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 11 
 
 MAIN STREET 
 
 WILLIAMSTOWN, WHERE IT PASSES THROUGH THE COLLEGE GROUNDS 
 
 frontispiece 
 
The 
 Mountains About Williamstown 
 
 By George Lansing Raymond, l.h.d. 
 
 [Williams] 
 
 With an Introduction by 
 
 Marion Mills Miller, Litt.D. [Princeton] 
 
 With 33 Illustrations from Original Photographs Prepared by H. E. Kinsman, 
 
 C. M. Dodd, and the Jiuthor 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London 
 
 Cbe Itnfcfterbocher press 
 
 1913 
 

 COpy^RIGHT, I913 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 
 
 Ubc If^nichcrbocftcr press, IHcw lljorfi 
 
 ©C/,A3570 
 
 2' 
 
 ^o|\3 
 
But in the east there lie sky-drifting hills, 
 
 Their cliffs, cloud-coursed in heights of mystery, 
 Dim, dreamy glens, and flashed surprise of rills, 
 
 Had trained in youth his faith and fantasy. 
 He loved them as a child may love his mother, 
 
 A simple child who cannot tell you why. 
 Yet something feels he feels not for another. 
 
 Too near the springs of life for question or reply. 
 
 A Life in Song, 7, 72; by the Author. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction . 
 
 Greylock 
 
 Berlin Mountain 
 
 West Mountain 
 
 Ford's Glen 
 
 A Woodland Reverie 
 
 Amid the Mountains 
 
 I 
 
 31 
 43 
 58 
 80 
 82 
 96 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Main Street, Williamstown, where it Passes through the College 
 Grounds . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 Thompson Chapel, Exterior 
 
 Thompson Chapel, Interior 
 
 Williams and Grace Halls 
 
 Interior of Grace Hall 
 
 Berkshire, Currier, and Fairweather Halls 
 
 Greylock, from Heartwellville, Vermont, at the Northeast 
 
 The Notch between Williams and Prospect on Greylock Moun 
 TAIN Range ...... 
 
 Easterly View across a Shoulder of Greylock 
 
 Western Entrance to Greylock's Hopper 
 
 
 
 7 
 II 
 
 13 
 
 17 
 33 
 
 35 
 37 
 39 
 
Vlll 
 
 Illustrations 
 
 Prospect, Greylock, and Bald Mountains, with the Hopper 
 Berlin Mountain, with West Mountain Range to the Right 
 HoosAC AND Greylock Ranges from Bee Hill 
 Entrance to Flora's Glen ....... 
 
 Roadway through Torrey's Woods 
 
 Gymnasium, Morgan Hall, and Laboratories, with Berlin above 
 
 Dodd's Cone, with Berlin just beyond the Left . 
 
 West Mountain Range Seen across Hoosick River 
 
 The Hopper from the West .... ... 
 
 The Dome, East Mountain, and Williamstown, from Stone Hill 
 A Class-Day Speech between East College and the Library 
 Main Street, Williamstown, Looking West .... 
 
 Foothills of West Mountain from the Side of it 
 
 The Inner Hopper ......... 
 
 The Greylock Range from Berkshire Rock .... 
 
 PAGE 
 41 
 
 45 
 47 
 49 
 51 
 53 
 55 
 59 
 61 
 
 63 
 65 
 69 
 
 71 
 
 73 
 77 
 
Illxistrations 
 
 Commencement Procession of the Graduating Class 
 Ford's Glen . . .... 
 
 The Hopper Brook and Pathway . 
 
 A Brook, with the Dome in the Distance 
 
 Mission Park Monument 
 
 A Walk in a Williamstown Park . 
 
 The Greylock Range from Bellow's Pipe 
 
 Greylock, from a Shoulder of the Dome 
 
 IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 79 
 8i 
 
 83 
 87 
 89 
 95 
 97 
 99 
 
The Mountains About Williamstown 
 
 INTRODUGTION 
 
 "Good wine needs no bush" — for those who are connoisseurs of wine. 
 Good poetry similarly requires no introduction — for those who have a 
 discriminating literary palate. Perhaps in ancient Greece, where poetic 
 taste was natural and well-nigh universal, and where the "wine of song" 
 in generous flood was welcomed because it gratified the artistic sense of 
 people of every degree, presentation of the claims of a particular vintage 
 may have been unneeded and unknown. But where this natural taste has 
 been vitiated, whether by poetic counterfeiters flooding the market with 
 their debased issue, and so driving out the genuine, or by the people them- 
 selves after indulging in the raw and ardent spirits of romantic fiction and 
 passionate drama, there has always been need of instructing readers in the 
 
2 THe Movintains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 basic principles of the poetic art preparatory to presenting them poems 
 which, however unpretentious, are intended to appeal to the true artistic 
 sense. So Wordsworth prefaced his products, and, following his example, 
 the disciples of Wordsworth in introduction and comment urged the claims 
 of these as true specimens of poetry upon a public accustomed to connote 
 the idea of a "grand style" with any composition in rhythmic form. 
 
 The present age, notwithstanding an abundant, and, to a large extent, 
 critical appreciation of most forms of art, is notable for its lack of interest 
 in verse, and, with this, of discrimination in judging of its relative value. 
 For this reason, no greater service can be rendered to the reader of literature 
 than by presenting to him a work of genuine poetry, accompanied by the 
 reasons which seem to make it this. 
 
 To say no more, such presentation may be the means of revealing — to 
 eyes prone to overlook what they ought to see — the element of pure beauty, 
 and of making men apprehend the supreme position that this occupies in 
 literary as in other forms of art. Beauty is universally recognized as the 
 main constituent of poetry. But after this has been acknowledged, many 
 in our day seem to think it unnecessary to know from personal experience 
 what is meant either by poetic beauty, or by enjoying it. "We agree to 
 all your claims for poetry," they seem to say; "What more can you ask 
 
Introdxiction 3 
 
 of us?— pray, would you have us read it?" Professor Raymond's poems, 
 we believe, will tend to multiply readers— and discriminating ones— of 
 poetry in general, starting them, indeed, on the right road to the shrine of 
 beauty, their devotion increasing with every step on the way. 
 
 In choice of subject, these mountain poems are admirably adapted 
 for this purpose. Appreciation of the beauty of nature, especially in its 
 larger and more striking aspects, appealing in unmistakable terms, as 
 these do, to human emotion and sentiment, is almost universal. There 
 are those, indeed, who traffic upon this appreciation. Hundreds of inn- 
 keepers in Europe receive annually from tourists— and these largely from 
 America— many thousands of dollars because of the scenic attractions 
 of their localities. The popularity of these, moreover, is always greatly 
 enhanced when, in some way, they can be associated with the personalities 
 of favorite authors who have dwelt among them and written of them, — 
 written what, perhaps, is destined to be immortal largely because of some 
 subtle influence exerted upon their minds by the ever-enduring beauty and 
 grandeur of the aspects of nature in a place which was once their home. 
 
 Even utiHtarians who think only of these facts may be guided along 
 the right path. There is no one for whom it is impossible to open up the 
 well-nigh infinite vistas of ideality which lie behind and beyond and within 
 
4 TKe Mountains Abovit W^illiamstoAvn 
 
 the actualities of life. The contents of this volume, therefore, seem to 
 appeal to every kind of reader, and to do so in the ancient universally 
 cherished name of the Muses of which the author has been a faithful devotee 
 ever since, as a college student, he became familiar with the scenes about 
 Williamstown fitted for their haunting. Especially should the poems appeal 
 to those who now live amid the Berkshire hills, in the list of whom are many 
 young people whose whole careers might be changed for the better, could 
 they but be guided to receive, assimilate, and develop the suggestions logi- 
 cally derivable from their surroundings. 
 
 As a pupil of Professor Raymond, and an assistant professor in 
 his department of i55sthetic Criticism at Princeton^not to mention 
 more recent associations with him — I have had exceptional opportunities 
 to become acquainted with his poetic theories and methods, and, accord- 
 ingly, it is I who have been asked to write the present introduction. 
 
 As is known to many, Professor Raymond was for years an instructor 
 in elocution, rhetoric, and sesthetics. His fundamental analysis of each of 
 these subjects led him to treat, first, of the significance — i. e. of the thought 
 and emotion — to be expressed; and, second, of the style or form of the 
 expression. Both these, as related merely to art, he considers of equal 
 importance, and, accordingly, insists that neither should be subordinated 
 
'"'"''ris^ssPis'^^iiri'w'! 
 
 -'^"'^'>' 
 
 
 THOMPSON CHAPEL, EXTERIOR 
 
6 TKe Mountains A.bo\it "Williamsto"wn 
 
 to the other. He maintains, for instance, that the object of making a 
 study of form, and of thus becoming a master of technique, is to remove 
 habits preventing a spontaneous and natural method of communicat- 
 ing outwardly what is within the mind, and, in place of these, to 
 cultivate habits facilitating this method. This, according to him, furnishes 
 the reason for practicing the voice in music and the hand in painting, 
 as well as the perceptive, recoUective, and illustrative powers in these and 
 the other arts. 
 
