RnnV . Al CrOPyRIGHT DEPOSm 76 Copyright, 1909, ^^^ voice in dreams I see and hear, — Hussey ' The sweetest woman ever Fate Perverse denied a household mate, Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 355 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, — 360 Called up her girlhood memories. 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 365 A golden woof-thread of romance. Why does the poet call the woodchuck " a hermit "? the musk- rat, "a mason"? What is a "shagbark"? "UTiat is meant by "a golden woof-thread of romance"? Warp, the thread which runs lengthwise; woof, the thread which runs across. SNOW-BOUND 31 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; 370 The morning dew, that dried so soon With others ghstened at her noon ; Through years of toil and soil and care. From glossy tress to thin gray hair. All unprofaned she held apart 375 The virgin fancies of her heart. Be shame to him of woman bom Who hath for such but thought of scorn. Mary There, too, our elder sister pUed Her evening task the stand beside; 380 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 385 The secret of self-sacrifice. O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best That Heaven itself could give thee,— rest. Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! How many a poor one's blessing went 390 With thee beneath the low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings! Elizabeth. As One who held herself a part Of all she saw, and let her heart For explanation of lines 368 and 369, see page 98. 32 SNOW-BOUND Against the household bosom lean, 395 Upon the motley-braided mat Our youngest and our dearest sat, Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, Now bathed within the fadeless green And holy peace of Paradise. 400 Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, Or from the shade of saintly palms, Or silver reach of river calms, Reverie ^^ those large eyes behold me still? With me one little year ago! — 405 The chill weight of the winter snow Retrospect. 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, 410 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 Poet's Reverie: 1. Do those eyes behold me still? a. From some heavenly hill? b. From shade of saintly palms? c. From silver reach of river calms? One Year Before (retrospect) : 1. I tread again the paths we trod. 2. She was frail and sickly. 3. She was fond of flowers. 4. The glad birds. 5. The sweetness of the air. SNOW-BOUND 33 415 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, 420 A loss in all familiar things, Loss^°^*'^ In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. And yet, dear heart! remembering thee, The^P^et's j^^ J ^Q^ ^^^Yier than of old? Safe in thy immortality, 425 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, 430 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, 435 Shall I not see thee waiting stand, The Poet's Loss: a. In the flowers that bloom. b. In the birds that sing. The Poet's Gain: a. In a richer belief in immortality. b. In the love which his sister has left him. c. In the belief of his sister's presence. d. In the belief of a speedy and happy reunion. 34 SNOW-BOUND Reunion. And, whitc against the evening star, ^ The welcome of thy beckoning hand? HasSu Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, The master of the district school 440 Held at the fire his favored place, Its warm glow ht 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 Northern hills among, From whence his yeoman father wrung 450 By patient toil subsistence scant. Not 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 What is meant by ''brisk wielder of the birch"? What are "cross-pins"? What is a "yeoman"? For explanation of line 439 see page 98. What is meant by the "scholar's gown"? Describe the master in the schoohoom. Dartmouth is a famous college located at Hanover, New Hampshire SNOW-BOUND 35 At stranger hearths in boarding round. 460 The moonht 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. Happy the snow-locked homes wherein He tuned his merry violin. Or played the athlete in the barn. Or held the good dame's winding j^arn, 470 Or liiirth-provoking versions told Of classic legends rare and old. Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome Had all the commonplace of home. And little seemed at best the odds 475 'Twixt Yankee pedlars 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. 480 A careless boy that night he seemed; But at his desk he had the look And air of one who wisely schemed, What is meant by "boarding round"? In this connection, read Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. PiNDUS, a mountain chain which, running from north to south, nearly bisects Greece. Five rivers have their source in or near the central peak, viz., Arachthus, the Haliacmon, the Aous, the Peneus, and the Achelous. 36 SNOW-BOUND And hostage from the future took In trained thought and lore of book. EdJTca- ^^^ Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he tion Will 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, 490 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, 495 Made murder pastime, and the hell 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 bhnd routine, wise-handed skill; A school-house plant on every hill, The Poet's Views on Education: 1. Shall make us large-brained and clear-eyed. 2. Education shall assail every wrong. 3. Education shall strike at slavery 4. Education shall scatter ignorance. 5. Education shall banish castes. 6. Education shall make us all freemen. 7. Plant a school-house on every hill. 8. Bring North and South together: a. In thought. b. Under the same flag. 0. Side by side in the field of labor. SNOW-BOUND 37 Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence The quick wires of inteUigence; Till North and South together brought 505 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 fight. 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 wifi's majestic pride. She sat among us, at the best, Harriet 520 A uot unfeared, half-welcome guest, Livermore Rebuking with her cultured phrase Our homeliness of words and ways. A certain pard-like, treacherous grace Swayed the fithe limbs and drooped the lash, 525 Lent the white teeth their dazzfing flash; What are "heat lightnings"? Self-concentred, centred in one's self, conceited. For explanation of line 520, see page 99. Pard-like, like a panther or a leopard. 38 SNOW-BOUND 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 530 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, 535 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; 540 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 545 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! Contrast the character of the half -welcome guest with that of Elizabeth or Mary. For explanation of line 536, see Shakespeare's comedy, The Taming of the Shrew. St. Catherine of Siena is credited with having wonderful visions and made a vow to keep silence for a period of three years. SNOW-BOUND 39 550 Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thorough- fares, Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, Gray olive slopes of hills that hem Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, Or startling on her desert throne 555 The crazy Queen of Lebanon yt^^nl^?*^^ With claims fantastic as her own. Her tireless feet have held their way; And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray. She watches under Eastern skies, 560 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 g£|_____ " ^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 soUtudes, And held the love within her mute. What mingled madness in the blood, 575 A life-long discord and annoy, Water of tears with oil of joy. And hid within the folded bud Perversities of flower and fruit. 40 SyOW-BOUXD 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, Merciful, and compassionate, And full of sweet assurances And hope for all the language is. That He remembereth we are dust! 590 At last the great logs, crumbling low, Up of 'tS. Sent out a dull and duller glow, Family The bull's-cve watch that hung in view, Group „.,.." . . , , Tickmg its weary circuit through, Pointed with mutely-warning sign 595 Its black hand to the hour of nine. "\Miat is meant by the expression "ticking its weary circuit through"? Why "bull's-eye watch"? The Poet's charitable views: a. May the Lord's sweet pity go with her. b. We can see the outward actions of people, but cannot see their motives. c. She might have inherited these qualities from her an- cestors. d. It is not our place to judge our fellowman. e. God alone is just to judge, for He remembereth that we are dust. SyOW-BOUND 41 Bed-time 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, 600 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 605 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, 610 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 615 The wind that round the gables roared, With now and then a ruder shock, Which made our very bedstead rock. We heard the loosened clapboards tost, The board-nails snapping in the frost; 620 And on us, through the unplastered wall, Felt the fight sifted snow-flakes fall; Explain "love's contentment." Why cover the "brand"? What are "clapboards"? What are '"board-nails"? Why is "tost" so spelled? 42 SNOW-BOUND 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. Dav^^^^^ Next morn we wakened with the shout 630 Of merry voices high and clear; And saw the teamsters drawing near Breaking rj.^ ^^^^^ ^^^ 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 elders threshed their hands a-cold, 640 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, 645 And woodland paths that wound between Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. What is meant by "clogged ravine"? "winter- weighed"? "threshed their hands a-cold"? SNOW-BOUND 43 From every barn a team afoot, At every house a new recruit, Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, 650 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, 655 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, Eiias°^ The wise old Doctor went his round. Weld 660 Just pausing at our door to say, Haverhill 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 665 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 hght. The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? 