Z5Z I^^^^H^^^^H 4^7 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^K^->^ ^IsHil 1 ■ wHrrxiEf^s * ^H ^B Srwi HoJiT^f^ ^1 ^»mong, I lie riilis |||p; ^H ^^^^^^^^^H; ^^^^^^^^^H '^^ ^^1 ^^B ' : lieved to be remnants of the lost tribes of Israel. At the time of this narra- tive she was about twenty-eight years old, but much of her life afterward waa spent in the Orient. She was at one time the companion and friend of Lady Hester Stanhope, but finally quarreled with her about the use of the holy horses kept in the stable in waiting for the Lord's ride to Jerusalem at the .advent. 1 SNOW-BOUND. 23 \ ' »«6 The Outward wayward life we see, The hidden springs we may not know. y Nor is\ it given us to discern What threads the fatal sisters spun, Through what ancestral years fias run 670 The sorrow with the woman born, What forged her cruel chain of moods^ What set her feet in solitudes, And held the love within her mutSy What mingled madness in the blood, 575 A lifelong discord and annoy, Water of tears with oil of joy. And hid within the folded bud - ^ Perversities of flower and fruit. f 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 ; 885 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 I 590 At last the great logs, crumbling low, /Sent out a duU and duller glow. The bull's-eye watch that hung in view? Ticking its weary circuit through, Pointed with mutely-warning sign 895 Its black hand to the hour of nine. That sign the pleasant circle broke s 24 WHITTIER. My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, And laid it tenderly away, 600 Then roused liimseK 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 «05 Her grateful sense of happiness For food and shelter, warmth and health, And love's contentment more than wealthy With simple wishes (not the weak, Vain prayers which no fulfihnent seek, «io 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 lighto 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 bedsteads rock. We heard the loosened clapboards tost. The board-nails snapping in the frost ; 620 And on us, through the unplastered wall, Felt the lightsifted snow-flakes fall, ' But sleep stole on, as sleep will do When hearts are light and life is new ; Faint and more faint the murmurs greWj, 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. SNOW-BOUND. 25 Next morn we wakened with the shout 630 Of merry voices high and clear ; And saw the teamsters drawing near To break the drifted highways out. Down the long hillside treading slow We saw the half-buried oxen go, 635 Shaking the snow from heads uptost, Their straining nostrils white with frost. Before our door the straggling train Drew up, an added team to gain. The 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, roUed, 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. From every barn a team afoot. At every house a new recruit. Where, drawi^ 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' sounds And, following where the teamsters led, The wise old Doctor went his round, 659. The wise old Doctor was Dr. Weld of Haverhill, an able man, who died at the age of ninety-six. 26 WHITTIER. 660 Just pausing at our door to say, 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 865 At night our mother's aid would need. For, one in generous thought and deed, What mattered in the sufferer's sight The Quaker matron's inward light, The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed ? 670 AU hearts confess the saints elect Who, twain in faith, in love agree, And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity ! So days went on : a week had passed 675 Since the great world was heard from last. The Almanac we studied o'er. 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 EUwood'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. 683, Thomas EUwood, one of the Society of Friends, a contemporary and friend of Milton, and the suggestor of Paradise Regained, wrote an epic poem in five books, called Davideis, the life of King David of Israel. He wrote the book, we are told, for his own diversion, so it was not necessary that others should be diverted by it. EUwood's autobiography, a quaint and delightful book, has tecently been issued in Howells's series of Choice Autobiography, SNOW-BOUND. 27 At last the floundering carrier bore The village paper to our door. Lo ! broadening outward as we read, 690 To warmer zones the horizon spread ; s In panoramic length unrolled We saw the marvels that it told. Before us passed the painted Creeks, 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, TOO Its corner for the rustic Muse, Its monthly gauge of snow and rain. Its record, mingling in a breath The wedding knell 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 ! 693. Referring to the removal of the Creek Indians from Georgia to beyond the Mississippi. 