 There is nothing in statements of this kind to differentiate them from 
 such as would be made by almost any one else. I have directed attention 
 to them here because of certain practical applications of them to poetry 
 which seem to be peculiar to Professor Raymond. The reader may be best 
 led perhaps to apprehend what these applications are by observing, in the 
 following poetic passage, the departures from the natural order of words 
 as used in English speech : 
 
 Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare 
 Straight to the doors; to them the doors gave way 
 Groaning; and in the vestal entry shrieked 
 The virgin marble under iron heels. — Tennyson' s Princess. 
 
THOMPSON CHAPEL, INTERIOR 
 
8 The Mountains About W^illiamsto-wn 
 
 There are two main reasons for such departures: first, the difficulty, 
 without them, of causing the lines to produce the required metrical effects; 
 and, second, the desirability of arranging the words in such a way as to 
 emphasize, by putting into unusual places, those words that have excep- 
 tional interpretive or artistic value, as in the cases of us, groaning, and 
 shrieked, in the quotation. 
 
 The first reason Professor Raymond would not deem sufficient. He 
 would consider it an attempt to excuse workmanshig so lacking in thorough- 
 ness as to stop short of producing the naturalness of effect which, according 
 to him, always characterizes perfect art. The second reason, he would ad- 
 mit, is founded on a sound aesthetic principle, but he would consider it also 
 inadequate, since when words containing the important thoughts fall into 
 emphasized places in the customary order of the sentence the effect is 
 much more what it should be than when, in order to put the strong 
 words in the strong places, inversion is used. Take the invocation of 
 the Psalmist : 
 
 Lift up your heads, O ye gates; 
 
 And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; 
 
 And the King of glory shall come iii. 
 
Introdxjction 9 
 
 This is both more artistic and more poetic than would be the inversion : 
 
 Your heads, ye gates, Hft up; 
 
 And hfted up be ye, ye doors everlasting; 
 
 And in shall come the One of glory King. 
 
 Professor Raymond would justify his criticism of such changes in 
 the natural order of speech, so far as made merely for the purpose of over- 
 coming the difficulty of metrical construction, by showing that many 
 a reader, and even critic, after becoming accustomed to them, comes to 
 consider them, in themselves alone, indicative of the presence of poetry, 
 and not infrequently to consider the absence of them indicative of the 
 opposite. According to him, this involves subordinating significance in 
 poetry to the effects of mere style. 
 
 As for the second reason for these changes. Professor Raymond, though 
 justifying them sometimes, would say that, at other times, even when 
 directing attention to words having special significance, they may be 
 inartistic because of their tendency to emphasize the particular details of 
 expression in such a way as to cause the reader to lose thought of the general 
 drift of expression, the latter of which is that which chiefly conveys the 
 full meaning of a passage. Here, again, according to his conception, more 
 
lo TKe Movintains Abovit "Williamsto-wn 
 
 importance would be given to the requirements of poetic style than to those 
 of significance. 
 
 Professor Raymond is well aware that any verse in which theories 
 like his are put into practice will, very likely, not commend itself to those 
 who fail to recognize poetry where there are no inversions or intricacies in 
 the arrangement of words, or where the general drift of the thought is not 
 being constantly checked in order to allow opportunity for the introduction 
 of special details. He is aware that such people are wont to confound that 
 ease and simplicity of effect which characterize finished art with the fatal 
 facility that triumphs merely because it has not ventured where obstacles 
 are to be met, and where skill must be used in order to overcome them. But 
 he is not a man who would waive an artistic ideal for no other purpose than 
 to find welcome with those who, for any reason, do not happen to share it. 
 
 After what has been said, the reader may be interested in noticing 
 in a quotation from the present volume the straightforward arrangement 
 of the words, the dominance of the main idea, and the absence of any 
 tricks of mere rhetoric to which the effects could be attributed: 
 
 The aspiration and the aim of art 
 That will not bide contented till the law 
 
WILLIAMS AND GRACE HALLS 
 
12 THe Mountains About W^illiamstoAvn 
 
 Of thought shall supersede the law of things, 
 
 And that which in the midnight of this world 
 
 Is but a dream shall be fulfilled in days 
 
 Where there is no raore matter, only mind, 
 
 And beauty, born of free imagination. 
 
 Shall wait but on the sovereignty of spirit. — p. 60. 
 
 The production of passages like this by a professor of rhetoric is all 
 the more noteworthy inasmuch as one would naturally suppose that he, 
 as a student of style, would be the first, rather than the last, to be unduly 
 influenced by its requirements. 
 
 We have pointed out that, according to Professor Raymond, the 
 details of expression should not predominate over the drift of expression. 
 Let us look a little more deeply into this principle. We shall find that 
 the conception indicated in the term "drift of expression," while it refers 
 to the general thought, may refer — and at times necessarily must do so — 
 to more than this. It must refer to the tendency, or what is sometimes 
 termed the spirit of the thought. It is not only the general meaning, but 
 the general spirit underlying the meaning, which should receive expression 
 in the form. How this can be done may be illustrated, like other of Pro- 
 
INTERIOR OF GRACE HALL 
 
14 THe Moxintains About Williamsto-wn 
 
 fessor Raymond's theories, from his own writings. Years ago, before he 
 had pubUshed anything in dramatic form, like his "Cohimbus" or "Dante," 
 the New York Evening Post, then edited by William Cullen Bryant, termed 
 one of his volumes the work "of a genuinely dramatic poet." A careful 
 reader of that volume will recognize what was meant by this comment. 
 The volume contained two poems, — "Haydn" and "Ideals Made Real." 
 Both were love stories; the one was supposed to be told by a dying nun, 
 and the other by a young man very much alive. From beginning to end, 
 the style of each poem revealed the character of its supposed narrator. 
 Nevertheless each poem revealed also the characters of half a dozen other 
 persons whose words and deeds were reported. Like leaves and flowers 
 all of which, though rendered clearly distinguishable by their outlines, 
 appear blue or red when seen through a blue or red glass, so these 
 characters, though they were clearly differentiated from one another, 
 all revealed the characteristics of the one supposed to be describing them. 
 This is the same as to affirm that Professor Raymond had put himself into 
 the place of the supposed narrators. He had been able, as one may say, 
 to take on their spirit in such a way that, from beginning to end, all the 
 details of style were made to manifest this fact. 
 
 A similar effect may be noticed in his patriotic ballads and senti- 
 
Introdviction 15 
 
 mental lyrics. While, in a sense they represent himself, in another sense 
 they represent also the spirit of some prejudiced rustic or love-sick suitor, 
 to whom, supposedly, they are attributable. 
 
 The same dramatic quality is evident in the poems in this volume. 
 The writer seems to possess, or, better, to be possessed by the spirit which — 
 so far as results in material nature may be interpreted according to the 
 analogy of results in human nature — is behind the natural phenomena to 
 which he refers, e. g. : 
 
 And only barren slopes of sterile rock 
 And trees that nature struggles to disown 
 Await the climber. — p. 69. 
 
 The emulous mounts 
 That rise, as if from crowds that would be counted. — p. 36. 
 
 And pushing up through paths I trod were flowers. 
 
 I seemed their nature's lord ; for, when my feet 
 
 Would crush them as I passed, they grew more sweet. — p. 84. 
 
 [When passing through a forest] Without a word. 
 We walked at first like pilgrims near a shrine 
 They much revere, who, filled with thrills too fine 
 
l6 XHe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 To throb through words accented, satisfy 
 
 Their souls by feeling that the god is nigh. — pp. 88, 89. 
 
 Professor Raymond is able also to represent the effects of nature 
 upon the spirit of man as manifested in the thoughts and feelings which 
 association with nature evokes. Who that has roamed much among 
 high mountains has not experienced — but how few have been able to 
 translate into language — the feelings expressed in a passage like this? — 
 
 And why should one descend? Why cannot now 
 This whirling world whisk off the willing spirit 
 And let it shoot through space, and go and go, 
 And never come again? Ah, why should fate 
 Leave thought entangled like an eagle here 
 Whose wings are bound, and feet can only crawl 
 So slowly, and, when one so longs to fly. 
 So painfully? — pp. 52, 54. 
 
 It is a step — and yet a long step — in the same direction as that indi- 
 cated in these lines to the recognition of a single source or spirit in nature 
 to which may be attributed not only inspiration in general, as in this last 
 
BERKSHIRE, CURRIER, AND FAIRWEATHER HALLS, AND EAST COLLEGE 
 
 17 
 
l8 THe Movintains About ^A^illiamsto'wn 
 
 quotation, but also particular suggestions, as in Iho quotations preceding 
 the last. Notice, in tlic (\)llovving, not merely the recognition of this single 
 spirit; but an effect far more difficult to produce, — the expression of this 
 recognition in language fitted to cause others to recognize it: 
 
 Life's greatest gain is life itself; 
 And life, thdui^h lived in matter, is not of it; 
 Not of the object tliat our aims pursue, 
 Not of the body that pursues it, not 
 Of all tlie world of which itself and ua 
 Are parts. Nay, all Ihini^s that the eye can see 
 Are but vague shadows of reality 
 Cast on a frail environment of cloud, — 
 But illustratitins of a Ljeneral trend 
 Which only has enduring entity, 
 And is, and was, and always must be, spirit. — pp. 56, 57. 
 