670 All hearts confess the saints elect Who, twain in faith, in love agree, What is meant by "Nature's subtlest law"? "snow-balls' compliments"? "the charm which Eden never lost"? What is meant by an "autocratic way"? Characterize Whit- tier's mother as one generous in thought and deed. 44 SNOW-BOUND And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity! So days went on : a week had passed 675 Since the great world was heard from last. Whittier "^^^ Almanac we studied o'er, Library Read 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 all we 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. News Lo! broadening outward as we read. Week ^90 To warmer zones the horizon spread; In panoramic length unrolled We saw the marvels that it told. Before us passed the painted Creeks, What is the "Christian pearl of charity"? For an account of the Whittier library, see page 85. Thomas Ellwood, a member of the Society of Friends, wrote for his own amusement an epic poem in five books, entitled Davideis, the life of King David of Israel. The Creek Indians were removed from Georgia to beyond the Mississippi. SNOW-BOUND 45 And daft McGregor on his raids 695 In Costa Rica's everglades. And up Taygetus winding slow Rode 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; 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, 710 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! 715 Clasp, Angel of the backward look Sir George McGregor, a Scotchman, attempted to establish a colony in Costa Rica in 1822. Taygetus is a mountain on the Gulf of Messenia in Greece, and near it is the district of Maina, famed for its robbers and pirates. Ypsilanti was a Greek patriot who marched forth from these mountains during the struggle with Turkey and helped to wm the independence of Greece. 46 SNOW-BOUND And folded v/ings of ashen gray The voice of echoes far away, The brazen covers of thy book; The weird paUmpsest old and vast, 720 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, 725 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 730 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; 735 I hear again the voice that bids The dreamer leave his dream midway For larger hopes and graver fears: .^ LifeN| greatens in these later years, The century's aloe flowers to-day! Line 730 refers to the hour-glass. Palimpsest, a parchment which has been written upon twice, the first writing having been erased to make place for the second. Monograph, a special written account on a particular sub- ject. Amaranth, an imaginary flower supposed never to fade. %\ m ^: ■-.';.'■ >■-. ..'. "'^^.' w ■ 1| ■■■jbi^ '%^ i^^ ^iK^v-'-f V ■■■[■P^^ ^^i^^i ^ ■ •: 'V' '''".:• i|^ /M ' #- 1 ^i^:^ - ■ t ■ -'^i--i fc. :.- . ...TP*J5A«. ;.^ip»>--^..;^ ^ ^ril^--*- .■•- - ^'if.'^-' '■■..*■' ^ m^? BP' 47 48 SNOW-BOUND 740 Yet, haply, in some lull of life, ories^f "^' Some truce of God which breaks its strife, Youthful 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 Picture! 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 lihes floating in some pond, 755 Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; The traveller owns the grateful sense Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, Be^nedfction ^^^? pausiug, takes with forehead bare The benediction of the air. " In 1040 the church forbade the barons to make any attack on each other between sunset on Wednesday to sunrise on the fol- lowing Monday or upon any ecclesiastical fast or feast day. It also provided that no man was to molest a laborer working in the fields or to lay hands on any implement of industry on pain of excommunication." — Brewer. 11. SONGS OF LABOR 49 SONGS OF LABOR (1850) DEDICATION I WOULD the gift I offer here Might graces from thy favor take, And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, On softened hnes and coloring, wear 5 The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain: But what I have I give to thee, The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain. And paler flowers, the latter rain 10 Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. Above the fallen groves of green. Where youth's enchanted forest stood. Dry root and mossed trunk between, A sober after-growth is seen, 15 As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood! 51 52 SONGS OF LABOR Yet birds will sing, and breezes play Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree; And through the bleak and wintry day It keeps its steady green alway, — 20 So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. Art's perfect forms no moral need. And beauty is its own excuse; But for the dull and flowerless weed Some healing virtue still must plead, 25 And the rough ore must find its honors in its use. So haply these, my simple lays Of homely toil, may serve to show The orchard bloom and tasselled maize That skirt and gladden duty's ways, 30 The unsung beauty hid life's common things below. Haply from them the toiler, bent Above his forge or plough, may gain A manlier spirit of content. And feel that life is wisest spent 35 Where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain. The doom which to the guilty pair Without the walls of Eden came, Transforming sinless ease to care And rugged toil, no more shall bear 40 The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. THE SHOEMAKERS 53 A blessing now, a curse no more; Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, The coarse mechanic vesture wore, A poor man toihng with the poor, 45 In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. THE SHOEMAKERS Ho! workers of the old time styled The Gentle Craft of Leather! Young brothers of the ancient guild. Stand forth once more together! 5 Call out again your long array. In the olden merry manner! Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, Fling out your blazoned banner! Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone 10 How falls the pohshed hammer! Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor. Now shape the sole! now deftly curl The glossy vamp around it, 15 And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it! 54 SONGS OF LABOR For you, along the Spanish main A hundred keels are ploughing; For you, the Indian on the plain 20 His lasso-coil is throwing; For you, deep glens with hemlock dark The woodman's fire is fighting; For you, upon the oak's gray bark, The woodman's axe is smiting. 25 For you, from Carolina's pine The rosin-gum is stealing; For you, the dark-eyed Florentine Her silken skein is reeling; For you, the dizzy goatherd roams 30 His rugged Alpine ledges; For you, round all her shepherd homes, Bloom England's thorny hedges. The foremost still, by day or night, On moated mound or heather, 35 Where'er the need of trampled right Brought toifing men together; Where the free burghers from the wall Defied the mail-clad master. Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, 40 No craftsman ralfied faster. Let foplings sneer, let fools deride, Ye heed no idle scorner; Free hands and hearts are still your pride. And duty done, your honor. THE SHOEMAKERS 55 45 Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, The jury Time empanels, And leave to truth each noble name Which glorifies your annals. Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are hving yet, 50 In strong and hearty German; And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit, And patriot fame of Sherman; - Still from his book, a mystic seer, The soul of Behman teaches, 55 And England's priestcraft shakes to hear Of Fox's leathern breeches. The foot is yours; where'er it falls. It treads your well-wrought leather On earthen floor, in marble halls, 60 On carpet, or on heather. Still there the sweetest charm is found Of matron grace or vestal's, As Hebe's foot bore nectar round Among the old celestials! 65 Rap, rap ! your stout and bluff brogan, With footsteps slow and weary, May wander where the sky's blue span Shuts down upon the prairie. On Beauty's foot your slippers glance, 70 By Saratoga's fountains, Or twinkle down the summer dance Beneath the Crystal Mountains! 56 SONGS OF LABOR The red brick to the mason's hand, The brown earth to the tiller's, 75 The shoe in yours shall wealth commandj Like fairy Cinderella's ! As they who shunned the household maid Beheld the crown upon her, So all shall see your toil repaid 80 With hearth and home and honor. Then let the toast be freely quaffed, In water cool and brimming, — ''All honor to the good old Craft, Its merry men and women!" 85 Call out again your long array, In the old time's pleasant manner: Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day. Fling out his blazoned banner! THE FISHERMEN Hurrah ! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor! Run up the sail again! 5 Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed. THE FISHERMEN 57 From the hill-top looks the steeple, 10 And the light-house from the sand; And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us. For the homes we leave one sigh, 15 Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky. Now, brothers, for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador, Floating spectral in the moonshine, 20 Along the low, black shore! Where like snow the gannet's feathers On Brador's rocks are shed. And the noisy murr are flying. Like black scuds, overhead; 25 Where in mist the rock is hiding. And the sharp reef lurks below, And the white squall smites in summer, And the autumn tempests blow; Where through gray and roUing vapor, 30 From evening unto morn, A thousand boats are hailing, Horn answering unto horn. Hurrah ! for the Red Island, With the white cross on its crown! 35 Hurrah! for Meccatina, And its mountains bare and brown! 