694. In 1822 Sir Gregor McGregor, a Scotchman, began an ineffectual at- tempt to establish a colony in Costa Rica. 697. Taygetus is a mountain on the Gulf of Messenia in Greece, and near by is the district of Maina, noted for its robbers and pirates. It was from these moimtaineers that Ypsilanti, a Greek patriot, drew his cavalry in the struggle With Turkey which resulted in the independence of Greece. 28 WHITTIER. 715 Qasp, Angel of the backward look And folded wings of ashen gray And voice of echoes far away, The brazen covers of thy book ; The weird palimpsest old and vast, 720 Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past ; Where, closely minghng, pale and glow The characters of joy and woe ; The monographs of outHved years, Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, 72e Green hiUs 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 ; 786 I hear again the voice that bids The dreamer leave his dream midway For larger hopes and graver fears : Life greatens in these later years, The century's aloe flowers to-day ! 740 Yet, haply, in some luU of life, Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, 741. The name is drawn from a historic compact in 1040, when the Church forbade the barons to make any attack on each other between sunset on Wednesday and sunrise on the following Monday, or upon any ecclesiastical fast or feast day. It also provided that no man was to molest a laborer work- ing in the fields, or to lay hands on any implement of husbandry, on pain ot ezGommunication. SNOW-BOUND. 29 The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, Dreaming in throngful city ways Of winter joys his boyhood knew ; 745 And dear and early friends — the few Who yet remain — shall pause to view These Flemish pictures of old days ; Sit with me by the homestead hearth, And stretch the hands of memory forth 760 To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! And thanks untraced to lips unknown Shall greet me hke the odors blown From unseen meadows newly mown. Or lilies floating in some pond, 765 Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; The traveller owns the grateful sense Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, And, pausing, takes with forehead bare The benediction of the air. 747. The Flemisli school of painting was chiefly occupied with homely isf teriors. 30 WHITTIER n. AMONG THE HILLS. PRELUDE. AxoiifG the roadside, like the flowers of gold That tawny Incas for their gardens wrought, Heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rod, And the red pennons of the cardinal-flowers B Hang motionless upon their upright staves. The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind, Wing-weary with its long flight from the south, Unfelt ; yet, closely scanned, yon maple leaf With faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, 10 Confesses it. The locust by the wall Stabs the noon-silence with his sharp alarm. A single hay-cart down the dusty road Creaks slowly, with its driver fast asleep On the load's top. Against the neighboring hill, 15 Huddled along the stone wall's shady side. The sheep show white, as if a snowdrift still Defied the dog-star. Through the open door A drowsy smeU of flowers — gray heliotrope. And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette — 20 Comes faintly in, and silent chorus lends To the pervading symphony of peace. 2. The Incas were the kings of the ancient Peruvians. At Tucay, theii favorite residence, the gardens, according to Prescott, contained " forms of vegetable life skillfully imitated in gold and silver." See History of the Coti" fuest of Peru, i. 130= AMONG THE HILLS. 31 No time is this for hands long over-worn To task their strength : and (unto Him be praise Who giveth quietness !) the stress and strain 25 Of years that did the work of centuries Have ceased, and we can draw our breath once more Freely and full. So, as yon harvesters Make glad their nooning underneath the elms With tale and riddle and old snatch of song, 30 I lay aside grave themes, and idly turn The leaves of memory's sketch-book, dreaming o'er Old summer pictures of the quiet hills, And human life, as quiet, at their feet. And yet not idly all. A farmer's son, 35 Proud of field-lore and harvest craft ; and feeling All their fine possibilities, how rich And restful even poverty and toil Become when beauty, harmony, and love Sit at their humble hearth as angels sat 40 At evening in the patriarch's tent, when man Makes labor noble, and his farmer's frock The symbol of a Christian chivalry, Tender and just and generous to her Who clothes with grace all duty ; still, I know 45 Too well the picture has another side. How wearily the grind of toil goes on Where love is wanting, how the eye and ear And heart are starved amidst the plenitude Of nature, and how hard and colorless eo Is Hfe without an atmosphere. I look Across the lapse of half a century. And call to mind old homesteads, where no flower 26. The volume in wMch this poem stands first, and to which it gives the name, was published in the fall of 1868. 