 Believe me that the spirit-air, 
 Like all the air abo\-c the soil we tread. 
 Takes to its own en\ivonincnt of lii^iit 
 No growth to burst tiiere iiUo llower and fruit 
 a 
 
Introdviction 19 
 
 That does not get some start, and root itself, 
 
 Amid this lower world's deep, alien darkness, — 
 
 No spirit uses wings in heaven that never 
 
 Has learned of them, or longed for them, on earth. — p. 57. 
 
 For nature is 
 Transparent, and reveals her mysteries 
 To mortals only whose own sympathies 
 Make them transparent, opening all between 
 Themselves and nature, so that naught can screen 
 Her inmost meaning from their inmost mind. 
 Such spirits in earth's round horizon find 
 A glass divine — like that called Claude Lorraine's — 
 A strange strong lens that deep within contains 
 Heaven's forms for thought made small in scope to match 
 Man's comprehension. — pp. 89, 90. 
 
 For one to be able to perceive the spirit, in the sense of the vitalizing 
 method or methods, operating in nature, and, at the same time, to recognize 
 and represent the many different forms through vi^hich this spirit may 
 manifest its presence and character, there is iieeded an unusual exercise of 
 
20 XHe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 two important tendencies of mind, clearly distinguishable yet closely 
 connected. These are the philosophic and the imaginative. The first 
 of them has to do with laws working underneath visible or audible life; 
 the second with things seen or heard that give outward manifestation of 
 the application of these laws. The test of the philosophic mind is its 
 ability to relate the phenomena of nature to some one law or set of laws; 
 the test of the imaginative mind is its ability to conjure from nature forms 
 that image one another in the sense that they indicate the presence and 
 influence upon themselves of the same law or laws. Both qualities of 
 mind are exemplified, over and over again, in these mountain poems; 
 sometimes explicitly as in the following: 
 
 In every sphere, beyond what merely meets 
 
 The first demand of need, there issues forth 
 
 A constant overflow. 'T is this that brings 
 
 More sunlight than the eye of toil exhausts, 
 
 More summer rain than clears and cools the air 
 
 Where smoke and flame the world's too heated axles. 
 
 Without this overflow, no wish could play, 
 
 No thought could dream, no fancy slip the links 
 
Introdxiction 21 
 
 Of logic, and wing off with childlike faith 
 
 And poise o'er mysteries too deep for sight. 
 
 Without it, not one poet would repeat 
 
 His empty echoes of life's humdrum work, 
 
 His rhythmic laughter of disburdened thought. 
 
 Without it, not one artist would essay 
 
 To mimic Nature when it molds to gems 
 
 Its melting worthlessness, or, like a wizard, 
 
 Waves with its wand to welcome bubbling froth 
 
 And turn to amber that which aimed for air. — pp. 44, 46. 
 
 Meantime, confined 
 Where only finite form can hint of what 
 Inspires formation, many souls there are — ■ 
 Oh, may I join them! — who, in all things earthly. 
 Behold what evermore transfigures earth. 
 No scene can greet them but it brings to sight 
 Far less than to suggestion ; not a tone 
 Whose harmony springs not from overtones; 
 And not a partial stir but, like a pulse. 
 It registers what heart-beat moves the whole. — p. 48. 
 
22 TKe Movintains Aboxit "Williamsto-wn 
 
 And sometimes implicitly as in these : 
 
 Does thought grow broader, whittled down to point 
 
 At microscopic nuclei of dust, 
 
 As if the world were by, not with them, built? — 
 
 As if the game of true success were played 
 
 By matching parts whose wholes are curios? — p. 56. 
 
 Whose mind too slightly taught, as yet, perhaps. 
 To read, beneath the picture, all the text, 
 Has yet surmised its meaning by that faith 
 Which, though its guide be instinct, dares to think, 
 And, though it bow to greet the symbol, yet 
 Lets not its magic cast a spell on sense! — p. 78. 
 
 On almost every page of Professor Raymond's poetry, a thinker will 
 find single words and phrases that, like hand mirrors held to mountain 
 ranges, reveal with the utmost clearness what could have its source in 
 nothing except a wide philosophic and imaginative outlook, c. g. : 
 
 As long as thinking can be shaped by things. 
 
 And that which holds our life can mold our love.— pp. 38, 40. 
 
Introduction 23 
 
 That every bud must bring a blossom-nest 
 
 In which to hatch and home a future fruit. — p. 43. 
 
 But each frail flower that blooms for but an hour 
 
 May store in memory an ideal of beauty, 
 
 A sense of sweetness, that shall never leave him. — p. 74. 
 
 Some minds are sighted for a single aim, 
 
 And right for others may be wrong for them ! — p. 70. 
 
 All things created can for thought procure 
 
 No more than one's creative thoughts conjure. — p. 89. 
 
 There are two extremes of representation at which the results of the 
 two tendencies of mind of which I have spoken are combined ; and at both 
 of them Professor Raymond's success is noteworthy. At one extreme, 
 the conception of the laws, principles, or general ideas involved, or the 
 personified source of them, is so great that the imagination cannot find 
 a form actually existing by imitating or referring to which the mind can 
 represent them adequately, — in fact cannot represent them at all, except 
 by way of suggestion, e. g. : 
 
24 TKe Mountains Abo\it 'Williamstown 
 
 One might believe, O Mount, as on thy sides 
 The thumb-marks of the Hopper show themselves. 
 That thou wast made a handle, humpt and huge. 
 Which some magician of the sky could wield 
 While in the hollow basin at thy base 
 All things were lifted to a loftier life! — pp. 40. 
 
 They must have sprung 
 To shape like this when some primeval frost 
 Chilled, caught, and crystallized the storm-swept waves 
 Of chaos that, arrested in their rage. 
 They fitly might portray the power beneath. 
 Stay there, great billows, all your boulder-drops 
 Held harmless where they hang; and all the spray 
 That might have dashed above them merely leaves 
 Of bush and forest, held to equal pause 
 Save where, perchance, their fluttering, now and then. 
 Reveals a feeling that they once were free; 
 Stay there, suspended in the sky! But, sure 
 As days roll up the sun, an hour must come 
 When blazing blasts again shall shake these peaks. 
 
Introduction 25 
 
 Shall pile them higher, level them to plains, 
 
 Or melt them back to primal nothingness. — pp. 58, 60. 
 
 And when these mounts, like mighty sheets above 
 
 Some slumbering giant soon to wake and walk, 
 
 Fall back to formlessness from which they came. — p. 76. 
 
 This is the method vi^hich, in the degree in which it is applied to con- 
 ceptions of profound importance, gives rise to the effects that are termed 
 sublime. At the other extreme, the conception of the lavi^s or principles 
 involved is not too great to be adequately represented. In such a case, 
 when the writer is thinking primarily of the conception, he gives us descrip- 
 tion or reference that is ideaHstic; when he is thinking primarily of the 
 form, he gives us that which is realistic. Professor Raymond's poems 
 afford examples of both types. These, for instance, are idealistic: 
 
 Where every prospect homes itself on high. 
 
 And each horizon seems a haunt of heaven? — p. 40. 
 
 Our shouts would join them, now, perchance, intent 
 To rouse loud echoes dealt us like applause 
 For ungrown voices that would fit themselves 
 
26 TKe Moxintains About Williamsto-wn 
 
 To bear the burden of the larger thought 
 
 For which the world beyond our youth seemed waiting. — p. 64. 
 
 When dwelling in a realm of endless plains, 
 Those whom thy shade had haunted pointed out 
 The clouds, and bade me find thine image there, — 
 With what delight my heart first welcomed thee! 
 And then, like one whose form lies prone in sleep. 
 My young imagination woke and rose 
 And strove to climb, and — heaven alone can tell 
 How wisely — has been climbing ever since. — p.31. 
 
 I climbed these fields 
 Prom foot-hills to the Snow-hole; then, reclined 
 Against the western slope, looked off to give 
 A god-speed to the sun, and half beHeved 
 The blue- tint sky-sheet, held to light against 
 The little town of learning that I loved, 
 Could bear away with photographic art 
 That which should give enlightenment to all 
 The western land through which it should be trailed. — p. 62. 
 
Introduction 27 
 
 And these are realistic : 
 
 Those overshadowing forests which emboss 
 That glorious bowl, the Hopper! — p. 34. 
 
 Think not that every leaf that sprouts in spring 
 
 Must be a stem straight-pointed toward a flower. — p. 43. 
 
 I strolled, at midnight, through the shade-veiled elms, 
 Across the western rise, and down the hill. 
 What mattered how complained the creaking bridge, 
 Or bustling brook, disturbed by moon and me; 
 How marshalled into rows the ghost-like forms, 
 White-mantled in the hill-side cemetery? — p. 69. 
 