58 SONGS OF LABOR Where the Caribou's tall antlers O'er the dwarf -wood freely toss, And the footstep of the Mickmack 40 Has no sound upon the moss. There we'll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean's treasures in. Where'er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark fin. 45 The sea's our field of harvest. Its scaly tribes our grain; We'll reap the teeming waters As at home they reap the plain! Our wet hands spread the carpet, 50 And light the hearth of home; From our fish, as in the old time, The silver coin shall come. As the demon fled the chamber Where the fish of Tobit lay, 55 So ours from all our dwellings Shall frighten Want away. Though the mist upon our jackets In the bitter air congeals. And our lines wind stiff and slowly 60 From off the frozen reels; Though the fog be dark around us, And the storm blow high and loud. We will whistle down the wild wind. And laugh beneath the cloud I THE LUMBERMEN 59 65 In the darkness as in daylight, On the water as on land, God's eye is looking on us, And beneath us is His hand! Death will find us soon or later, 70 On the deck or in the cot; And we cannot meet him better Than in working out our lot. Hurrah! hurrah! the west-wind Comes freshening down the bay, 75 The rising sails are fiUing; Give way, my lads, give way! Leave the coward landsman clinging To the dull earth, like a weed; The stars of heaven shall guide us, 80 The breath of heaven shall speed! THE LUMBERMEN Wildly round our woodland quarters, Sad-voiced Autumn grieves; Thickly down these swelling waters Float his fallen leaves. 5 Through the tall and naked timber, Column-Hke and old. Gleam the sunsets of November, From their skies of gold. 60 SONGS OF LABOR O^er us, to the southland heading^ 10 Screams the gray wild-goose; On the night-frost sounds the treading Of the brindled moose. Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping, Frost his task- work plies; 15 Soon, his icy bridges heaping, Shall our log-piles rise. When, with sounds of smothered thunder, On some night of rain. Lake and river break asunder 20 Winter's weakened chain, Down the wild March flood shall bear them To the saw-mill's wheel. Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them With his teeth of steel. 25 Be it starhght, be it moonhght. In these vales below. When the earliest beams of sunlight Streak the mountain's snow, Crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early, 30 To our hurrying feet, And the forest echoes clearly All our blows repeat. Where the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear, 35 And Millnoket's pine-black ridges Hide the browsing deer: THE PINE TREE THE SUBJECT OF ONE OP WHITTIEK's POEMS 61 62 SONGS OF LABOR Where, through lakes and wild morasses, Or through rocky walls, Swift and strong, Penobscot passes 40 White with foamy falls; Where, through clouds, are glimpses given Of Katahdin's sides, — Rock and forest piled to heaven, Torn and ploughed by shdes! 45 Far below, the Indian trapping, In the sunshine warm; Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping Half the peak in storm! Where are mossy carpets better 50 Than the Persian weaves, And than Eastern perfumes sweeter Seem the fading leaves; And a music mild and solemn, From the pine-tree's height, 55 Rolls its vast and sea-like volume On the wind of night; Make we here our camp of winter; And, through sleet and snow. Pitchy knot and beechen splinter 60 On our hearth shall glow. Here, with mirth to lighten duty. We shall lack alone Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, Childhood's lisping tone. THE LTJMMJRMM 6S 65 But their hearth is brighter burning For our toil to-day; And the welcome of returning Shall one loss repay. When, like seamen from the waters, 70 From the woods we come, Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, Angels of our home! Not for us the measured ringing From the village spire, 75 Not for us the Sabbath singing Of the sweet- voiced choir; Ours the old, majestic temple. Where God's brightness shines Down the dome so grand and ample, 80 Propped by lofty pines! Through each branch-enwoven skylight, Speaks He in the breeze. As of old beneath the twihght Of lost Eden's trees! 85 For His ear, the inward feeling Needs no outward tongue; He can see the spirit kneeling While the axe is swung. Heeding truth alone, and turning 90 From the false and dim, Lamp of toil or altar burning Are alike to Him. 64 SONGS OF LABOR Strike, then, comrades! Trade is waiting On our rugged toil; 95 Far ships waiting for the freighting Of our woodland spoil! Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, Bleak and cold, of ours, With the citron-planted islands 100 Of a clime of flowers; To our frosts the tribute bringing Of eternal heats; In our lap of winter flinging Tropic fruits and sweets. 105 Cheerily, on the axe of labor. Let the sunbeams dance, Better than the flash of sabre Or the gleam of lance! Strike! With every blow is given 110 Freer sun and sky. And the long-hid earth to heaven Looks, with wondering eye! Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come; 115 Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, Bearing harvest home! Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill; Waving wheat and golden maize-ears 120 Crown each beechen hill. THE LUMBERMEN 65 Keep who will the city's alleys, Take the smooth-shorn plain; Give to us the cedar valleys, Rocks and hills of Maine! 125 In our North-land, wild and woody, Let us still have part: Rugged nurse and mother sturdy Hold us to thy heart! Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer 130 For thy breath of snow; And our tread is all the firmer For thy rocks below. Freedom, hand in hand with Labor, Walketh strong and brave; 135 On the forehead of his neighbor No man writeth Slave! Lo, the day breaks! old Katahdin's Pine-trees show its fires. While from these dim forest gardens 140 Rise their blackened spires. Up, my comrades! up and doing! Manhood's rugged play Still renewing, bravely hewing Through the world our way! Q6 SONGS OF LABOR THE SHIP-BUILDERS The sky is ruddy in the east, The earth is gray below, And spectral in the river-mist, The ship's white timbers show. 5 Then let the sounds of measured stroke And grating saw begin; The broad-axe to the gnarled oak, T.be mallet to the pin! Hark ! roars the bellows, blast on blast, 10 The sooty smithy jars, And fire-sparks, rising far and fast. Are fading with the stars. All day for us the smith shall stand Beside that flashing forge; 15 All day for us his heavy hand The groaning anvil scourge. From far-off hills, the panting team For us is toiling near; For us the raftsmen down the stream 20 Their island barges steer. Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke In forests old and still; For us the century-circled oak Falls crashing down his hill. THE SHIF-BUILDERS 67 25 Up! up! in nobler toil than ours No craftsmen bear a part: We make of Nature's giant powers The slaves of human Art. Lay rib to rib and beam to beam, 30 And drive the treenails free; Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam Shall tempt the searching sea! Where'er the keel of our good ship The sea's rough field shall plough; 35 Where'er her tossing spars shall drip With salt-spray caught below; That ship must heed her master's beck, Her helm obey his hand, And seamen tread her reefing deck 40 As if they trod the land. Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak Of Northern ice may peel; The sunken rock and coral peak May grate along her keel; 45 And know we well the painted shell We give the wind and wave, Must float, the sailor's citadel. Or, sink, the sailor's grave! Ho! strike away the bars and blocks, 50 And set the good ship free ! Why lingers on these dusty rocks The young bride of the sea? 68 SONGS OF LABOR Look! how she moves adown the grooves, In graceful beauty now! 55 How lowly on the breast she loves Sinks down her virgin prow! God bless her! whereso'er the breeze Her snowy wing shall fan, Aside, the frozen Hebrides 60 Or sultry Hindostan! Where'er, in mart or on the main, With peaceful flag unfurled, She helps to wind the silken chain Of commerce round the world! 65 Speed on the ship ! But let her bear No merchandise of sin, No groaning cargo of despair Her roomy hold within; No Lethean drug for Eastern lands, 70 Nor poison-draught for ours; But honest fruits of toiling hands And Nature's sun and showers. Be hers the Prairie's golden grain. The Desert's golden sand, 75 The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, The spice of Morning-land! Her pathway on the open main May blessings follow free. And glad hearts welcome back again 80 Her white sails from the sea I THE DROVERS 69 THE DROVERS Through heat and cold, and shower and sun, Still onward cheerily driving ! There's life alone in duty done. And rest alone in striving. 5 But see ! the day is closing cool. The woods are dim before us; The white fog of the wayside pool Is creeping slowly o'er us. The night is falling, comrades mine, 10 Our footsore beasts are weary. And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. The landlord beckons from his door, His beechen fire is glowing; 15 These ample barns, with feed in store. Are filled to overflowing. From many a valley frowned across By brows of rugged mountains; From hillsides where, through spongy moss, 20 Gush out the river fountains; From quiet farm-fields, green and low, And bright with blooming clover; From vales of corn the wandering crow No richer hovers over, — 70 SONGS OF LABOR 25 Day after day our way has been O'er many a hill and hollow; By lake and stream, by wood and glen, Our stately drove we follow. Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, 30 A smoke of battle o'er us, Their white horns glisten in the sun, Like plumes and crests before us. We see them slowly climb the hill, As slow behind it sinking; 35 Or, thronging close, from roadside rill. Or sunny lakelet, drinking. Now crowding in the narrow road. In thick and struggling masses. They glare upon the teamster's load, 40 Or rattling coach that passes. Anon, with toss of horn and tail. And paw of hoof, and bellow, They leap some farmer's broken pale. O'er meadow-close or fallow. 