch's Life of Caesar (Clough's translation) thus: "In his journey, as he was crossing the Alps and passing by a small village of the barbarians with but few inhabi- tants, and those wretchedly poor, his companions asked the question among themselves by way of mockery if there were any canvassing for offices there ; any contention which should be uppermost, or feuds of great men one against another. To which Caesar made answer seriously, 'For my part I had rather be the first man among these fellows, than the second man in Rome'/' 106. On a certain occasion. See the Commentaries, Bk. 2, Ch. 10. 10S. Caesar's Twelfth Legion, like Napoleon's Old Guard, was famous for its loyalty and courage. 149-150. In Shakespeare's Henry the Fifth, Act 5, Scene 2, there is a famous example of courtship by a man of action. 188. Hanging gardens of verdure. The reference is to the celebrated terraces of Babylon, erected by Nebuchad- nezzar to pleaso his wife, a Median princess, who missed the broken scenery of her native land. 206. Astaroth was the chief female, and Baal the chief male deity of the Phoenicians. They are mentioned in Judges 2 :13 and First Samuel 12 :10. 210. Mayflowers: the trailing arbutus.. In England the word is used to designate the hawthorn. 22.">. The Psalmist was David. 231. Ainsworth was driven from England on account of his religious teachings. In Holland he published com- mentaries and translations. 232. Amsterdam was at this time tolerant to all sects. Pamphlets could be printed there that were not allowed else- where in Europe. 240. What might have heen. Compare these lines from Whittier's Maud Muller, published four years before : For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these : "It might have been I" 324. Family arms were permitted only to those who were of gentle lineage or had themselves been granted a coat of arms. In the head or body of the animal usually shown in heraldic designs, argent (silver) and gules (red) were often conspicuous colors. 344. Sank the City of God. See Revelation 21:10-27. 349. The winds, in Greek mythology, were confined in caves. 150 Notes 361-3. David, because of his love for Bathshela, had hef husband, Uriah, sent to the front in battle that he might be killed. For this act David was reproached by the prophet Nathan. 415. Froissart relates in his Chronicles how "a squyer of the kynges. . . . John Standysshe", slew the rebel, Wat Tyler, in the presence of Richard the Second. For this deed Standish was knighted. 421. When Caesar saw his old friend among the mur- derers, he cried, Et tu, Brute ? (You too, Brutus?) and ceased to resist. 442. The excellent Elder of Plymouth: William Brew- ster. 444. They had sifted the icheat. Many of the dissenters of England, France, and Holland renounced their faith on account of persecution. Of the remainder only the most zealous came to America. 448. A Bible: not the King James version, but the Gen- eva Bible, the annotations of which are colored by the stern theology of Calvin. 450. Such a challenge was actually sent — in 1622, how- ever — by Canonicus, chief of the Narragansetts. It was Governor Bradford who intimidated the Indians by sending back powder and bullets. The words paraphrased by the poet in lines 457-8 belong, not to Brewster, but to John Robinson, former minister of the congregation ; they/ were spoken when Robinson heard of the first encounter with the Indians. 501. The return voyage was begun on April 15, 1621. 605. Gurnet: a headland north of Fiymouth Bay. 606. The island is Clark Island, the cape of satid prob- ably Cape Cod. The Field of the First Encounter, on Cape Cod, was the scene of an early skirmish between an ex- ploring party and the Indians. 626. Cf. Genesis 1:2: "And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." 656. A ghost could not speak until it was addressed. A fine use of this tradition is made in the opening scene of Shakepeare's Hamlet. 719 ff. In the days when pilgrimages to the Holy Land were undertaken, many ascetic practices were introduced into the journeys. One of these methods of penance is here described. 755. For Goliath of Gath see First Samuel 17 :4-51. For Og, king of Bashan, see Deuteronomy 3 :1-11. 765. Squanto, a friendly Indian, having an eye to his Xotes 151 own importance, had told the neighboring tribes that the white men kept the plague in their cellars and that he could persuade them to unloose it. 787. Remember that the Indians had little respect for their women. 826. Corn is here used in the old sense of small grain. Maize was not cultivated in Europe before America was colonized. 828. Merestead means, literally, bounded or boundary- place. Glebe (in the next line) means turf or sod. 838-9. Compare the closing lines of this section ; also the lines from Maidenhood: Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet. 843-4. Glass was not unknown at this time, but even in Europe oiled paper, which was cheaper, was far more com- mon. 846. The present house of the Aldens is thought to be on the site of the original one. 85S. See Proverbs 31 :10-31. 