 It is quite common with Professor Raymond to begin a passage accord- 
 ing to the realistic method, and to end it according to the idealistic, his 
 imagination starting with feet on the ground, as it were, and then taking 
 wing, e. g. : 
 
 The works of human art may lose their charm. 
 The picture, statue, building, wear no mail 
 That can resist the subtle shafts of time. 
 
28 The Mountains About "Williainsto-wn 
 
 Their brightest color fades, their bronze corrodes, 
 
 Their carving crumbles, and their marble falls. 
 
 Oft, too, when one has wandered far from home. 
 
 And craves the things he once thought wrought so well. 
 
 The soul's enlargement of the treasures missed 
 
 That each may fit a niche of larger longing 
 
 Will make all seem, when seen again, but small. 
 
 And, tested by the touch of present fact, 
 
 But fabrics of a dream conjured by fancy. 
 
 Not so with works of Nature. Years that pass 
 
 May make the field more brilliant with more flowers, 
 
 The ore more precious, and the cave more vast. 
 
 And every mount, at our renewed return, 
 
 Soar higher like thick smoke above a flame 
 
 Fanned into ardor by the panting breath 
 
 Of fleet-sped winds that rush to its embrace. — pp. 32, 34. 
 
 A similar order of presentation — passing from the realistic to the ideal- 
 istic — often characterizes his descriptions of things seen: 
 
 Anon a brook before my vision spread. 
 
 It seemed a path that fairy feet could tread, — 
 
Introduction 29 
 
 A path of silver, o'er a jewelled ground, 
 Which far away toward heaven-like mountains wound. 
 White mists were clinging to the brook's bright side. 
 Like spirit bands I thought them, whom its tide 
 Lulled softly, couched amid the dark-leaved trees, 
 Awaiting bugles of the morning breeze, 
 And all the rush of daybreak sweeping by, 
 To bear them off in glory to the sky. — p. 85. 
 
 And also of things heard. Besides this fact, notice, in the following, 
 the distinctively musical effects; by which are meant the effects both of 
 sound, and of that of which the sound makes one think: 
 
 At times, mysterious whurs of winds and wings 
 And whisperings rose, with long-drawn echoings. 
 'T was music, lingering lovingly along 
 The breeze its fragrance freighted, like a song 
 From bay-bound barks in hazy autumn calms; 
 Nor less it swayed my soul than slow low psalms 
 Begun where organ blasts, that roared and rushed 
 And made the air- waves roll, are swiftly hushed, 
 
30 THe Movintains About "Williamsto^wn 
 
 Ami our thrilk'd breasts iiihalo as well as hoar 
 
 Tho awo-fillod sweetness of the atmosphere. — pp. 85, 86. 
 
 Thomas Noon Talfourd, in his celobratod essay "On tho Genius and 
 Writings of Wordsworth," says of the poetic imagination that it is "that 
 power by which the spirituaHties of onr nature and the sensible images 
 derived from the material universe are commingled at the will of the 
 possessor." Hudson Maxim, in his "Science of Poetry," says that this art 
 "is tho expression of unsonsuous thought in sensuous terms by artistic 
 trope. " Professor Raymond defines poetry merely by terming it an art, the 
 mediun\ of which is language. But, in his "Essentials of ^-Esthetics," he lets 
 us know — to shorten somewhat that which he states under three heads — that 
 "all fine art involves a use of the sights or sounds of nature for the purpose of 
 expressing a man's thoughts or emotions in an external product." The 
 general conception underlying all these statements is the same; and few would 
 dispute its essential accuracy. Neither will the carcfid reader of this book 
 question that Professor Raymond has conformed to this conception in every 
 particular, thereby producing genuine works of art, deserving, as few recent 
 poems deserve, a place among the classic compositions of their Icind. 
 
 Marion Mills Miller. 
 
 The Authors Club, New York Citv. 
 
The Mountains About Williamstown 
 
 GREYLOCK 
 
 pRIEND of my youth, my first of mountain friends, 
 A Friend long before I saw thee, in the days 
 When, dweUing in a realm of endless plains, 
 Those whom thy shade had haunted pointed out 
 The clouds, and bade me find thine image there, — 
 With what delight my heart first welcomed thee ! 
 And then, like one whose form lies prone in sleep, 
 My young imagination woke and rose 
 And strove to climb, and — heaven alone can tell 
 How wisely — has been climbing ever since. 
 With what delight, day after day, for years, 
 3 31 
 
32 TKe Mountains About Williamstown 
 
 My eyes wotild watch thee looming through the light 
 Of early mom, and how they since have longed 
 For thee when absent ! Nor, at any time- 
 Not after years had parted tts — did not 
 The sight of thee outdo all expectation. 
 
 The works of human art may lose their charm. 
 
 The picture, statue, btiilding, wear no mail 
 
 That can resist the subtle shafts of time. 
 
 Their brightest color fades, their bronze corrodes. 
 
 Their carving crvimbles, and their marble falls. 
 
 Oft, too, when one has wandered far from home, 
 
 And craves the things he once thought wrought so well. 
 
 The soul's enlargement of the treasures missed 
 
 That each may fit a niche of larger longing 
 
 Will make all seem, when seen again, but small. 
 
 And, tested by the touch of present fact. 
 
 But fabrics of a dream conjured by fancy. 
 
 Not so with works of Nature. Years that pass 
 
GREYLOCK, FROM HEARTWELLVILLE, VERMONT, AT THE NORTHEAST 
 
 " Those whom thy shade had haunted, pointed out 
 The clouds, and bade me find thine image there." — Page 31 
 
 33 
 
34 TKe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 May make the field more brilliant with more flowers, 
 The ore more precious, and the cave more vast, 
 And every mount, at our renewed return. 
 Soar higher like thick smoke above a flame 
 Fanned into ardor by the panting breath 
 Of fleet-sped winds that rush to its embrace. 
 
 And so with thee, O Greylock! Thou art yet 
 More grand, more beautiful, than when, of yore, 
 I sought thee, in that earliest rash attempt 
 To climb thy heights by scaling first the steeps 
 Of Prospect, pulled through thorny underbrush 
 From limb to limb, like some primeval man 
 When mounting rounds of some Ygdrasil tree ; 
 Or when I tried that long, but shorter, coiu-se 
 That first essays Bald Mountain; or, again, 
 Sought first the Notch. To-day, as always, comes 
 That sense of restful triumph when one nears 
 Those overshadowing forests which emboss 
 
THE NOTCH BETWEEN WILLIAMS AND PROSPECT ON GREYLOCK MOUNTAIN RANGE 
 
 " Nor at any time — 
 Not after years had parted us — did not 
 The sight of Ibee outdo all expectation." — Page 32 
 
 35 
 
36 THe Movintains About "Williamstown 
 
 That gloricnis btnvl, the Hopper! — when one treads 
 
 Those winding paths amid thick arching trees 
 
 Wliere, in the lack of outlook, naught can solve 
 
 The mystery of the height save lungs that breathe 
 
 The thrill and uplift of a purer air; 
 
 And where, like spirits that have been inspired 
 
 But never can be conscious how or when, 
 
 Keen thoughts will still outpace achievement, till, 
 
 All suddenly, upon the eye will burst 
 
 The unobstructed vision from thy peak, — 
 
 The hills that sweep from Adams at thy base 
 
 To far Monad n(~>ck and the emulous mounts 
 
 That rise, as if from crowds that would be counted. 
 
 Above the hardly hid Connecticut. 
 
 Oh, some may praise the plain! It has its use 
 For plow and reaper, railway and canal ; 
 But all that human hand could ever plant 
 Or thought invent, or energy transport 
 
EASTERLY VIEW ACROSS A SHOULDER OF GREYLOCK 
 
 " The unobstructed vision from thy peak, — 
 The hills that sweep from Adams at thy base." — Page 36 
 
 37 
 
38 XKe Mountains A.bo\it A^illiamstoAvn 
 
 Could never, through long ages, bring together 
 What here were gathered in a few short hours, — 
 A wealth of mound and meadow to sufifice 
 For many a county, all rolled up in one, 
 A hundred miles of surface in a score, 
 A score of climates in a single mile, 
 And all the treasury of plant or soil 
 From half a continent arrayed against 
 The slopes that flank a solitary valley. 
 Who says there are no wiser views of life 
 Where every view displays a wider range? 
 More blest a decade spent in scenes like this 
 Than ages in some never-ending plain. 
 
 And what of those here who can never climb 
 
 These heights, or gaze upon their heaven -like vision ?- 
 
 Did ever yet a form appear on earth 
 
 Divine in mission that would fail to bless 
 
 Those, too, who could but touch its garment's hem? 
 
WESTERN ENTRANCE TO GREYLOCK'S HOPPER 
 
 "As on thy sides 
 The thumb-marks of llie Hopper show themselves."— Fa.ge 40 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 TKe Mountains About Williamsto-wn 
 
 As long as thinking can be shaped by things, 
 And that which holds ovir life can mold our love, 
 What soul can seek the skies with wistful gaze 
 And be content with only soil below? 
 Oh, does it profit naught that one should dwell 
 Amid surroundings that no eyes can see 
 Save as they look above, no feet can leave, 
 To seek the outer world, save as they climb? 
 Where every prospect homes itself on high, 
 And each horizon seems a haunt of heaven? 
 One might believe, O Mount, as on thy sides 
 The thumb-marks of the Hopper show themselves. 
 That thou wast made a handle, humpt and huge. 
 Which some magician of the sky could wield 
 ^^Tiile in the hollow basin at thy base 
 All things were lifted to a loftier life! 
 