32 WHITTIER. Told that the spring had come, but evil weeds, ^ Nightshade and rough-leaved burdock, in the place BB Of the sweet doorway greeting of the rose And honeysuckle, where the house walls seemed Blistering in sun, without a tree or vine To cast the tremulous shadow of its leaves Across the curtainless windows from whose panes 60 Fluttered the signal rags of shiftlessness ; Within, the cluttered kitchen floor, unwashed (Broom-clean I think they called it) ; the best room Stifling with cellar damp, shut from the air In hot midsummer, bookless, pictureless 65 Save the inevitable sampler hung Over the fireplace, or a mourning piece, A green-haired woman, peony-cheeked, beneath Impossible willows ; the wide-throated hearth Bristling with faded pine-boughs half concealing 70 The piled-up rubbish at the chimney's back ; And, in sad keeping with all things about them, Shrill, querulous women, sour and sullen men, Untidy, loveless, old before their time, With scarce a human interest save their own 15 Monotonous round of small economies, Or the poor scandal of the neighborhood ; Blind to the beauty everywhere revealed, Treading the May-flowers with regardless feet ; For them the song-sparrow and the bobolink 80 Sang not, nor winds made music in the leaves ; For them in vain October's holocaust Burned, gold and crimson, over all the hills, The sacramental mystery of the woods. Church-goers, fearful of the unseen Powers, 82 But grumbling over pulpit-tax and pew-rent, AMONG THE HILLS. 33 Saving, as shrewd economists, their souls And winter pork with the least possible outlay Of salt and sanctity ; in daily life Showing as little actual comprehension 90 Of Christian charity and love and duty, As if the Sermon on the Mount had been Outdated like a last year's almanac : Rich in broad woodlands and in half-tilled fields, And yet so pinched and bare and comfortless, 05 The veriest straggler limping on his rounds, The sun and air his sole inheritance, Laughed at poverty that paid its taxes, And hugged his rags in self-complacency ! Not such should be the homesteads of a land 100 Where whoso wisely wills and acts may dwell As king and lawgiver, in broad-acred state, With beauty, art, taste, culture, books, to make His hour of leisure richer than a life Of fourscore to the barons of old time, 105 Our yeoman should be equal to his home, Set in the fair, green valleys, purple walled, A man to match his mountains, not to creep Dwarfed and abased below them. I would fain In this light way (of which I needs must own 110 With the knife-grinder of whom Canning sings, " Story, God bless you ! I have none to tell you ! ") Invite the eye to see and heart to feel 110 , The Anti-Jacobin was a periodical published in England in 1797-98, to ridicule democratic opinions, and in it Canning, who afterward became premier of England, wrote many light verses and jeux d^ esprit, among them a himiorous poem called the Needy Knife-Grinder, in burlesque of a poem by Bouthey. The knife-grinder is anxiously appealed to to tell his story of wrong and injustice, but answers as here : — "Story, God bless you ! I've none to tell." 34 WHITTIER. The beauty and the joy within tneir reach, — Home, and home loves, and the beatitudes iiD Of nature free to all. Haply in years That wait to take the places of our own, Heard where some breezy balcony looks down On happy homes, or where the lake in the moon Sleeps dreaming of the mountains, fair as Ruth, 120 In the old Hebrew pastoral, at the feet Of Boaz, even this simple lay of mine May seem the burden of a prophecy, Finding its late fulfilment in a change Slow as the oak's growth, lifting manhood up 125 Through broader culture, finer manners, love, And reverence, to the level of the hills. O Golden Age, whose light is of the dawn, And not of sunset, forward, not behind, Flood the new heavens and earth, and with thee bring 130 All the old virtues, whatsoever things Are pure and honest and of good repute, But add thereto whatever bard has sung Or seer has told of when in trance and dream They saw the Happy Isles of prophecy ! 135 Let Justice hold her scale, and Truth divide Between the right and wrong ; but give the heart The freedom of its fair inheritance ; Let the poor prisoner, cramped and starved so long, At Nature's table feast his ear and eye 134. The Fortunate Isles, or Isles of the Blest, were imaginary islands io the West, in classic mythology, set in a sea which was warmed by the rays of the declming sun. Hither the fayorites of the gods were borne and dwelt ia endless joy. AMONG THE HILLS, 35 140 With joy and wonder ; let all harmonies Of sound, form, color, motion, wait upon The princely guest, whether in soft attire Of leisure clad, or the coarse frock of toil, And, lending life to the dead form of faith, 143 Give human nature reverence for the sake Of One who bore it, making it divine With the ineffable tenderness of God ; Let common need, the brotherhood of prayer, The heirship of an unknown destiny, 150 The unsolved mystery round about us, make A man more precious than the gold of Ophir. Sacred, inviolate, unto whom all things Should minister, as outward types and signs Of the eternal beauty which fulfils 165 The one great purpose of creation. Love, The sole necessity of Earth and Heaven ! AMONG THE HILLS. For weeks the clouds had raked the hills And vexed the vales with raining, And all the woods were sad with mist, 160 And all the brooks complaining. At last, a sudden night-storm tore The mountain veils asunder. And swept the valleys clean before The besom of the thunder. 