45 Forth comes the startled goodman; forth Wife, children, house-dog, sally; Till once more on their dusty path The baffled truants rally. We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, 50 Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony. Like those who grind their noses down On pastures bare and stony, — THE DROVERS 71 Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, And cows too lean for shadows, 55 Disputing feebly with the frogs The crop of saw-grass meadows! In our good drove, so sleek and fair. No bones of leanness rattle, No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, 60 Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand That fed him unrepining; The fatness of a goodly land In each dun hide is shining. 65 We've sought them where, in warmest nooks, The freshest feed is growing, By sweetest springs and clearest brooks Through honeysuckle flowing; Wherever hillsides, sloping south, 70 Are bright with early grasses, Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth. The mountain streamlet passes. But now the day is closing cool The woods are dim before us, 75 The white fog of the wayside pool Is creeping slowly o'er us. The cricket to the frog's bassoon His shrillest time is keeping; The sickle of yon setting moon 80 The meadow-mist is reaping. 72 SONGS OF LABOR The night is falling, comrades mine, Our footsore beasts are weary, And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. 85 To-morrow, eastward with our charge We'll go to meet the dawning. Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge Have seen the sun of morning. When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, 90 Instead of birds, are flitting; When children throng the glowing hearth, And quiet wives are knitting; While in the firelight strong and clear Young eyes of pleasure glisten, 95 To tales of all we see and hear The ears of home shall listen. By many a Northern lake and hill, From many a mountain pasture. Shall fancy play the Drover still, 100 And speed the long night faster. Then let us on, through shower and sun, And heat and cold, be driving; There's life alone in duty done. And rest alone in striving. THE HUSKERS 73 THE HUSKERS It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again; The first sharp frost had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- flowers of May. 5 Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red. At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped; Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and sub- dued, On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pic- tured wood. And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, 10 He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light; Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill; And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. 74 SONGS OF LABOR And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why; 15 And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks. Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks. From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks; But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirreFs dropping shell, 20 And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. The summer grains were harvested; the stubble fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in Hght and shade, the pale green waves of rye; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. 25 Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear; THE HUSKERS 75 Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a ver- dant fold, And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain 30 Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain; Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last. And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in bright- ness passed. And lo! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond. Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire be- yond, 35 Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone. And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one! As thus into the quiet night the twihght lapsed away. And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay; From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name, 40 Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry buskers came. 76 SONGS OF LABOR Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below; The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. 45 Half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart. Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade. At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played. Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, 50 Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair. The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue, To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking- ballad sung. THE CORN -SONG 77 THE CORN-SONG Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn! 5 Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift 10 Our rugged vales bestow. To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, 15 While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain 20 The robber crows away. 78 SONGS OF LABOR All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. 25 And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, Its harvest time has come. We pluck away the frosted leaves. And bear the treasure home. There, richer than the fabled gift 30 Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board; 35 Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls. Who will not thank the kindly earth, 40 And bless our farmer girls? 4 Then shame on all the proud and vain. Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn! THE CORN-SONG 79 45 Let earth withhold her goodly root, Let mildew blight the rye, Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat-field to the fly : But let the good old crop adorn 50 The hills our fathers trod; Still let us, for His golden corn, Send up our thanks to God! JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH His Boyhood John Greenleaf Whittier was born in the East Parish of Haverhill, Essex County, Massachusetts, on December 17, 1807. The founder of the Whittier family in America was Thomas Whittier, who was born in 1620, the year the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth. In the course of time, Thomas Whittier built a log house at East Haverhill not far from the site of the "Whittier Home- stead." He married a relative by the name of Ruth Flint. They had ten children, five of whom were boys, each of whom was six feet in height. In 1696, when Thomas Whittier died, his youngest son, Joseph, remained on the farm. He married Sarah Greenleaf, of the town of West Newbury, and, following the example of his father, he remained at the old homestead and tilled the soil. They had eleven children, the youngest two of whom were John and Moses. John and Moses at the death of their father bought the interests of the other heirs of the estate and became joint owners of the farm. Moses never married and lived in the family of his brother John. John Whittier was born in 1760, and at the age of forty-four married Abigail Hussey. They had four children: Mary, born in 1806; John Greenleaf, born in 1807; Matthew Franklin, born in 1812; and Elizabeth Hussey, born in 1815. John Greenleaf was, therefore, the great-great-grandson of Thomas W^hittier, the heroic pioneer. The poet's middle name came from his paternal grandmother, Sarah Greenleaf, about whom he wrote a ballad, entitled "A Name." In this poem he tells us that the name was originally French, feuille verte, green leaf, with the suggestion that his ancestors at one time might have been keepers of the forest. 81 82 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH The house is still standing in which Whittier was born. It is a typical New England house of the pioneer type, and to this day is so sheltered from the world that no neighbor's roof has ever been in sight from it. In "Snow-bound," Whittier speaks of this isolation: " No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air; no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak." In 1843, Whittier published the following sketch of the home of his youth: "Our old homestead (the house was very old for a new country, having been built about the time that the Prince of Orange drove out James, the Second) nestled under a long range of hills which stretched off to the west. It was surrounded by woods in all directions, save to the southeast, where a break in the leafy wall revealed a vista of low, green meadows, picturesque with wooded islands and jutting capes of upland. Through these a small brook, noisy enough as it foamed, rippled, and laughed down its rocky falls by our garden-side, wound, silently and scarcely visible, to a still larger stream, known as the Country Brook. This brook, in its turn, after doing duty at two or three saw and grist mills, the clack of which we could hear across the intervening woodlands, found its way to the great river, and the river took it up and bore it down to the great sea. . . . " The meadows had their redeeming points. In spring morn- ings, the blackbirds and bobolinks made them musical with songs; and in the evenings great bullfrogs croaked and clamored; and on summer evenings we loved to watch the white wreaths of fog rising and drifting in the moonlight like troops of ghosts, with the fireflies throwing up ever and anon signals of their coming. But the brook was far more attractive, for it had shel- tered bathing places, clear and white-sanded, and weedy stretches, whittier's home country 84 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH where the shy pickerel loved to linger, and deep pools where the stupid sucker stirred the black mud with his fins. I had followed it all the way from its birthplace among the pleasant New Hampshire hills, through the sunshine of broad, open meadows, and under the shadow of thick woods." The house has an oaken frame, built of hewn timber logs; it is thirty-six feet long and is built around a central chimney. The kitchen, which was the chief living room, is thirty feet long and the great fireplace is eight feet between the