 How blest the child whose thought begins to build 
 Ideals of deeds on dreams that, morn by morn, 
 
PROSPECT, GREYLOCK AND BALD MOUNTAINS, WITH THE HOPPER 
 
 " Where, like mighty sides 
 Of some far grander cradle, lift these hills." — Page 42 
 
 41 
 
42 THe Mountains A.bovit Williamsto-wn 
 
 Awake to greet a mother's flushing face 
 
 That bends above his cradle! Many a soul 
 
 Reared in these valleys where, like mighty sides 
 
 Of some far grander cradle, lift these hills. 
 
 And where in bleakest wintry skies appears 
 
 Thy moinitain's white brow warmed with flush of da^^^^, 
 
 Has waked to see thee, day by day, tmtil 
 
 The habit grew a part of life itself 
 
 And ruled his being, — that whatever light 
 
 Left hea\'en or lit the earth would find his form 
 
 In paths where it was always mo\dng iipward. 
 
BERLIN MOUNTAIN 
 
 T^HIS world is wider than the range of work, 
 -*■ Nor shows its worth through merely garnered gains. 
 Yon barren mount where only scrub-oaks grow 
 May yield, at times, a harvest for the soul 
 More blest than ever filled the best of farms. 
 Think not that every leaf that sprouts in spring 
 Must be a stem straight -pointed toward a flower; 
 That every bud must bring a blossom-nest 
 In which to hatch and home a future fruit. 
 Full many a leaf can only catch the shower 
 And quench the dry limb's thirst; full many a bud 
 Grow bright alone as might a short-lived spark 
 Aglow to show some source of kindled fragrance — 
 
 43 
 
44 TKe Mountains About Williamsto-wn 
 
 Aglow to show itself a part and partner 
 
 Of that excess of service in which all 
 
 The starry worlds are joined, as, hung- beneath 
 
 Heaven's dome, like golden censers brimmed with fumes 
 
 Of smouldering ni\'rrh, their God-enkindled fires 
 
 Now flash, now fail, while souls, awe-thrilled to thought, 
 
 Both trust and fear their fires' unfailing Source. 
 
 Tn every spheiv, beyontl what merely meets 
 The first demand of need, there issues forth 
 A constant overflow. 'T is this that brings 
 ]\k)re sunlight than the eye of toil exhausts. 
 More summer rain than clears and cools the air 
 Wliere smoke and fiame the world's too heated axles. 
 'T is this regales the hunger of fatigue 
 By foretastes of refreshment never failing, 
 And shows, beyond the prisons of this earth, 
 'I'hrough opening gates, the free expanse of heaven. 
 \\'ilhout this tn-erllow, no wish could play, 
 
BERLIN MOUNTAIN, WITH WEST MOUNTAIN RANGE TO THE RIGHT 
 
 " Yon barren mount where only scrub-oaks grow 
 May yield, at limes, a harvest for the soul." — Page 43 
 
 45 
 
46 THe Mountains Abovit "Williamsto-wn 
 
 No thought could dream, no fancy sHp the links 
 Of logic, and wing off with childlike faith 
 And poise o'er mysteries too deep for sight. 
 Without it, not one poet would repeat 
 His empty echoes of life's humdrum work, 
 His rhythmic laughter of disburdened thought. 
 Without it, not one artist would essay 
 To mimic Nature when it molds to gems 
 Its melting worthlessness, or, like a wizard. 
 Waves with its wand to welcome bubbling froth 
 And turn to amber that which aimed for air. 
 Without it, ah, without it, there would be 
 No life of life more grand by far than all 
 That worlds can outline or that minds conceive,- 
 No wings to lift aloft our thrilling souls 
 And bear them on, unconscious how or why, 
 Far past all limits of all earth-moved thought 
 Until, at last, they seem to reach the verge 
 Of heaven's infinity. 
 
HOOSAC AND GREYLOCK RANGES FROM BEE HILL 
 
 " Beyond lite pHsoiis of this earth, 
 Through opening gates, the free expanse of heaven." — Page 44 
 
 47 
 
48 The Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 Meantime, confined 
 Where only finite form can hint of what 
 Inspires formation, many souls there are — 
 Oh, may I join them! — who, in all things earthly, 
 Behold what evermore transfigures earth. 
 No scene can greet them but it brings to sight 
 Far less than to suggestion ; not a tone 
 Whose harmony springs not from overtones; 
 And not a partial stir but, like a pulse. 
 It registers what heart-beat moves the whole. 
 
 So let this valley grow its flower and fruit. 
 So let the minds that fill the valley fare 
 On food they find in book and business. 
 Give me the flowerless leaf, the fruitless branch, 
 The mountain pushing up to barrenness. 
 The scrub-oak and the rock — and, oh, the view! 
 Away with work, and let me, free from care, 
 Mount on and up! — No weak distractions now; 
 
ENTRANCE TO FLORA'S GLEN 
 
 'No wait at Flora's Glen; no word to hint 
 Her modest welcome and her wanton wiles!" — Page 50 
 
 49 
 
50 TKe Movintains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 No wait at Flora's Glen; no word to hint 
 Her modest welcome and her wanton wiles ! 
 They seldom lured me in the past, and here — 
 Why, here, at present, look! — there lifts Bee Hill! 
 Come, serve with me, my day-long mountaineer. 
 Our short apprenticeship, and compass this 
 Before the longer climb that waits beyond ; — 
 Ay, like an archer when he tries his bow, 
 Essay this littler bend ; and, by-and-by, 
 Our limbs will limber for the larger aim. 
 
 Now tramp we up the last vale's long ascent; 
 
 Now, on the narrow ridge, see half of earth, 
 
 And more than half of heaven, each side of us ; 
 
 And here, upon the peak, at last, we pierce 
 
 The core where all sublimeness finds a center. 
 
 Not all, you say? — Then tell me where on earth 
 
 A lesser summit taps a larger view;^ — 
 
 See, south, the Berkshires, west of them, the Catskills, 
 
 Then, northward, up the far, wide Hudson valley, 
 
ROADWAY THROUGH TORREY'S WOODS 
 
 " The aisle 
 That cleaves its glorious arch through Torrey's woods." — Page 54 
 
 51 
 
52 TKe Mountains Aboxit "Williamsto-wn 
 
 The Adirondacks and the great Green range, 
 With, here and there, a knoll that gives a hint 
 Of highlands past the north Connecticut, 
 But, best of all, close by, the Housatonics, 
 And, walled against the east, this Grey lock group 
 Heaped near like models to reveal in full 
 What wealth were in them all, if clearly seen. 
 One day like this that lifts a life on high 
 Where spirit seems to breathe its native air 
 Is better than to dream a score of nights 
 Where sleep is tinkering in its dark garage 
 The tire that gains mere physical repair. 
 
 And why should one descend? Why cannot now 
 This whirling world whisk off the willing spirit 
 And let it shoot through space, and go and go, 
 And never come again? Ah, why should fate 
 Leave thought entangled like an eagle here 
 Whose wings are bound, and feet can only crawl 
 
GYMNASIUM, MORGAN HALL, AND LABORATORIES, WITH BERLIN ABOVE 
 
 " A higher sight 
 Than those on which contracted brows are bent 
 In library or laboratory." — Page 56 
 
 53 
 
54 THe Movrntains A.bovit Williamsto-wn 
 
 So slowly, and, when one so longs to fly, 
 
 So painfully? — And yet there sounds a bell 
 
 From out the valley. Why this call to work? 
 
 ^Vhy this reluctant journey down the hill? — 
 
 One scarcely dare look backward till, at last, 
 
 The autumn's gold and crimson in the aisle 
 
 That cleaves its glorious arch through Torrey's woods 
 
 Converts rebellious raving to remorse 
 
 That, even for an hour, one could forget 
 
 What beauty waits in low as well as high — 
 
 In all this realm, which nature, like a mother 
 
 That loves her child, has fashioned for his home. 
 
 Now back and dowoi again to book and duty ! 
 But who are these we meet? — Our comrades? — Oh, 
 Were they of us? — ^Alas, ye narrow souls. 
 Awake, and fly, like slaves that would be free ! 
 Like those not made for soil but for the sky ! 
 Boimd down to petty tasks, more useless ye 
 
DODD'S CONE, WITH BERLIN JUST BEYOND THE LEFT 
 
 " No spirit uses wings in heaven that never 
 Has learned of them, or longed for them, on earth." — Page 57 
 
 55 
 
56 The Mountains Abovit "Williamsto-wn 
 
 Than ships loosed never from their anchorage, 
 
 Nor sailed to ports for which they have been freighted. 
 
 Oh, think ye ends that souls were made to gain 
 
 Were ever reached by one who never breathed 
 
 A higher air, or saw a higher sight 
 
 Than those on which contracted brows are bent 
 
 In library or laboratory? — what? — 
 
 Does thought grow broader, whittled down to point 
 
 At microscopic nuclei of dust. 
 