165 Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang Good morrow to the cotter ; 165. Sandwich Notch, Chocorua Mountain, Ossipee Lake, and the Bearcamp Eiver are all striking features of the scenery in that part of New Hampshire 36 WHITTIER. And once again Chocorua's horn Of shadow pierced the water. Above his broad lake Ossipee, 170 Once more the sunshine wearing, Stooped, tracing on that silver shield His grim armorial bearing. Clear drawn against the hard blue sky The peaks had winter's keenness ; 176 And, close on autumn's frost, the vales Had more than June's fresh greenness. Again the sodden forest floors With golden lights were checkered, Once more rejoicing leaves in wind 180 And sunshine danced and flickered. It was as if the summer's late Atoning for its sadness Had borrowed every season's charm To end its days in gladness. 185 I call to mind those banded vales Of shadow and of shining, Through which, my hostess at my side, I drove in day's declining. We held our sideling way above 190 The riv>er's whitening shallows, which lies just at the entrance of the White Mountain region. Many oi Whittier'smost graceful poems are drawn from the suggestions of this country, where he has been wont to spend his summer months of late, and a mountaitt near West Ossipee has received bis name. AMONG THE HILLS, 37 By homesteads old, with wide-flung barns Swept through and through by swallows, — By maple orchards, belts of pine And larches climbing darkly 195 The mountain slopes, and, over all, The great peaks rising starkly. You should have seen that long hill-range With gaps of brightness riven, — How through each pass and hollow streamed 200 The purpling lights of heaven, — Rivers of gold-mist flowing down From far celestial fountains, — The great sun flaming through the rifts Beyond the wall of mountains ! 305 We paused at last where home-bound cows Brought down the pasture's treasure, And in the barn the rhythmic flails Beat out a harvest measure. We heard the night hawk's sullen plunge, 210 The crow his tree-mates calling : The shadows lengthening down the slopes About our feet were falling. And through them smote the level sun In broken lines of splendor, 815 Touched the gray rocks and made the green Of the shorn grass more tender. 38 WHITTIEE. The maples bending o'er the gate, Their arch of leaves just tinted With yeUow warmth, the golden glow 220 Of coming autumn hinted. Keen white between the farm-house showed. And smiled on porch and trellis The fair democracy of flowers That equals cot and palace. 225 And weaving garlands for her dog, 'Twixt chidings and caresses, A human flower of childhood shook The sunshine from her tresses. On either hand we saw the signs 230 Of fancy and of shrewdness, Where taste had wound its arms of vines Round thrift's uncomely rudeness. The sun-brown farmer in his frock Shook hands, and called to Mary : 235 Bare-armed, as Juno might, she came, White-aproned from her dairy. Her air, her smile, her motions, told Of womanly completeness ; A music as of household songs aao Was in her voice of sweetness. Not beautiful in curve and line. But something more and better, AMONG THE HILLS. 39 The secret charm eluding art, Its spirit, not its letter ; — 345 An inborn grace that nothing lacked Of culture or appliance, — The warmth of genial courtesy, The calm of self-reliance. Before her queenly womanhood 250 How dared our hostess utter The paltry errand of her need To buy her fresh-churned butter ? She led the way with housewife pride^ Her goodly store disclosing, 255 Full tenderly the golden balls With practised hands disposing. Then, while along the western hills We watched the changeful glory Of sunset, on our homeward way, 260 I heard her simple story. The early crickets sang ; the stream Plashed through my friend's narration ; Her rustic patois of the hills Lost in my free translation. 265 " More wise," she said, "than those who swarm Our hills in middle summer, She came, when June's first roses blow. To greet the early comer. 40 WHITTIER. = " From school and ball and rout she came^ 270 The city's fair, pale daughter, To drink the wine of mountain air Beside the Bearcamp Water. *'Her step grew firmer on the hills That watch our homesteads over ; S76 On cheek and lip, from summer fields, She caught the bloom of clover. " For health comes sparkling in the streams From cool Chocorua stealing : There 's iron in our Northern winds ; 280 Our pines are trees of healing. " She sat beneath the broad-armed elms That skirt the mowing-meadow, And watched the gentle west-wind weave The grass with shine and shadow. 