jambs. In keeping with the custom of the times, the parlor was dedicated to Sundays and holidays. The floor was sanded, and on the wide benches placed around the fireplace the men sat at night telling stories while they whittled axe-handles or mended shoes. Whittier slept in the loft under the roof. He was a typical farmer's boy who enjoyed the pleasure of going barefooted. He lived at a time when hardships had to be endured ; money was a scarce commodity and the not over-fertile soil yielded a bare subsistence. This of necessity required the strictest economy and the simplest mode of living. The farm had to furnish the living for the family, while the mother had to supply the home- spun clothing from her spinning wheel. Young Whittier, while he inherited the physique of his ancestors, unfortunately did not possess the strength for this strenuous work. The barn, as Whittier has described it, had no doors; the winter winds whistled through it and the snow drifted on its floors. In this cold, exposed barn, Whittier had to milk seven cows, tended a horse, two oxen, and several sheep. The luxury of wearing warm clothes, particularly flannels, was unknown to this farmer boy. Neither' parents nor children wore them even in the coldest weather. His father believed that exposure to the weather was conducive of health and he called it the "toughening process." The ride to the Friends Meeting at Amesbury, eight miles away, on a winter Sunday without flannels, overcoats, or buffalo robes was as chilling as the interior of the meeting house. Whittier BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 85 always claimed that his enfeebled condition could be traced to the exposure in his early days. At fifteen years of age he had attained his full stature, five feet, ten and one-half inches. He is described as having a slender figure, straight as an Indian, a beautiful head with refined features, black eyes full of fire, dark complexion, a pleasant smile, and a lively, nervous manner. His School Days and Literary Aspirations Unlike Longfellow, Lowell, and Holmes, who were specially educated, Whittier's formal education was scarcely greater than that of a country boy. He learned to read at home and during the winter months attended the district school, but was often denied that privilege, as he was needed at home to assist with the work. Until he was nineteen, the district school was the only one he attended, but he was hungry for knowledge and availed himself of every opportunity to get a substantial education.^ As he once expressed it, ^'I had in my childhood a great thirst for knowledge and little means to gratify it." Longfellow had the advantage which comes from extensive travel, but Whittier, while he knew the near-by villages, had never been to Boston, which was but forty miles aw^ay, until he was twenty. Longfellow enjoyed all the advantages of a college education supplemented by study in European universities, while Whittier had to content himself with the rudimentary education offered by the district school and the academy, Longfellow was a linguist of a high order, while Whittier was only acquainted with his mother tongue. Longfellow, through his natural inclinations and travel, had acquired the habits and culture of the world, Whittier found his dearest companionship among the spiritual circle of the Society of Friends. As Dr. Holmes expressed it, Longfellow ''tumbled among the books, whereas in the Whittier family books were as scarce as money." The Whittier hbrary consisted of some twenty books, largely of the dry journals and reUgious disquisi- tions of the Pioneers of Quakerism. It is stated that his first 86 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH literary attempt in verse was a rhymed catalogue of the books in the family as follows: "The Bible towering o'er all the rest, Of all other books the best. "William Penn's laborious writing And a book 'gainst Christian fighting. '*A book concerning John's baptism, Elias Smith's Universalism. " How Captain Riley and his crew Were on Sahara's desert threw. "How Rollins to obtain the cash Wrote a dull history of trash. " The lives of Franklin and of Penn, Of Fox and Scott, all worthy men. "The life of Burrough, too, I've read, As big a rogue as e'er was made. " And Tufts, too, though I will be civil. Worse than any incarnate devil." "When I was fourteen years old," says Whittier, "my first school-master, Joshua Coffin, brought with him to our house a volume of Burns's poems from which he read, greatly to my delight. I begged him to leave the book with me and set myself at once to the task of mastering the glossary of the Scottish dialect at its close. This was about the first poetry I had ever read (with the exception of the Bible of which I had been a close student) and it had a lasting influence upon me. I began to BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 87 make rhymes myself and to imagine stories and adventures." A few months later Joshua Coffin gave him a copy of Burns's poems which awakened and stiiuulated his slumbering genius. This copy of Burns's poetry was the turning-point in Whittier's career. It revealed a new world to him. It turned the whole current of his life. He began to plume himself for a higher flight. He was surprised at his success in making rhymes. Like Burns, he spent his spare time in giving free bent to his poetic muse. We are indebted to his sister, Mary, for having saved the following rhymes from destruction, which in a measure foreshadowed the sentiment and aspirations of the farm-boy: "And must I always swing the flail, And help to fill the milking pail? I wish to go away to school; I do not wish to be a fool." The young poet's ambition to get an education was soon to be gratified. His father, who believed that ''Poetry will not give him bread," frowned upon his literary inclinations, but his mother and sister encouraged his poetical muse. His sister is responsible for the publication of his first poem. Selecting one of his poems, called "The Exile's Departure," she sent it to the Newburyport Free Press. One day the mail carrier rode up to the farm and taking a weekly paper out of his saddle bags, tossed it to the boy who was mending a fence. With eager- ness he sought the poet's corner and to his great delight saw his printed poem. He was immediately sought out by Mr. Lloyd Garrison, the editor of the paper. At the time of Garrison's visit, Whittier was out on the farm engaged in hoeing. Under his sister's careful guidance, he soon presented himself before the visitor arrayed in a neat homespun suit. This was the begin- ning of the lasting friendship between these two remarkable men which in later years was to develop Garrison, as the leader, and Whittier, as the follower, in their great crusade against slavery. 88 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Garrison, recognizing Whittier's poetical genius, encouraged him to go on and at the same time to equip himself better for a literary career by attending some academy. Garrison finally succeeded in overcoming the objections of the lad's father. But where was the money to come from to pay for the tuition, as the farm barely supplied the necessaries of life? There is an old saying, "That where there's a will, there's a way." Whittier possessed the will and the way was soon provided. A farm hand taught the future poet shoemaking, and every spare moment was em- ployed in learning this trade. During the succeeding winter, the lad furnished the ladies of the surrounding neighborhood with slippers at twenty-five cents a pair, and with this hard- earned money he entered the Haverhill Academy in April, 1827, then in his twentieth year. He attended the academy for two years and this finished his education. The opening of the academy was celebrated by an oration and by an ode of which young Whittier was the author. His school life is commemo- rated in the following poems: "In School Days" (Evelina Bray, his school-day sweetheart) and "To My Schoolmaster" (Joshua Coffin). His Various Occupations I. As an Editor In 1828, we find this farmer-poet in the printing office of Collier, at Boston, whence he had gone to accept Garrison's offer to become editor of "The Philanthropist," the first tem- perance paper ever published. Subsequently, he became editor of "The American Manufacturer," established by the Colhers. For his editorial labor, he received the princely sum of nine dollars a week, and through the practice of great economy he managed to save about one-half of it, which was sent to his father toward freeing the farm from its mortgage. In August of the same year he was called home by the severe illness of his father. Whittier remained in East Haverhill until the death BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 89 of his father and divided his attention between the farm and editing the ''Haverhill Gazette." In July, 1830, he went to Hartford, where he became editor of the " New England Review " with a salary of five hundred dollars a year. He remained here for eighteen months and made the acquaintance of Mrs. Sigourney, who was then in the height of her popularity. Ill health, against which he had constantly to struggle, caused him to resign his position and return to his farm at Haverhill. He then went to Philadelphia, where he assumed the position of editor of the " National Enquirer." He remained here for two years, when ill health once more caused him to lay down his pen. A year prior to this the Haverhill homestead had been sold and a neat cottage in the village of Amesbury had been purchased, which remained the poet's home until his death. In 1847, he became the corresponding editor of the "National Era" at Washington, D. C, which position he held for twelve years. Lucy Larcom, the Carey sisters, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, Grace Greenwood, and Mrs. Southworth were contribu- tors to his paper. It was in this paper, 1850, that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was first published as a serial. Hawthorne's story, '' The Great Stone Face," was first printed in this paper January 24, 1850, for which the