 As if the world were by, not with them, built? — 
 
 As if the game of true success were played 
 
 By matching parts whose wholes are curios? 
 
 Nay, nay! Life's greatest gain is life itself; 
 
 And life, though lived in matter, is not of it ; 
 
 Not of the object that our aims pursue, 
 
 Not of the body that pursues it, not 
 
 Of all the world of which itself and we 
 
 Are parts. Nay, all things that the eye can see 
 
 Are but vague shadows of reality 
 
Berlin Mountain 57 
 
 Cast on a frail environment of cloud, — 
 But illustrations of a general trend 
 Which only has enduring entity, 
 And is, and was, and always must be, spirit. 
 
 There is one only mission fit for man, — 
 
 To be a spirit ministering to spirit. 
 
 What fits for this.^ — ^A breath of higher sky, 
 
 A sight of higher scenes, at times, a strife 
 
 To mount by means impossible as yet. 
 
 What then? — Believe me that the spirit-air. 
 
 Like all the air above the soil we tread, 
 
 Takes to its own environment of light 
 
 No growth to burst there into flower and fruit 
 
 That does not get some start, and root itself. 
 
 Amid this lower world's deep, alien darkness, — 
 
 No spirit uses wings in heaven that never 
 
 Has learned of them, or longed for them, on earth. 
 
WEST MOUNTAIN 
 
 NO hands of human art could be the first 
 To draw thy contoior's broken lines against 
 The ended glory of the sunset sky. 
 No thought of human mind could ever plan, 
 Nor power uphold them. Nay, they must have sprung 
 To shape like this when some primeval frost 
 Chilled, caught, and crystallized the storm-swept waves 
 Of chaos that, arrested in their rage. 
 They fitly might portray the power beneath. 
 Stay there, great billows, all your boulder-drops 
 Held harmless where they hang ; and all the spray 
 That might have dashed above them merely leaves 
 Of bush and forest, held to equal pause 
 
 58 
 
WEST MOUNTAIN RANGE SEEN ACROSS HOOSICK RIVER 
 
 " Thy contour' s broken lines against 
 The ended glory of the sunset sky." — Page 58 
 
 59 
 
6o TKe Movintains About W^illiamsto-wn 
 
 Save where, perchance, their fluttering, now and then, 
 
 Reveals a f eehng that they once were free ; 
 
 Stay there, suspended in the sky! But, sure 
 
 As days roll up the sun, an hour must come 
 
 When blazing blasts again shall shake these peaks, 
 
 Shall pile them higher, level them to plains, 
 
 Or melt them back to primal nothingness. 
 
 Meantime their mission shall be what it is : 
 
 To teach the world, not rest, but restlessness, — 
 
 The aspiration and the aim of art 
 
 That will not bide contented till the law 
 
 Of thought shall supersede the law of things, 
 
 And that which in the midnight of this world 
 
 Is but a dream shall be fulfilled in days 
 
 Where there is no more matter, only mind, 
 
 And beauty, born of free imagination, 
 
 Shall wait but on the sovereignty of spirit. 
 
 How oft in youth I gazed upon these heights 
 
THE HOPPER FROM THE WEST 
 
 ' To teach the world, not rest, but restlessness, — 
 The aspirations and the aim of art 
 That will not bide contented." — ^Page 60 
 
 61 
 
62 THe Mountains A.bo\it Williamsto-wn 
 
 Uprising to refresh a faltering faith 
 
 With wistful wonder and inspiring zest! 
 
 For this how often have I climbed these fields 
 
 From foot-hills to the Snow-hole ; then, reclined 
 
 Against the western slope, looked off to give 
 
 A god-speed to the sun, and half -believed 
 
 The blue-tint sky- sheet, held to light against 
 
 The little town of learning that I loved. 
 
 Could bear away with photographic art 
 
 That which should give enlightenment to all 
 
 The western land through which it should be trailed. 
 
 How often, with a single friend, at times, — 
 
 At times with many, — ^I have lingered there ; 
 
 And then, as if the very air breathed in 
 
 From broader, grander spaces could inspire 
 
 To thoughts of broader reach and grander import. 
 
 It seemed that there was naught in earth or sky 
 
 Or shop or study — did we deign descend 
 
THE DOME, EAST MOUNTAIN AND WILLIAMSTOWN FROM STONE HILL 
 
 " The blue-lint sky-sheet, held to light against 
 The little town of learning that I loved." — Page 62 
 
 63 
 
64 
 
 THe Movintains About ■Williamsto-wn 
 
 To this more common world — that was not all 
 
 Discussed if not decided. Nor confined 
 
 To bounds material were we. While the winds 
 
 Would whistle through the trees and round the rocks, 
 
 Our shouts would join them, now, perchance intent 
 
 To rouse loud echoes, dealt us like applause 
 
 For ungrown voices that would fit themselves 
 
 To bear the burden of the larger thought 
 
 For which the world beyond our youth seemed waiting ; 
 
 And now, perchance, though seldom recognized, 
 
 Nor if, though subtly recognized, confessed. 
 
 Intent to gain fore-echoes, as it were, 
 
 Of that which should be college approbation 
 
 When words that to the air were now rehearsed 
 
 Should load the breath that carries freight to spirit. 
 
 And, borne along the clogs of others' pulses. 
 
 Should start that subtle surging in the veins 
 
 That proves the presence and completes the work 
 
 Of what impels to rhythmic rhetoric. 
 
A CLASS-DAY SPEECH BETWEEN EAST COLLEGE AND THE LIBRARY 
 
 " Fit themselves 
 To bear the hurden of the larger thought 
 For which the uorld beyond our youth seemed waiting." — Page 64 
 
 65 
 
66 The Moxintains About Williamstown 
 
 Then, warned by coming twilight we would turn, 
 And dare to lose the path, and plunge adown 
 Where, lured by rock or rill, we snapt apart 
 The network of the tangled underbrush. 
 As if to seize wild prey enmeshed therein — 
 Oh, happy days of youth ! when empty sport 
 Of mere imagination — fancied game^ — 
 Could fill the hunter's pouch to overflowing! 
 Ay, how much better than the days of age — 
 Alas, I fear it, too, of modern youth 
 For whom, so rich in matter, poor in mind. 
 We manufacture implements of play 
 That clip at fancies till they all fit facts, 
 Plane joys to toys, and level games to gain, 
 Till every pleasure palls that fails to pay 
 In scales that rate life's worth by what it weighs 
 When all the spirit's buoyancy is lost. 
 
 How often with no friend except myself— 
 
W^est Mountain 67 
 
 And he, at times, no friend — my feet have trod 
 These woods, the while my soiil has longed to rise 
 Successfully as field and cliff and tree 
 To heights where one could dwell above a world 
 Whose common life appeared but all too common, 
 Its aims too low for love to seek and honor. 
 And yet a world in which my own self, too, 
 My body, spirit, all, bore part and share. 
 
 At times, these moods would pass like shadows trailed 
 Across the darkened meadows from far clouds 
 That swiftly sail the sky; at times, they came 
 To stay and root themselves like seeds that make 
 The brush more thorny with each season's growth. 
 And, oh, one night there was — can I forget it? 
 Not while the sky above and earth beneath 
 And all within my consciousness can last — 
 A night — and not the sole one — when, as if 
 My trembling human body were possessed 
 
68 The Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 As by a demon of insane desire 
 
 To make its loneliness a fitting frame 
 
 For the deep loneliness of moods within, 
 
 I strolled, at midnight, through the shade-veiled elms, 
 
 Across the western rise, and down the hill. 
 
 What mattered how complained the creaking bridge, 
 
 Or bustling brook, disturbed by moon and me ; 
 
 How marshalled into rows the ghost-like forms, 
 
 White-mantled in the hill-side cemetery? — 
 
 On, on, I pressed until, through haunted aisles 
 
 Of phantom-fashioned trees and looming mounds 
 
 That rose like mighty tombs of giants dead 
 
 Whose spirits yet seemed round me, — on I pressed 
 
 Until I reached that great right angle where 
 
 All farms and all things fertile lie below, 
 
 And only barren slopes of sterile rock 
 
 And trees that natiu-e struggles to disown 
 
 Await the climber who would still move on. 
 
 And then I paused, and then I looked below. 
 
MAIN STREET, WILLIAMSTOWN , LOOKING WEST 
 
 " Through the jhade-veiled elms. 
 Across the western rise." — Page 68 
 
 69 
 
70 
 
 THe Mountains Abo\it Williamstown 
 
 And asked what could be there for me, and then 
 
 I looked above and asked what could be there. 
 
 Mistakes of others and my own, as well. 
 
 The land's financial stress, and that strange stress 
 
 Of human fellowship which sometimes makes 
 
 A fellow-worker, from his very zeal 
 
 To help another, elbow him aside, 
 
 Had seemed to force me to a precipice 
 
 As real as any that my feet could find ; 
 
 And I must fight, or fall; and if I fought 
 
 Must fight myself and fight my every friend. 
 