285 *' BBside her, from the summer heat To share her grateful screening, With forehead bared, the farmer stood, Upon his pitchfork leaning. " Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face 290 Had nothing mean or common, — Strong, manly, true, the tenderness And pride beloved of woman. ** She looked up, glowing with the health The country air had brought her, AMONG THE HILLS. 41 396 And, laughing, said : ' You lack a wife, Your mother lacks a daughter. *^ * To mend your frock and bake your bread You do not need a lady : Be sure among these brown old homes 800 Is some one waiting ready, — ** ' Some fair, sweet girl, with skilful hand And cheerful heart for treasure, Who never played with ivory keys, Or danced the polka's measure.' 806 " He bent his black brows to a frown, He set his white teeth tightly. * 'T is well,' he said, ' for one like you To choose for me so lightly. " * You think, because my life is rude 810 I take no note of sweetness : I tell you love has naught to do With meetness or unmeetness. ^' ^ Itself its best excuse, it asks No leave of pride or fashion 316 When silken zone or homespun frock It stirs with throbs of passion. " * You think me deaf and blind : you bring Your winning graces hither As free as if from cradle-time 820 We two had played together. 42 WHITTIER. " * You tempt me with your laughing eyes, Your cheek of sundown's blushes, A motion as of waving grain, A music as of thrushes. S2B " ' The plaything of your summer sport, The spells you weave around me You cannot at your will undo, Nor leave me as you found me. " * You go as lightly as you came, 330 Your life is well without me ; What care you that these hills will close Like prison-walls about me ? " ' No mood is mine to seek a wife, Or daughter for my mother : 83B Who loves you loses in that love All power to love another ! " ' I dare your pity or your scorn, With pride your own exceeding ; I fling my heart into your lap 340 Without a word of pleading.' " She looked up in his face of pain So archly, yet so tender : * And if I lend you mine,' she said, ' Will you forgive the lender ? 845 " ' Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; And see you not, my farmer, AMONG THE HILLS. 43 How weak and fond a woman waits Behind this silken armor ? " ' I love you : on that love alone, 850 And not my worth, presuming, Will you not trust for summer fruit The tree in May-day blooming ? ' " Alone the hangbird overhead, His hair-swung cradle straining, 365 Looked down to see love's miracle, — The giving that is gaining. " And so the farmer found a wife, His mother found a daughter : There looks no happier home than hers 860 On pleasant Bearcamp Water. " Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty ; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty. 366 " Our homes are cheerier for her sake, Our door-yards brighter blooming, And all about the social air Is sweeter for her coming. *' Unspoken homilies of peace 870 Her daily life is preaching ; The stiU refreshment of the dew Is her unconscious teaching. 44 WHITTIER. " And never tenderer hand than hers Unknits the brow of ailing ; 875 Her garments to the sick man's ear Have music in their traihng. " And when, in pleasant harvest moons, The youthful huskers gather, Or sleigh-drives on the mountain ways 880 Defy the winter weather, — " In sugar-camps, when south and warm The winds of March are blowing. And sweetly from its thawing veins The maple's blood is flowing, — 88B " In summer, where some lilied pond Its virgin zone is bearing, Or where the ruddy autumn fire Lights up the apple-paring, — " The coarseness of a ruder time 890 Her finer mirth displaces, A subtler sense of pleasure fills Each rustic sport she graces. " Her presence lends its warmth and health To all who come before it. S9B If woman lost us Eden, such As she alone restore it. ** For larger life and wiser aims The farmer is her debtor ; AMONG THE HILLS, 45 Who holds to his another's heart 400 Must needs be worse or better. " Through her his civic service shows A purer-toned ambition ; No double consciousness divides The man and politician. 405 " In party's doubtful ways he trusts Her instincts to determine ; At the loud polls, the thought of her Recalls Christ's Mountain Sermon. " He owns her logic of the heart, 410 And wisdom of unreason. Supplying, while he doubts and weighs. The needed word in season. " He sees with pride her richer thought, Her fancy's freer ranges ; 415 And love thus deepened to respect Is proof against all changes. ^'^ And if she walks at ease in ways His feet are slow to travel, And if she reads with cultured eyes 420 What his may scarce unravel, " Still clearer, for her keener sight Of beauty and of wonder, He learns the meaning of the hills He dwelt from childhood under* 46 WHITTIER. 