867. In Greek mythology the thread of each human be- ing's life was spun out and severed by the three Fates. 872. Bertha, wife of Rudolph the Second of Burgundy, was famed for her domestic virtues. She was especially noted for her spinning. 881-2. Is it natural for Alden to utter such a prophecy? 927. Look up the description of the Hebrew High-Priest and his dress in the 28th chapter of Exodus. 973. Kent is the south-eastern shire of England. 1015. See Genesis 24. NOTES- OX "SNOW-BOUND." 65. The celebrated Leaning Tower of Pisa deflects from the perpendicular more than six feet in eighty. 77. The story of Aladdin and his lamp may be found in The Arabian Nights. 90. Amun, or Ammon, was an Egyptian deity one of whose attributes was represented under the guise of a ram. 152-154. Cf. Milton's Paradise Lost, Book 1, 11. 61-63 : A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flame3 No light ; but rather darkness visible. 152 Notes 169. What is the meaning of meet? 204. The cypress is associated with death. 215. This line and four others beginning with 220 be- long to the poem, The African Chief, by Mrs. Sarah Went- worth Morton. The poem was included in one of Whittier's school-books, The American Preceptor. 224 ff. Whittier explains that his father had traveled considerably in Canada. Memphremagog is a lake between Vermont and Canada ; St. Francis is a river in Canada ; Salisbury is a town in Massachusetts ; Boar's Head is a headland on the New Hampshire coast ; the Isles of Shoals are near the mouth of the Piscataqua river (between Maine and New Hampshire) ; and Cochecho town is Dover, New Hampshire. 226. Samp: a kind of hominy. 254. Gundalow (variant of gondola) : in the United States, a flat-bottomed boat. 269-270. Whittier says of his mother : "She described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my pos- session the wizard's 'conjuring book', which he solemnly opened when consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippg;s Magic, printed in 1651." 274. One of Whittier's forced rhymes. The final a in Piscataqua is pronounced like the a in peninsula. 276 ff. With this passage and the description of the uncle (11. 307-349) compare The Barefoot Boy. 286. William Sewel's history of the Quakers. Charles Lamb praises the book in his essay, A Quakers' Meeting. 289. The incident which Whittier retells is given in the Journal of Thomas Chalkley, published in 1747. 305-6. See Genesis 22 :1-13. 320. Apollonius, born in Cappadocia just before the Christian era, was a philosopher of the school of Pythagoras and an ascetic. Among the strange stories told about him were some that related how he conversed with animals and birds. 322. Hermes Trismegistus (i. e. the thrice-great) was a priest, philosopher, and king of Egypt, far-famed for his skill in the sciences and arts. 331-2. Gilbert White's Natural History of Selbome, Eng- land, is a loving and minute description of a restricted sec- tion. 390-1. Cf. Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act. 3, Scene I : Notes 153 Death, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveler returns. 420. This line is suggestive of many individual phrases and the general tone of Wordsworth's Intimations of Immor- tality. 438-85. Cf. the description of the school-master in Gold- smith's Deserted Village, 11. 193-216. 476. Arachthus is one of the five rivers that take their rise from the central peak of the mountain ,range of Pindus, in Greece. 478. Olympus, a celebrated mountain in Greece, was once reputed to be the home of the gods. 536. See Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, especially the first scene of Act I and the first scene of Act II. 537. St. Catherine of Siena is noted for her miraculous visions and extreme self-sacrifice. 546 ff. Miss Livermore believed in the Second Advent of our Lord. Much of her later life was given up to travel, especially in the Holy Land. 568. See note on The Courtship of Miles Standish, 1. 867. 580. Compare Shakespeare's metaphor in All's Well that Ends ~\Yell, Act. 4, Scene 3 : "The web of our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together." 656. Compare Among the Hills, 11. 395-6 : If woman lost us Eden, such As she alone restore it. 659. Doctor Weld of Haverhill. 669. John Calvin: a great reformer and contemporary of Luther, noted for his austere life and rigid tenets. 683. Thomas Ellwood, a Quaker, was the author of a tire- some epic poem, Davideis, which deals with the life of David. He was also a friend of Milton and suggested to Milton the subject of Paradise Regained. 