author received the sum of twenty-five dollars. Whittier was also a contributor to "The Atlantic Monthly" from its beginning, and on his seventieth birthday the pub- lishers tendered him a banquet. II. Politician and Reformer "The poet in politics is something of an anomaly, but both Whittier and Lowell won their most conspicuous laurels in devot- ing their muse to the service of a political cause, which fact dis- tinguishes them from their fellows in American Letters." His advocacy of the aboHtion of slavery involved the sacrifice of his early political ambition. In 1883 he went as a Massa- chusetts delegate to the Philadelphia convention and was one of 90 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH the signers of the Antislavery Declaration, He was the youngest delegate of the convention and was prouder of that fact than of all his verse. He was mobbed in Concord, New Hampshire, in 1835, when in company with George Thompson, the English abolitionist. On another occasion his office in Philadelphia was sacked and burned by a mob. ''For twenty years," says Whittier, "I was shut out from the favor of booksellers and magazine editors; but I was enabled by rigid economy to live in spite of them. Thank God for it." III. As a School Teacher Whittier, not unlike many other people who have risen in the world of letters, the professions, or in the business world, used school-teaching as a stepping-stone to a higher sphere of usefulness. For a short time he taught a district school near his home at East Haverhill. IV. His Literary Career His literary career may be divided into two periods. In the first, his work may be characterized as an antislavery advo- cate; and the second, by his lyrics and ballads of rural New England life. It was during the first period, in 1849, that he published his first collection of lyrics, entitled, "Voices of Free- dom," in which "he gave vent to his soul without a thought of art or indeed of anything save his burning message." These poems have not their equal for vigor and fire and they exerted a great influence in moulding the opinion of the North. During this antislavery period, Whittier's best gift, as he expressed it, "was laid on the shrine of freedom." Nevertheless, he found time to write many songs and ballads of New England life, but when the Civil War was over he gave his whole heart to this one work. Bayard Taylor says: "We have no American ballad writer (Whittier) — that is a writer of ballads founded on BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 91 our native history and tradition, who can be compared with him, either in the range or skilful treatment of his material. His ballads are nearly all from New England history and tradition -Pentucket," ''The Norseman," and ''The Funeral Tree of the Sokakis" are themes which deal with the very earhest times of New England; the many superstitions peculiar to that section ot the country are treated in " Cobbler Keezars Vision, The Garrison of Cape Ann," and the ''Double-headed Snake of New - burv " The pecuUarities of the Quakers are treated upon m "Cassandra Southwick," "The Exile," and "The King s Mis- sion." The many scenes and incidents of early P^^itan life are exemplified in "Mary Garvan," "John Underhill," "The Witches Daughter," "Abraham Davenport," "The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall," and "Amy Wentworth." Some one has said that he has so thoroughly woven the life and periods of Colomal days into these ballads that from them you might be able to write a complete outline of early New England life and history. His Closing Yeaks In his own home in Amesbury, he enjoyed the companionship of Garrison, Emerson, Bayard Taylor, Charles Sumner, James 1 . Fields, Alice and Phoebe Cary, Longfellow, Holmes, Celia Thaxter, Lucy Larcum, and many other illustrious people m the realm of literature. His summers were spent m the White Mountains or with Celia Thaxter among the Isles of Shoals. After the marriage of his niece, who had kept house for him tor many years, he went to Hve at Oak Knoll, in Danvers, with his cousins, Mrs. Woodman and the three Miss Johnsons. He always retained his legal residence in Amesbury. On September 10 1892, while visiting his friend, Miss Sarah Gove, at Hampton Falls, the poet had a shght paralytic stroke, which was the begin- ning of the end. After five days of comparatively pamless ebbing away of strength, the sweet singer was at rest. On September 10, the funeral service was held at Amesbury m the plain, quiet way of the Society of Friends, as he had requested. 92 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH The service was held in the garden behind the house. Lucy Larcum read "The Vanishers, " the first poem written by Whit- tier after his sister's death. "Lay Him Low" was sung by the three surviving members of the Hutchinson family. The poet Steadman spoke of the dead singer with a grace and aptness. The day was ideal, a cloudless September sky above, a wealth of autumn beauty all about. "There, from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, The life for which I long." Traits of Character One of his most striking characteristics was his generosity in money matters. This is least expected from a man who during the greater part of his life had to practice the greatest economy, yet he was always willing to extend a helping hand. This is shown in a letter sent to a young authoress who had planned to go to her father in England : My dear H. I quite agree with thee as regards our friend and wd. be glad to help her. I have reserved the sum of $50 for her when she needs it to go to England; but if she requires it now especially, I shall be happy to forward it at once, either to her or to thee, in which case thee can say that thee have received that sum of me for her benefit which will leave her but $50 to repay (she being then $100 in debt). Always truly thy frd., John G. Whittier. In the course of time when the sales of his poems became lucrative, his income was much larger than his needs, which increased his field for doing good. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 93 He always had a warm heart for his fellow-man. His kindness is well shown by the following account from a man who had been entertained by Whittier in his Amesbury home. It was anony- mously pubhshed in the "Literary World" for December, 1877: "When I was a young man trying to get an education, I went about the country peddling sewing silk to help myself through college, and one Saturday night found me at Amesbury, a stranger and without a lodging place. It happened that the first house at which I called was Whittier' s, and he himself came to the door. On hearing my request, he said he was very sorry that he could not keep me, but it was Quarterly Meeting and his house was full. He, however, took the trouble to show me to a neighbor's, where he left me; but that did not seem wholly to suit his ideas of hospitality, for in the course of the evening he made his appearance, saying that it had occurred to him that he could sleep on a lounge, and would give up his own bed to me, which, needless to say, was not allowed. But this was not all. The next morning he came again, with the suggestion that I might perhaps like to attend meeting, inviting me to go with him; and he gave me a seat next to himseK. The meeting lasted an hour, during which there was not a word spoken by any one. We all sat in silence that length of time, then all arose, shook hands, and dispersed; and I remember it as one of the best meet- ings I ever attended."* Annie Fields, in her "Authors and Friends," says, "That Whittier's appreciation of his contemporaries was a strong feature of his character. His sympathy with the difficulties of a literary life, particularly for women, was very keen. There seem to be very few women writers of his time who have failed to receive from his pen some token of recognition. "There was never a moment of Whittier's life when, prostrated by illness or overwhelmed by private sorrows, or removed from the haunts of men, he forgot to take a living interest in public affairs and to study closely the characteri stics and works of the * Kennedy's Life of Whittier. 94 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH men who were our governors. He understood the characters of our public officers as if he had Hved with them continually." He was very fond of animals and treated them with kindness. His father owned a pair of oxen, named "Buck" and "Old Butler." Young Whittier and these oxen were on very friendly terms. It is related that on a certain day he went to the pasture with a bag full of salt for the cattle. "Old Butler" was feeding on Job's hill and at once scented the errand of his young master. Down the steep hill came "Old Butler" on a dead run and gained such momentum that he could neither stop nor turn. This dumb animal, not wishing to crush young Whittier beneath him, gathered himself together and with a mighty effort leaped clear over the boy's head without doing any harm to the lad. His many excellent qualities of heart may be summed up under the following heads: Sweetness of disposition; Fondness for children; Keen enjoyment of his friends; Tender sympathy for suffering; Love of freedom and of country; Faith in God; Moral fervor. Read Ms description of himself in "The Tent on the Beach" and in the poem that prefaces his poetry. I. The Poem The Group Around the Fireside Our Father and Mother Surely there could not be a finer picture than that which the poet has given us of the group which sat around the fireside on the night of the great storm when the old house was snow-bound. Whittier' s parents were intelligent and upright people of BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 95 limited means who lived in all the simplicity of the Quaker faith. Books were scarce. No library or scholarly companion- ship was within reach. There was one novel in the house, but it was hidden from the eyes of the younger folks, as books of this character were forbidden. In order to while away the long winter evenings, the family was obliged to entertain each other with story