426 " And higher, warmed with summer lights. Or winter-crowned and hoary, The ridged horizon lifts for him Its inner veils of glory. " He has his own free, bookless lore, 430 The lessons nature taught him. The wisdom which the woods and hills And toiling men have brought him : " The steady force of will whereby Her flexile grace seems sweeter ; 435 The sturdy counterpoise which makes Her woman's life completer : *' A latent fire of soul which lacks No breath of love to fan it ; And wit, that, like his native brooks, 440 Plays over solid granite. ^^ How dwarfed against his manliness She sees the poor pretension, The wants, the aims, the follies, born Of fashion and conv^ention I 445 " How life behind its accidents Stands strong and self-sustaining, The human fact transcending all The losing and the gaining. ** And so, in grateful interchange Of teacher and of hearer, AMONG THE HILLS. 47 Their lives their true distinctness keep While daily drawing nearer. *' And if the husband or the wife In homo's strong light discovers 485 Such slight defaults as failed to meet The blinded eyes of lovers, ** Why need we care to ask ? — who dreams Without their thorns of roses, Or wonders that the truest steel *fio The readiest spark discloses ? *^ For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living : Love scarce is love that never knows The sweetness of forgiving. 465 " We send the Squire to General Court, He takes his young wife thither ; No prouder man election day Rides through the sweet June weathen. "* He sees with eyes of manly trust 470 All hearts to her inchning ; Not less for him his household light That others share its shining." Thus, while my hostess spake, there grew Before me, warmer tinted 475 And outlined with a tenderer grace, The picture that she hinted. WHITTIER. The sunset smouldered as we drove Beneath the deep hill-shadows. Below us wreaths of white fog walked 480 Like ghosts the haunted meadows. Sounding the summer night, the stars Dropped down their golden plummets ; The pale arc of the Northern lights Rose o'er the mountain summits, — 488 Until, at last, beneath its bridge, We heard the Bearcamp flowing, And saw across the mapled lawn The welcome home-lights glowing ; — And, musing on the tale I heard, 490 ' T were well, thought I, if often To rugged farm-life came the gift To harmonize and soften ; — If more and more we found the troth Of fact and fancy plighted, 496 And culture's charm and labor's strength In rural homes united, — The simple life, the homely hearth, Wifh beauty's sphere surrounding, And blessing toil where toil abounds 500 With graces more abounding. SONGS OF LABOR. 49 m. SONGS OF LABOE. The Songs of Labor were written in 1845 and 1846, and printed first in magazines. They reflect the working life of New England at that time before the great changes were wrought which have nearly put an end to some of the forms of labor, the praises of which here are sung. The Songs were collected into a volume entitled, Songs of Labor and other Poems, in 1850, and the follow- ing Dedication was then prefixed. DEDICATION. I WOULD the gift I offer here Might graces from thy favor take, And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere. On softened lines and coloring, wear 6 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 autumn^ lea. Above the fallen groves of green, Where youth's enchanted forest stood, Dry root and mossed trunk between. 60 WHITTIER. A sober after-growth is seen, 15 As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood! 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, 23 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, so 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 88 Where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain. 22. "For the idea of this Une," says Mr. Whittier, "I am Indebted to \ erson in his inimitable sonnet to the Rhodora : — " ' If eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being. ' " SONGS OF LABOR. 51 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 60 The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. A blessing now, a curse no more ; Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, The coarse mechanic vesture wore, A poor man toiling 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 ! 60 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 66 How falls the polished 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, 52. October 25. St. Crispin and his brother Crispinian were said to be mar. tyrs of the third century who while preaching the gospel had made their livliig by shoemaldng. 62 WHITTIER 60 And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it ! For you, along the Spanish main A hundred keels are ploughing ; For you, the Indian on the plain 65 His lasso-coil is throwing ; For you, deep glens with hemlock dark The woodman's fire is lighting ; For you, upon the oak's gray bark, The woodman's axe is smiting. 