684. The Nine Muses were Greek goddesses, the patrons of various branches of the fine arts. 693. The Creek Indians were removed from Georgia be- yond the Mississippi in 1826. This event, which came after much agitation and dispute, seems to have been one of the public affairs which Whittier remembered vividly from his boyhood. 694-5. Sir Gregor McGregor ineffectually sought, in 1822, to establish a colony in Costa Rica. 696-S. Ypsilanti a patriot of Greece, found cavalry for a struggle against Turkey in the district of Maina, near the 154 Notes mountain Taygetus. He was killed in 1821, but his brother lived to see the independence of Greece. 728. Amaranths: in mythology, a never-fading flower. 741. The Truce of God: a period during which, accord- ing to the terms of a famous compact of the Eleventh Cen- tury, all warfare and contention were to cease. 747. Flemish pictures concern themselves, as a rule, with simple subjects, treating them lovingly and in detail. The work of Rembrandt (1607-1669) is in many ways char- acteristic of the whole school. 751-0. Cp. with these lines George Eliot's poem, The Choir Invisible. APPENDIX (Adapted, and enlarged, from the Manual for the Study of English Classics, by George L. Marsh) HELPS TO STUDY Poe's Life When and where was he born? What can you say as to his parents? By whom and in what circumstances was he brought up (p. 9) ? Where, successively, was he educated 1 What was his record in the higher institutions which he attended? What became his occupation after he left West Point (p. 10)? What had been his first publication (p. 10) ? At what age? What was his first conspicuous success in literature (p. 11)? When did it come? When did Poe marry, and whom (p. 11) ? What can you say of his married life? When did his wife die? What was the effect of her death on Poe (p. 12) ? Name some of the most important newspapers and magazines with which Poe was connected (pp. 11, 12; , Some of his literary associates. What habits interfered with his success (pp. 10, 11) ? Name some other great authors who have been similarly handicapped. Did any one of them resemble Poe, either personally or in his work ? When, where, and in what circumstances did he die ! Perry Picture 33 is a portrait of Poe. Poe's Poetry and The Raven What basis is there for the claim that Poe is the most remarkable of American poets (p. 14) 1 What has been 155 m -6 1920 156 APPENDIX the estimate of him abroad? Where must he be ranked in relation to the great figures in literature (p. 16), and why ? What were Poe's main theories as to poetic art (pp. 18, 19), and how did he illustrate them? Note your editor's criticism of them. Study the structure of The Raven; bringing out specif- ically the various points mentioned by the editor. Note striking examples of adaptation of sound to sense. What is the substance of Poe 's account of the composi- tion of this poem? Discuss the reasonableness of Poe's assertions (pp. 19, 20). Point out resemblances between The Raven and The Ancient Mariner. What other poems may liave influenced Poe in the composition of The Raven (p. 17) ? List the most effective examples you find of the follow- ing devices: (a) alliteration, (b) repetition, (c) internal rhyme. What do you think of the rhymes within the third and fourth lines of the middle stanza on page 23? Tell what you consider to be the story of the poem. Longfellow's Career When and where was Longfellow born? What is note- worthy about his parents (p. 29) ? When, and under what inspiration, did he begin to write? Where did he attend college? Who was his most im- portant classmate (p. 30) ? — What occupation did Longfellow adopt, and how did he prepare for it (pp. 30, 31) ? What important services did he render as a direct result of his occupation? When did Longfellow first publish a volume of poems? What prose works had preceded it (p. 31) ? What are some of his principal poetical works? What particularly important translation did he make (p. 33)? Where did he live during most of his life, and when did he die? APPENDIX 157 What poetical qualities, and what poetical deficiencies, had Longfellow (pp. 34-36) ? Have these, even the latter, an effect on his popularity? Perry Pictures 15-21 have to do with Longfellow per- sonally; and 1331-40, 1344, 1345, and 3298 may be used in Illustration of The Courtship of Miles Standish. Miles Standish Note discrepancies between actual history and the rep- resentation of it in The Courtship of Miles Standish (pp. 37 ff.). Are these really objectionable? Give rea- sons for your answer. In what important respects is the poem true to history? What is the metrical form of Miles Standish (p. 39) ? Where else had Longfellow used it? Is it common in English ? See the editor 's questions and suggestions in the Notes (pp. 148, etc.;. Why does the poet have Standish repeat the thought found in lines 36 and 115? Note other repetitions, for other purposes — e. g., pages 46 and 49. Note bits of characteristic Puritan speech in the lan- guage of John Alden (e. g., pp. 54, 55). Is there similar language in Standish 's speeches? Do you find any reason for this? What parts of the work are most poetical — that is, what sort of material seems to inspire Longfellow most? (See hint on p. 39.) Pick out the dramatic elements in the story. Could it be arranged in a series of scenes? What striking dramatic situations are there? Does the end of part III (p. 63) come as a complete surprise? Is it made to seem natural and reasonable? What striking truth as to a common fate of women in our social system does Priscilla utter more than once (as on p. 85) ? 