 Oh, do not think that heaven moves all alike! 
 
 Some minds are sighted for a single aim. 
 
 And right for others may be wrong for them: 
 
 Oh, do not think the tempter, when he comes, ^ 
 
 Proclaims his presence through acknowledged ill! 
 
 His most seducing tones may leave the lips 
 
 Of friends, or those who best may pose as friends ; 
 
 His direst pitfall-paths mount up, nor hint 
 
FOOTHILLS OF WEST MOUNTAIN FROM THE SIDE OF IT 
 
 "That great right angle where 
 All farms and all things fertile lie below." — Page 58 
 
 71 
 
72 TKe Mountains About "Williamstown 
 
 What crumbling crags their garden glories wreathe. 
 You deem that, at the crisis of his life, 
 It was a devil Jacob wrestled with? — 
 Nay, nay; Hosea's term for him was angel. 
 
 What but my own good angel could recall 
 
 The plans of others and the hopes of self 
 
 For early, easy, individual gain. 
 
 Position, influence, all that most men wish? 
 
 And what except this angel's foe was it 
 
 That made contend with these a force conjured 
 
 From inward consciousness of mind and body. 
 
 With all the doubts that shadowed thought in one. 
 
 And nerves that stirred revulsion in the other. 
 
 As if to make my spirit fly as far 
 
 From fellow-spirits as those mountain heights 
 
 Were far from all that should be in one's home? 
 
 The darkest night brings dawn. You ask the end?- 
 
THE INNER HOPPER 
 
 "As far 
 From fellow-spirits as those mounlain heights 
 Were far from all that should be in one's home." — Page 72 
 
 73 
 
74 
 
 THe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 What if the piirpose that my soul then formed 
 Remain still far too sacred to reveal? 
 What if I failed to do as friends had hoped? 
 What if I lived for years discredited? — 
 God knows that I have tried to live my life ; 
 Nor from the trophies of the outside world 
 Have often sought or longed for recompense. 
 
 Oh, there are views of life that so depend 
 On inward entity at work beneath 
 The whole that has been, or that can be, shown 
 In what men merely see or hear or clutch, 
 That each and all seem hollow as mere husks. 
 To-day a man is young; to-morrow, old; 
 To-day in health, to-morrow in disease; 
 To-day enthroned, to-morrow in his grave; 
 And not alone to man these changes come. 
 The earth, our home, that so enduring seems. 
 The sun and stars that light it from above 
 
"West Mountain 75 
 
 Belong but to a camp, set up to-day, 
 And, on the morrow, fell'd and flung aside. 
 
 What then remains for life? — If one have aimed 
 
 For outward profit, nothing. If his thought 
 
 Have always, through the outer, sought the inner, 
 
 Then, not alone, the stars that shine on high 
 
 May all prove beacons, guiding on and on 
 
 To havens holding glories infinite, 
 
 But each frail flower that blooms for but an hour 
 
 May store in memory an ideal of beauty, 
 
 A sense of sweetness, that shall never leave him. 
 
 How vain to let affections all go forth 
 To things material, hard and heavy foes. 
 Whose mission is to fall at once and crush. 
 Or, through long labor, wear oiu- spirits out ! 
 How much more wise, behind the shape, to seek 
 The substance, and, in sympathy with it. 
 
76 THe Mountains About W^illiamsto-wn 
 
 Learn of the life which never was created 
 But all things were created to reveal ! 
 Ah, he who learns of this, and comes to live 
 In close communion with it, finds, at times. 
 When Nature whom he loves has laid aside 
 Her outer guise and clasps him to her heart. 
 That there are mysteries, not vague but clear, 
 Not formless but concrete, which, it must be. 
 That those alone can know, or have a right 
 To know, who always, like a faithful spouse. 
 Have kept their spirits to the spirit true. 
 
 And when these mounts, like mighty sheets above 
 Some slumbering giant soon to wake and walk, 
 Fall back to formlessness from which they came. 
 What wisdom shall be proved the choice of him 
 Whose eyes, in mercy shielded from the blaze 
 On which the soul alone can look and live. 
 Did not mistake mere grossness in the form 
 
THE GREYLOCK RANGE FROM BERKSHIRE ROCK 
 
 "These mounts, like mighty sheets above 
 Some slumbering giant soon to wake and walk." — Page 76 
 
 77 
 
78 TKe Movintains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 For the true greatness of the inward force ; 
 
 Whose mind too slightly taught, as yet, perhaps, 
 
 To read, beneath the picture, all the text, 
 
 Has yet surmised its meaning by that faith 
 
 Which, though its guide be instinct, dares to think, 
 
 And, though it bow to greet the symbol, yet 
 
 Lets not its magic cast a spell on sense! 
 
 To him the world seems but a transient school; 
 
 The universe, a university; 
 
 The blue that homes the sunlight and the stars, 
 
 A dome above a vast museum built 
 
 With glens for alcoves, plains for galleries, 
 
 And mounts for stairways, where he works and waits 
 
 Till comes the day he takes his last degree, 
 
 And then goes forth, and leaves all these behind, 
 
 Yet, in a true sense, holds them his forever. 
 
COMMENCEMENT PROCESSION OF THE GRADUATING CLASS 
 
 "The day he takes his last degree, 
 And then goes forth, and leaves all these behind." — Page 78 
 
 79 
 
FORD'S GLEN 
 
 WHEN first I followed up thy modest brook, 
 And left the northwest road, and came on thee, 
 How grand thy wood-crowned rocks appeared to be 
 Whose high-arched foliage heaven's dim light forsook! 
 But when, years later, I came back to look 
 On what so awed, I stood amazed to see 
 How small and shrunk, when shorn of every tree, 
 Were all that I for lofty cliffs mistook. 
 Then, in my college-town, I joined, once more, 
 The mates I so had honored in my youth. 
 Alas, in some, no mystery seemed to lurk 
 Where heights of promise had so loomed of yore ! 
 Has life no sphere in which one finds, forsooth. 
 
 No wrong to nature wrought by man's mean work? 
 
 80 
 
FORD'S GLEN 
 
 "How grand thy wood-crowned rocks appeared to be 
 Whose high-arched foliage heaven's dim light forsook 1" — Page 80 
 
A WOODLAND REVERIE 
 
 MY spirit, moving on to higher life, 
 At one sad place became a prey to strife; 
 For many oft would cross my path, and say 
 Their souls were moving in the better way ; 
 And mere delusions had allured my feet 
 Along the course my faith had found so sweet. 
 At this, then, like a child, who turns to leave 
 The wranglings of his mates that make him grieve, 
 And rest his weary head upon that breast 
 Whose firm maternal love can bear it best. 
 My mind would turn to nature. Where but there 
 Could earth-born trouble find maternal care? 
 How long'd I to be hidden in the shade 
 
 Which the thick mantlings of her forests made, 
 
 82 
 
THE HOPPER BROOK AND PATHWAY 
 
 ' IIow lo7iged I to be hidden in the shade 
 Which the thick manllings of her forests inade."- 
 
 -Page 82 
 
 83 
 
84 THe Mountains About Williamsto-wn 
 
 And stay there undisturb'd by human thought, 
 Till sweet and soothing influences, brought 
 From sources far removed from man's control, 
 Should cool the burning fever of my soul ! 
 So, for a season bidding men farewell, 
 I dwelt alone within a grove-grown dell. 
 
 Thence wandering forth one still clear night I found, 
 
 Beneath the moon that rose up, large and round. 
 
 Through vistas opening like some temple's aisles. 
 
 Great trees that arched the moveless air for miles. 
 
 Their spreading boughs, like shadowy rafters, lined 
 
 A star-filled dome, and oft, where foliage twined 
 
 In leafy fretwork round each trailing limb, 
 
 Flash'd bright with dew. Beneath them, fair though dim, 
 
 About the trees' wide trunks, in half seen bowers. 
 
 And pushing up through paths I trod, were flowers. 
 
 I seem'd their nature's lord; for, when my feet 
 
 Would crush them as I pass'd, they grew more sweet. 
 
A W^oodland Reverie 85 
 
 Anon a brook before my vision spread. 
 
 It seeni'd a path that fairy feet could tread — 
 
 A path of silver, o'er a jewell'd ground 
 
 Which far away toward heaven-like mountains wound. 
 
 White mists were clinging to the brook's bright side. 
 
 Like spirit bands I thought them, whom its tide 
 
 Lull'd softly, couch'd amid the dark-leaved trees, 
 
 Awaiting bugles of the morning breeze. 
 
 And all the rush of daybreak sweeping by. 
 
 To bear them off in glory to the sky. 
 
 At times, mysterious whurs of winds and wings 
 And whisperings rose, with long-drawn echoings. 
 'T was music, lingering lovingly along 
 The breeze its fragrance freighted, like a song 
 From bay-bound barks in hazy autumn calms ; 
 Nor less it sway'd my soul than slow low psalms. 
 Begun where organ blasts, that roar'd and rush'd 
 And made the air-waves roll, are swiftly hush'd, 
 
86 TKe Mo-untains Abovit "Williamsto-wn. 
 
 And our thrill 'd breasts inhale as well as hear 
 The awe-fiU'd sweetness of the atmosphere. 
 