70 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 75 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, 80 Where'er the need of trampled right Brought toiling men together ; Where the free burghers from the wall Defied the mail-clad master. Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, 85 No craftsman rallied faster. 62. A name givei;! to the northern coast of South America when it was takes possession of by the Spaniards. 72. So associated was Florence, Italy, in the minds of people with the man- ufacture of sewing silk, that when the industry was set up in the neighbo]% hood of Northampton, Mass., the factory village took the name of Florence. SONGS OF LABOR. 63 Let foplings sneer, let fools deride, Ye heed no idle scorner ; Free hands and hearts are still your pride, And duty done, your honor. 90 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 living yet, 95 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, 100 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, 106 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 ! 95. See Longfellow's poem, Nuremberg, for a reference to Hans Sachs, the cobbler poet. 96. Robert Bloomfield, an English poet, author of The Farmer^s Boy, was bred a shoemaker, as was William Gifford, a wit and satirist, and first editor of the Quarterly Review, but Gifford hated his craft bitterly. 97. Roger Sherman, one of the signers, was at one time a shoemaker in New Milford, Connecticut. 99. Jacob Behman, or Boehme, a German visionary of the 17th century. 101. George Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends, or Quakers as they ftie more commonly called. 64 WHITTIER. 110 Rap, rap ! your stout and rough 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, 115 By Saratoga's fountains, Or twinkle down the summer dance Beneath the Crystal Mountains ! The red brick to the mason's hand, The brown earth to the tiller's, 120 The shoe in yours shall wealth command, Like fairy Cinderella's ! As they who shunned the household maid Beheld the crown upon her, So all shall see your toil repaid 125 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 ! " 130 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. HuRKAH ! the seaward breezes 136 Sweep down the bay amain ; 117. A name early given to the White Mountains from the crystals fotmd tiiere by the first explorers, who thought them diamonds, SONGS 0^ LABOR. 66 Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! Run up the sail again ! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed ; 140 The stars of heaven shall guide us? The breath of heaven shall speed. From the hill-top looks the steeple, And the light-house from the sand ; And the scattered pines are waving 145 Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us. For the homes we leave one sigh, Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky. 150 Now, brothers, for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador, Floating spectral in the moonshine^ Along the low, black shore ! "Where like snow the gannet's feathers 165 On Brador's rocks are shed, And the noisy murr are flying, Like black scuds, overhead ; Where in mist the rock is hiding, And the sharp reef lurks below, 160 And the white squall smites in summer. And the autumn tempests blow ; Where through gray and rolling vapor, From evening unto morn, A thousand boats are hailing, 165 Horn answering unto horn. 66 WHITTIER. Hurrah ! for the Ked Island, With the white cross on its crown ! Hurrah ! for Meccatina, And its mountains bare and brown ! 170 Where the Caribou's tall antlers O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, And the footstep of the Mickmack Has no sound upon the moss. There we '11 drop our lines, and gather 176 Old Ocean's treasures in, Where'er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark fin. The sea 's our field of harvest, Its scaly tribes our grain ; 180 We '11 reap the teeming waters As at home they reap the plain ! Our wet hands spread the carpet, And light the hearth of home ; From our fish, as in the old time, 185 The silver coin shall come. As the demon fled the chamber Where the fish of Tobit lay, So ours from all our dwellings Shall frighten Want away. 190 Though the mist upon our jackets In the bitter air congeals. And our lines wind stiff and slowly From off the frozen reels ; 18T. See the story in the Booh of Tobit, one of the Apocrypha. SONGS OF LABOR. 57 Though the fog be dark around us, 195 And the storm blow high and loud, We will whistle down the wild wind, And laugh beneath the cloud ! In the darkness as in daylight, On the water as on land, 200 God's eye is looking on us. And beneath us is His hand ! Death will find us soon or later, On the deck or in the cot ; And we cannot meet him better 20B Than in working out our lot. Hurrah ! hurrah ! the west-wind Comes freshening down the bay, The rising sails are filling ; Give way, my lads, give way ! 