158 APPENDIX Are Alden 's resolves, first to sail on the Mayflower, then not to sail, sufficiently accounted for? Why is there so much about Standish's encounter with the Indians (part VII) ? Is it made to seem natural, even right, that Alden and Priscilla should defer their marriage till they hear of 'the death of Ptandish, and then at once arrange for it? Does the reappearance of Standish call to mind any- thing in one of the other books commonly read for col- lege entrance? Is it accounted for in any way? Discuss the title of this poem. Whittier and Snow-Bound Perry Pictures 25-30 have to do with Whittier. When was Whittier born (p. Ill) ? Of what sort of people ? What kind of education did he have ? How did he happen to begin to write poetry? What had Whittier to do with politics (p. 112) ? With what movement was he associated, and with what results to himself? What writing did he do in support of this movement ? What are the main themes of Whittier 's poetry (p. 116) ? What defects are to be noted (p. 115) ? In what field was his most important work done, and why (pp. 117, 118)? When was Snow-Bound written (p. 114) ? Is it realistic or imaginative? Illustrate specifically from the poem the various characteristics brought out on pages 119, 120. What is the metrical form of Snow-Bound? Pick out especially striking passages (e. g., bottom p. 124, top p. 125) and discuss the sources of their effective- ness. Is the verse paragraph on pages 127, 128, a digression? Objectionable in any way? Are there other similar pas- sages in the poem? If *so, point them out specifically. What may we assume as to the environment and expe- APPENDIX 159 riences of Whittier's father and mother in their early days (pp. 129 ff.) ? Make a list of all the books mentioned in the poem. Do you find any general characteristics prominent? How many students have ever had experiences such as Whittier presents in Snow-Bound? Let them test the naturalness and accuracy of the details. THEME SUBJECTS 1. Poe's life (pp. 9-12). 2. Character sketch of Poe. (This may be based largely on the works read; or sides may be taken and criticisms and defenses prepared.) 3. A story of the poet and ' ' the lost Lenore. ' ' 4. Discussion of Poe's account of his writing of The Baven (pp. 19, 20). 5. Parodies of The Baven — why has the poem been so much parodied? 6. A metrical study of The Baven. 7. Sketch of Longfellow's life (pp. 29-33). 8. Imaginary conversation between Longfellow and Hawthorne during their college days on what they hoped to accomplish in life. 9. Character sketch of Longfellow (pp. 34-37, and various hints in the poem read). 10. Character sketches of Miles Standish, John Alden, Priscilla. 11. Dramatizations of important scenes in The Court- ship of Miles Standish; for example, the following: Standish 's request (pp. 41-53). John Alden at Priscilla 's house (pp. 57-63). His report to Standish (pp. 67-70). The scene on the beach (pp. 76 ff.). And so on through the poem. 12. Inconsistencies with history in The Courtship of Miles Standish (pp. 37-39). 160 APPENDIX 13. Hexameter verse in English (pp. 39, 40; see also some book on English meters; note what other poets have used this form). 14. The life of Whittier (pp. 111-15). 15. Whittier 's relation to the anti-slavery cause. 16. An imaginary conversation between Whittier and Daniel Webster, in relation to "Ichabod" (see p. 116). 17. The Whittier household as revealed in Snow- Bound (pp. 118 ft.). 18. A description of a snowstorm experienced by the student. 19. The books mentioned in Snow-Bound (indicate the nature of the principal ones, and draw conclusions as to Whittier 's literary likings). 20. Poetical qualities (both merits and defects) in Snow -Bound (pp. 115-20). SELECTIONS FOR CLASS READING 1. The Raven (pp. 21-28). 2. John Alden on his errand (pp. 57-63). 3. Miles Standish at the council (pp. 70-73). 4. The departure of the Mayflower (pp. 78-83). 5. The wedding (pp. 103-106). 6. The snow-storm (pp. 121-26). 7. The poet's faith (pp. 127, 128). S. A nature lover (pp. 131-33). 9. Whittier ? s youngest sister (pp. 134-36). 10. A country school-master (pp. 136-38). 11. "Another guest" (pp. 138-41). 12. The conclusion (pp. 145, 146). C 32 89 >4g *0* °o. %^\o° \/^S t S" « 0^ .♦!••*. ^ * 4F -•-•^ , ^ / V*" ° an * ^N^%,* V. ^0 .*/ ^ • * ° ^ * O o • *. * ,A 4> ft ° « •