telling. The poem gives us an accurate reproduction of the inner life of this old-fashioned New England home. Here we have the family portraits drawn to life. The first of Whittier's "Flemish pictures" is that of his father, a plain, thoughtful, yet prompt, matter-of-fact man. "He was a tall, strong built man, who had been famous in his youth for the strength and quickness he displayed in athletic games and exercises. He was a man of very few words, but very decisive in his utterances. He was several times elected a selectman of Haverhill, and was often called upon to act as arbiter in settling neighborhood differ- ences. He was a devout member of the Society of Friends, and carefully observant of Quaker traditions. He had little or no sympathy with the literary tastes and aspirations of the young poet, who, however, found in his mother, sisters, and brother all the appreciation and encouragement his nature demanded." His father in early life had explored the vast wilderness which extended from New Hampshire to Canada; and sitting before the fire he told of his many adventures. "Our Mother," referred to in the poem, was Abigail Hussey, of Rillingsford, N. H. Mr. C. C. Chese, a neighbor of the Whittiers, describes her as a woman of natural refinement of manners. "Being a friend of my mother, she never failed when she saw me politely to inquire for her. Her language was always the same, "How does thee do, Charles? and how is thy mother?" Her face was full and very fair. Her bearing was dignified rather than lively. The word 'benign' best comprehends the expression of her features. She was loved and honored in the neighborhood." Abigail Whittier was a Christian woman and her plain spot- 96 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH less Quaker cap and neat tidy apparel were in keeping with the simple faith that she professed and lived. The ministers and friends of her religious belief were always given a cordial welcome to her home. The yearly meetings of the Friends at Amesbury were largely attended. The Whittier home was a convenient place for many of them to stop over night, and on some occasions remained for several days in succession. On one night no less than fifteen of these people stayed there, and the saintly Abigail, with a smile on her face, made them all feel that they were welcome to the hospitality of her home. Whittier in one of his prose sketches relates how a foreigner whose appearance was against him came and asked for lodging for the night. Mrs. Whittier did not like the appearance of the man and sent him away. No sooner had the man left the house than she repented. "What if a son of mine were in a strange land?" she thought. John Greenleaf was sent to bring him back and found him standing in the road. "He took his seat with us at the supper table," says Whittier, "and when all were gathered around the hearth that cold autumnal night, he told us partly by words, partly by gestures, the story of his life and misfortunes, and amused us with descriptions of the grape gatherings and festi- vals of his country, edified my mother with a recipe for making bread of chestnuts, and in the morning, when, after breakfast, his dark sullen face hghted up, as he poured out his thanks, we marvelled at the fears which had so nearly closed our doors against him." Abigail Hussey was only twenty-three years of age when she was married to John Whittier, who was twenty-one years her senior. It will be thus seen that John Whittier was an old man when some of his sons and daughters were mere children. It was but natural that a man like John Whittier, who had long before placed behind him the rash impulses of youth, should try to have his sons avoid the indiscretions of youth by bringing them up in "the way they should go." Being a prompt, decisive man of few words, it was but natural for young John Greenleaf to BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 97 go to his mother, from whom he inherited his brilliant eyes, for counsel and sympathy. She filled the poet's hfe with sweetness. The father died when the poet was twenty-five ; his mother was living when he was fifty. She became the guiding star of his life and when she died he "burned pure incense to her mem- ory upon the altar of his heart." Our Uncle The poet has characterized his uncle, Moses Whittier, as inno- cent of books, but rich in lore of fields and brooks. Moses Whittier, being a joint owner in the farm, was a mem- ber of the Whittier family. While he lacked the advantages of formal education, he was nevertheless an intelligent man. He was very fond of children and his nephews and nieces not only reciprocated his love, but were delighted to listen to his stories of the mysteries of the woods. The children always regarded him as a wise counsellor and often went to him with the troubles and trials of their own child life. His influence upon young John Greenleaf had a most wholesome effect upon his life and char- acter. Uncle Moses died in 1824 from the effects of an accident. The Aunt Aunt Mercy Hussey was a sister of Mrs. Whittier and lived in the family until her death in 1846. She was rightly named, for "mercy" was the promijient characteristic of her soul. She was a benediction to all with whom she came in contact. Her sweet disposition, her sympathetic ways, and her faithful and willing ministrations to the sick won for her the title "Sister of Mercy." Pickard says: "In her youth, according to the tradition of the family, she was betrothed to a worthy young man. Late one evening, as she sat musing by the fire in the old kitchen after the rest of the family had retired, she was impelled to go to the window and, looking out, she recognized her lover on horseback 7 98 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH approaching the house. As she had reason to suppose that he was then in New York, she was surprised at his unexpected re- turn and his call at so late an hour. Passing the porch window as she hastened to open the door, she saw her lover ride by it and turn as if to dismount at the step. The next instant the door was open, but no trace of horse or man was to be seen. Bewildered and terrified, she called to her sister, who listened to her story and tried to soothe her and efface the painful im- pression. 'Thee had better go to bed, Mercy; thee has been asleep and dreaming by the fire,' she said. But Mercy was quite sure she had not been asleep and what she had seen was as real as any waking experience of her life. In recalling the cir- cumstances of her vision, one by one, she at length took notice that she had heard no sound of hoofs ! It may be imagined what the effect was of all this upon the sensitive girl, and she was not unprepared, after a weary waiting of many days, to learn through a letter from New York, written by a strange hand, that her lover had died on the very day and at the hour of her vision. In her grief she did not shut herself away from the world, but lived a life of cheerful charity. She did not forget her first love, and gave no encouragement to other suitors." " Before her still a cloud-land lay, The mirage loomed across her way." The Schoolmaster The master of the district school was George Haskell, who at the time of the poem was a student "in classic Dartmouth's col- lege halls." He afterward became a physician. Later in life he became a resident of New Jersey. Another schoolmaster, for whom Whittier always held a high regard, was Joshua Coffin and commemorated in his poem, "To My Old Schoolmaster," is often taken for the character portrayed in "Snow-bound." It was Joshua Coffin who rendered a great service to Whittier BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 99 by lending him a copy of Burns which inspired him to ''hitch his wagon to a star." To use Whittier's own expression, the older poet woke the younger." The Sisters Whittier's elder sister, Mary, married Jacob Caldwell, of Haverhill, Mass. Ehzabeth, the younger sister, never married She lived with her brother until she died in 1864 at the age of ^^Xderwood says: ''Elizabeth, the youngest and dearest shared his poetic gifts, and was a sweet, rare person devoted to her family and friends. Kind to every one full of ov for all beautiful things, and so merry when m good health that her companionship was always exhilarating. ^ ^^^^^^^ . 7^|"^^ her doing a wrong thing or having an unworthy thought. She was deeply rehgious and so were they all." Griswold says: "This sister was a remarkable woman and one of whom the world would have heard more but for her great moLty She was beautiful in person, delicate, dark eyed and possessed of exquisite taste in everything. The v^^^^^^^^^^^^ X^ bury still cherishes her memory and recounts her ^^^^ues^ The Te between brother and sister was of the closest kind and their Lme hfe for so many years is as beautiful as any recorded m literature After her death a niece kept his house for some time, but though she was all devotion to him, the old home was never home after the dear sister had left it." In "Snow-bound," which was written one year after her death, he expresses 'his great sorrow and his belief m their re- union. The Half Welcome Gdest The picture of this half welcome guest, Harriet Livermore, is bit d'rawn by the poet himself. He says: "She w^ a y^ung woman of fine natural ability, enthusiastic, eccentric, with shgh Tontrol over her violent temper, which sometimes made her 100 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH religious profession doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort in school-house prayer meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, while her father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the doctrine of the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the Lord's speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlantic and spent the greater part of her long life in traveling over Europe and Asia. She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, a woman as fantastic and mentally strained as herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, but finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses with red marks on their backs which suggested the idea of saddles, on which her titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A friend of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in Syria with a tribe of Arabs, who, with the Oriental notion that madness is inspiration, accepted her as their prophet- ess and leader. At the time referred to in ' Snow-bound ' she was boarding at the Rocks Village, about two miles from us." His Brother was Matthew Franklin Whittier, who when a young man went to reside in Portland, Maine. He was a talented young man and, sympathizing with the anti-slavery feelings of the poet, became one of the foremost leaders of that movement. He wrote a series of letters known as the letters of "Ethan Spike of Hornby," in which he handled the slavery supporters in a very caustic way. He died in Boston in 1883. II. Character of the Poem It is a narrative poem because it tells a story. The chief varieties of narrative poetry are the epic, metrical romance, metrical tale, ballads, fables, idylls. This poem is characterized as an idyll. Considered as a piece of narration, ''Snow-bound" is a model of true, simple, and vivid story-telling. With the exception of "The Cotter's Saturday Night" there is hardly BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 101 another poem that gives so vivid a picture of home Ufe. We can almost feel the approaching storm; imagine that we are one of the family group around "the clean-winged hearth"; we listen to the stories of the evening; and join in the sports of the school- master. Uncle Moses, Aunt Mercy, and the sisters are so vividly drawn that they become a reality. "The poem is real, but with the reality given by the brush of an artist." As a work of art, "Snow-bound" is well-nigh flawless. III. Time Covered by the Poem Three days and two nights. IV. Why the Poem was Written The poem was written one year after the death of his favorite sister, Elizabeth, and the poet availed himself of its construction to relieve the weariness of the sick-chamber. It was written at a time when his memory-mood was the strongest. V. Point of View of the Poet The point of view is that of a man fifty-eight years of age. Children do not see their home through the same eyes as old age. George Rice Carpenter, in his life of Whittier, has aptly said: "He, this old man who had been an East Haverhill boy, describes his homestead, his well-sweep, his brook, his family circle, his schoolmaster, apparently intent on naught but the complete accuracy of his narrative, and lo! such is his art that he has drawn the one perfect, imperishable picture of that bright old winter life in that strange clime. It was an old man, tender hearted, who thus drew the portraits of the circle of which he and his brother alone survived. The mood was one of wistful and reverential piety — the thoughtful farmer's mood, in many a land, under many a religion, recalling the ancient scenes more clearly as his memory for recent things grows less secure, living 102 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH with fond regret the departed days, yearning for friends long vanished." VI. Characters Found in the Story The poet's parents, John and Abigail. Sisters Mary and Elizabeth, and brother Matthew. Uncle Moses Whittier. The Schoolmaster from Dartmouth. Half-welcome guest, Harriet Livermore. Queen of Lebanon, Hester Hope. The wise old doctor, Elias Weld. VII. Critical Estimates of the Poem "This exquisite poem ('Snow-bound') has no prototype in English literature, unless Burns's 'Cotter's Saturday Night' be one, and it will be long, I fear, before it has a companion piece." — R. H. Stoddard. "'Snow-bound' is our national idyll, the perfect poem of a New England winter life." — R. W. Gilder. "It is a quiet little New England interior, painted by a mas- ter's hand from love of his work." — H. T. Griswold. r "The most faithful picture of our northern winter that has yet been put into poetry." — Burroughs. "This pastoral gives, and once for all, an ideal reproduction of the inner life of an old-fashioned American rustic home; not a peasant home — far above that in refinement and potentialities — but equally simple, frugal, and devout; a home of which no other land has furnished the coadequate type." — Edmund Clarence Stedman. "The poet himself calls the scenes in 'Snow-bound' Flemish pictures; and it is true they have much of the homely fidelity of Teniers, but they are far more literal representations. The scenes glow with ideal beauty — all the more for their bucolic tone. The works and ways of the honest people are almost photographically revealed." — F. H. Underwood. A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 103 "It is not without perfect justice that 'Snow-bound' takes rank with 'The Cotter's Saturday Night' and 'The Deserted Village'; it belongs in this group as a faithful picture of humble life. ... All his affection for the soil on which he was born went into it; and no one ever felt more deeply the attachment to the region of his birth which is the great spring of patriotism ; ... it is the New England home entire with its characteristic scenes, its incidents of household life, its Christian virtues." — G. E. WOODBERRY. VIII. Suggestions and Questions 1. What is an idyll? 2. Why is Whittier sometimes called the Burns of America? 3. If you were snow-bound in some lonely farmhouse what ten books would you like to have to read? 4. Name the poems associated with Whittier' s school life. 5. Name five poems which show his sympathy with honorable labor. 6. What connection has the quotation from Emerson with the poem? 7. What is gained by the abrupt opening of this poem? 8. What connection has "Snow-bound" with the poet's family history? 9. Does the poem depict the painful or pleasant side of farm life? 10. To which does the poet devote the more attention — the picture of a New England snow-storm or a New England rural home? 11. What is the historical significance of the poem? 12. Which of the talkers about the fire did not give reminis- cences? 13. Why is this poem called a series of "Flemish Pictures"? 14. Which passages show the sweet beauty of the poet's character? 104 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 15. What facts for a biography of Whittier could be gathered from this poem? 16. Does Whittier neglect to make known his position on the slavery question? 17. What was Whittier's apology for writing the poem? 18. Give the passages in which Whittier teaches the lessons of Christian charity. 19. How do you get from the poem the idea of the self-depend- ent life of the family life in New England? the intellectual self- sufficiency of these people? their contact with the outside world? their social life? 20. What is the prevailing hue of the poem? 21. Describe the construction of a New England barn, ex- plaining the expressions: the "stalls," "mows," "stanchion rows," the "scaffold's pole of birch." 22. What was Olympus and what place had it in ancient mythology? 23. Is the picture of the approaching storm true to nature? 24. Make an outline of the poem, noting each step in its devel- opment. 25. Compare the schoolmaster in "Snow-bound" with the schoolmaster in "The Deserted Village." 26. Note the passages in which he refers to his Quaker training. 27. Describe a few paintings that might be made from descriptions in "Snow-bound." 28. Describe the first day of the poem, dwelling upon the signs of the approaching storm and the evening occupations of the boys. 29. Show how the atmospheric conditions contributed to the loneliness of the Whittier family. 30. Characterize the uncle and the aunt, showing why they were such welcome members of the family. 31. Compare and contrast the Whittier sisters. 32^ Give a characterization of the "haK-welcome guest." IbWrilJ ..J BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 105 33. In what way may this poem be said to sum up Whittier's personal experience? 34. Why has Whittier made so many allusions to the Bible? 35. Explain the various allusions to Greek mythology. Bibliography Samuel T. Pickard, "Life and Letters of Whittier," Houghton, Mifflin & Co. F. H. Underwood's "Biography of Whittier," 1884, Osgood. W. S. Kennedy, "John G. Whittier," New York, Funk & Wagnalls. E. C. Steadman, "Poets of America," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 95-133. E. P. Whipple, "Essays and Reviews," Boston, Ticknor, 1 : 68-71. J. L. and J. B. Gilder, "Authors at Home," New York, Cassell, 343-355. C. F. Richardson, "American Literature," New York, Put- nam, 2 : 172-187. R. W. Griswold, "The Poets of America," New York, James Miller, 389-406. B. Taylor, "Essays and Notes," New York, Putnam, 294-296. B. Wendell, "Stellegeri," New York, Scribner, 146-202. Miss M. R. Mitford, "Recollections of d Literary Life," Harper, 334-340. M. B. Claflin, "Personal Recollections of Whittier," New York, Crowell. J. Parton, "Some Noted Princes," New York, Crowell, 319- 323. Mrs. James T. Fields, "Whittier, Notes of His Life and His Friendships." Shepard's "Pen Pictures of Modern Authors." Theodore Wolf's "Literary Shrines." S. J. May, "Some Recollections," Boston, Fields, 258-267. G. W. Bungay, "Off-hand Takings," New York, Dewitt. 106 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ^i^ M. W. Hazleton's "Chats About Books." Haverhill's ''Memorial of Whittier," 1893. Lowell's "Fable for Critics." "The Whittier Number of the Literary World," Dec. 17, 1887. "Scribner's Monthly," Aug., 1879 (Stoddard). "The Atlantic Monthly," March, 1864; Feb., 1874; Nov., 1892; Nov., 1894. " Harper's Magazine," Feb., 1883; Jan., 1884. "The Critic," Oct., 1892; Jan. 28, 1893. "The New England Magazine," Nov., 1892; December, 1892; June 1893. Allibone's "Dictionary of Authors." "The Cosmopolitan," Jan., 1894. "Chautauquan," 16:299-301 (Cheney). "The Century Magazine," 23 : 363-368 (Phelps); 8 : 38-50 (Steadman). "McClure's Magazine," 2:125-129 (Bates); 7 : 114-121 (Phelps). "Arena," 15 : 376-384 (Claflin); 10 : 153-168 (Savage). "Appleton's Journal," 5 : 431-434 (Stoddard). "Lakeside Monthly," 5 : 365-367 (Collyer). "Independent," 49 : 1258, 1259 (Pickard).