 How calmly did such sights and sounds impart 
 
 Their own deep calmness to my troubled heart! 
 
 With gratitude for each toy-touch of air 
 
 At play on my knit brow, I rested there. 
 
 But while I rested, lo, a stranger's form 
 
 Push'd through the white bars of the moonlight warm; 
 
 And with a soft slow movement near me came, 
 
 The while his face, tho' mute, smiled forth to claim 
 
 Fiall sympathy with me ere either spoke; 
 
 But soon his voice upon the silence broke: 
 
 "Who loves not (where all shapes and sounds we test 
 So charm us by the mysteries they suggest) 
 To throw aside — or strive to throw, at least — 
 Beliefs that satisfy our times, and feast 
 On superstition, and half credit freaks 
 
A BROOK WITH THE DOME IN THE DISTANCE 
 
 'A path of silver o'er a jewelled ground 
 Which far away toward heaven-like momitaiiis wound." — Page 85 
 
 87 
 
88 TKe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 With which fair fancy lured those dreamy Greeks. 
 Our older age has dropt the young world's joys, 
 And takes life earnestly; but it employs 
 Its ardor too much like an o'ergrown boy's, 
 Whose fist and arm, so often plied in strife, 
 But show his brain is weak. There are in life 
 Deep truths we value not. We rend apart 
 The forms of nature, but have little heart 
 To prize the hints to thought that meet our view. 
 And we forget that mysteries too are true; 
 And we forget the bourn beyond the blue ; 
 And we forget about the silent pall ; 
 And faith, which only holds the key of all." 
 
 He turn'd away; and I, who, well pleased, heard, 
 Could not but follow him. Without a word 
 We walk'd at first, Hke pilgrims near a shrine 
 They much revere, who, fiU'd with thrills too fine 
 To throb through words accented, satisfy 
 
MISSION PARK MONUMENT 
 
 "And we forget about the silent pall. 
 And faith which only holds the key of all." — Page 88 
 
go TKe Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 Their souls by feeling that the god is nigh. 
 "Alas, how many a thought, " he said at last, 
 "Whose accents reach us through the rustling blast, 
 Whose meaning seems inscribed in circling rills. 
 And outlines of the rocks, the trees, the hills. 
 Is void of purport to the soul whose eyes 
 Have never yet been taught to know and prize 
 The purpose underneath ! Forms can impart 
 Their import only to a feeling heart. 
 
 "All things created can for thought procure 
 No more than one's creative thoughts conjure 
 From out their forms. A likeness in them speaks 
 To like in us, the while our spirit seeks 
 Close contact with their own. For nature is 
 Transparent, and reveals her mysteries 
 To mortals only whose own sympathies 
 Make them transparent, opening all between 
 Themselves and nature, so that naught can screen 
 
A. Woodland Reverie 91 
 
 Her inmost meaning from their inmost mind- 
 Such spirits in earth's round horizon find 
 A glass divine — like that called Claude Lorraine's — 
 A strange, strong lens that deep within contains 
 Heaven's forms for thought, made small in scope to match 
 Man's comprehension. But how few can catch 
 Heaven's meaning through the forms. How few so wise 
 That they can look beneath the rustling guise 
 Of nature's vestments, and perceive below 
 The mind informing them, that makes them glow 
 With living truth. Alas, how many souls — 
 As blind to all that might be seen as moles — 
 Live, merely burrowing in earth's dust and gloom 
 To make their whole surroundings but a tomb 
 Wherein dead minds may lie. And yet how grand 
 Might life become, cotdd all but understand 
 The thoughts that flow with brooks in every glade, 
 And grow to strengthen souls with every blade 
 Of verdure in the spring-time! Could they read 
 
92 The Mountains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 And know and use earth rightly, then, indeed, 
 Might heaven, too, open above them, while they too 
 Would cry like Paul, 'What wilt Thou have me do?' 
 
 "We mortal men may all be priests, high priests 
 
 Of nature, who may gather in from beasts 
 
 And birds and creeping things, and sky, and earth. 
 
 That which each form reveals of truth or worth, 
 
 And, in our higher natures, find a speech 
 
 To voice the praise that thought can frame for each. 
 
 Can aught on earth give right supremacy. 
 
 Except this priesthood of humanity? 
 
 Where burn the altar-fires that can make pure 
 
 Earth's wrong and dross, and through their flames insure 
 
 True worship for all forms of life or art. 
 
 If not enkindled in the human heart? 
 
 "Believe me, in humanity it is — ■ 
 In charities, and kindly courtesies. 
 
A AA^oodlancl Reverie 
 
 In eyes that sparkle, and in cheeks that blush 
 
 With love and hope and faith, which make them flush — 
 
 That all the bloom and fruitage of the earth 
 
 Attain their consummation and their worth. 
 
 Deep underneath our nature is a power 
 
 That, pushing forth through soil and seed and flower. 
 
 Moves on and out through all of sentient life, 
 
 And struggles most in man; nor can the strife 
 
 Be ended ever, till the force controls 
 
 The last least impulse that impels our souls. 
 
 " 'T is time the Spirit of the living force, 
 
 Whose currents through the frame of nature course. 
 
 And make the earth about, and stars above, 
 
 The body and abode of infinite Love, 
 
 That breathes its own breath through our waiting frames 
 
 With each fresh breeze that blows, and ever aims 
 
 93 
 
94 TKe Mountains Abovit W^illiamstoAvn 
 
 Our lesser lives where all we call advance 
 But plays within its lap of circumstance, — 
 'T is time the Spirit should be known, in truth. 
 Inspiring hope in age and faith in youth. 
 And bringing each that charity benign, 
 "Which in us all would make us all divine. " 
 
 He paused, then said: "Each reverential star 
 Draws back where comes the sun. My home is far. 
 Now that our feet approach once more the dell 
 Where first we met, I must away; farewell. " 
 And scarce I heard this, ere he had withdrawn. 
 But I, who walk'd and watch'd the opening dawn, 
 Moved homeward like one waking from a dream ; 
 And, as my mind recall'd my joy supreme 
 To see bright visions that had fill'd the sky, 
 I had resolved, long ere the sun was high. 
 That whatsoever truth had thus been shown 
 Should not be left to bless myself alone. 
 
A WALK IN A WILUIAMSTOWN PARK 
 
 "But I who walked and watched the opening dawn 
 Moved homeward like one waktng from a dream." — Page 94 
 
 95 
 
AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 /\ /I Y mountains, how I love your forms that stand 
 ^ ' * So beautiful, so bleak, so grim, so grand. 
 Your gleaming crags above my boyhood's play, 
 Undimmed as hope, rose o'er each rising day. 
 When now light hope has yielded place to care, 
 O'er steadfast work I see you steadfast there, 
 And when old age, at last, shall yearn for rest. 
 By your white peaks will each aspiring glance be blest. 
 
 How bright and broad, with ever fresh svirprise. 
 
 The scenes ye brought allured my youthful eyes. 
 
 Now, when rude hands those views of old assail. 
 
 When growing towns have changed the lower vale, 
 
 96 
 
THE GREYLOCK RANGE FROM BELLOW'S PfPE 
 
 "How I love your forms that stand 
 So beautiful, so bleak, so grim, so grand." — Page 96 
 
 97 
 
98 THe Movintains About "Williamsto-wn 
 
 When other friends are lost or sadly strange, 
 Ye stand familiar still, ye do not change. 
 And when all else abides as now no more. 
 In you I still may see the forms I loved of yore. 
 
 Ye moimts deserve long life. Your peaks at dawn 
 Catch light no sooner from the night withdrawn, 
 Than those ye rear see truth, when brave men vow 
 To serve the serf, and bid the despot bow. 
 In vales below, if tyrants make men mild, 
 The weak who scale your sides learn winds are wild. 
 That beasts break loose, and birds awaken'd flee. 
 As if in deepest sleep they dream'd of being free. 
 
 High homes of manhood, human lips can phrase 
 No tribute fit to echo half your praise. 
 By Piedmont's church and Ziska's rock-wall'd see, 
 By Swiss and Scot who left their children free. 
 
GREYLOCK FROM A SHOULDER OF THE DOME 
 
 "]]'hcn other friends are lost or sadly strange, 
 Ye stand familiar still, ye do not change."— Va.ge g8 
 
 99 
 
100 XKe Movintains About W^illiamsto-wn 
 
 By our New England, when she named him knave 
 Who, flank'd by bloodhounds, chased his fleeing slave. 
 Stand ye like them, whose memories, ever grand. 
 Tower far above earth's lords, as ye above its land. 
 
 Ay, stand like monuments in lasting stone 
 
 To souls as lofty as the world has known. 
 
 Ye fitly symbol, when with kindling light 
 
 The dawn and sunset gild your summits white, 
 
 The glories of their pure, aspiring worth 
 
 Who aim'd at stars to feed the hopes of earth; 
 
 And fitly point where they, in brighter skies. 
 
 View grander scenes than yours where your heights cannot rise. 
 
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