210 Leave the coward landsman clinging To the dull earth, like a weed ; The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed I THE LUMBERMEN. Wildly round our woodland quarters 216 Sad-voiced Autumn grieves i Thickly down these swelhng waters Float his fallen leaves. Through the tall and naked timber, Column-like and old, 68 WEITTIER, 220 Gleam the sunsets of November, From their skies of gold. O'er us, to the southland heading, Screams the gray wild-goose ; On the night-frost sounds the treading 326 Of the brindled moose. Noiseless creeping, while we 're sleeping, Frost his task-work plies ; Soon, his icy bridges heaping, Shall our log-piles rise. 230 When, with sounds of smothered thunder, On some night of rain, Lake and river break asunder Winter's weakened chain, Down the wild March flood shall bear them 236 To the saw-mill's wheel, Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them With his teeth of steel. Be it starlight, be it moonlight, In these vales below, 240 When the earliest beams of sunlight Streak the mountain's snow, Crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early, To our hurrying feet. And the forest echoes clearly 845 All our blows repeat. Where the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear, And Millnoket's pine-black ridges Hide the browsing deer : SONGS OF LABOR. 69 sso Where, through lakes and wide morasses, Or through rocky walls, Swift and strong, Penobscot passes White with foamy falls ; Where through clouds, are glimpses given 255 Of Katahdin's sides, — Rock and forest piled to heaven, Torn and ploughed by slides ! Far below, the Indian trapping, In the sunshine warm ; 260 Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping Half the peak in storm ! Where are mossy carpets better Than the Persian weaves. And than Eastern perfumes sweeter 265 Seem the fading leaves ; And a music mild and solemn, From the pine-tree's height, Rolls its vast and sea-like volume On the wind of night ; 270 Make we here our camp of winter ; And, through sleet and snow. Pitchy knot and beechen splinter On our hearth shall glow. Here, with mirth to lighten duty, STB We shall lack alone Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, Childhood's lisping tone. But their hearth is brighter burning For our toil to-day i 60 WHITTIER. 280 And the welcome of returning Shall our loss repay, "When, like seamen from the waters, From the woods we come, Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, 285 Angels of our home ! Not for us the measured ringing From the village spire, Not for us the Sabbath singing Of the sweet-voiced choir : 290 Ours the old, majestic temple, Where God's brightness shines Down the dome so grand and ample, Propped by lofty pines ! Through each branch-enwoven skylight, 29B Speaks He in the breeze, As of old beneath the twilight Of lost Eden's trees ! For His ear, the inward feeling Needs no outward tongue ; 800 He can see the spirit kneeling While the axe is swung. Heeding truth alone, and turning From the false and dim. Lamp of toil or altar burning 808 Are alike to Him. Strike, then, comrades ! Trade is waiting On our rugged toil ; Far ships waiting for the freighting Of our woodland spoil ! SONGS OF LABOR. 61 810 Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, Bleak and cold, of ours, With the citron-planted islands Of a clime of flowers ; To our frosts the tribute bringing 816 Of eternal heats ; In our lap of winter flinging Tropic fruits and sweets. Cheerily, on the axe of labor, Let the sunbeams dance, 820 Better than the flash of sabre Or the gleam of lance ! Strike ! With every blow is given Freer sun and sky, And the long-hid earth to heaven 825 Looks, with wondering eye ! Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come ; Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, Bearing harvest home ! 830 Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill ; Waving wheat and golden maize-ears Crown each beechen hill. Keep who will the city's alleys, 835 Take the smooth-shorn plain ; Give to us the cedarn valleys. Rocks and hills of Maine ! In our North-land, wild and woody. Let us still have part : 62 WHITTIER. 340 Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, Hold us to thy heart ! Oh, our free hearts heat the warmer For thy breath of snow ; And our tread is all the firmer S46 For thy rocks below. Freedom, hand in hand with labor, Walketh strong and brave ; On the forehead of his neighbor No man writeth Slave ! 860 Lo, the day breaks ! old Katahdin's Pine-trees show its fires. While from these dim forest gardens Rise their blackened spires. Up, my comrades ! up and doing I 355 Manhood's rugged play Still renewing, bravely hewing Through the world our way ! THE SHIP-BUILDERS. The sky is ruddy in the east, The earth is gray below, S60 And, spectral in the river-mist, The ship's white timbers show. Then let the sounds of measured stroke And grating saw begin ; The broad-axe to the gnarled oak, 86B The mallet to the pin ! SONGS OF LABOR. 6S Hark ! roars the bellows, blast on blast. The sooty smithy jars, And fire-sparks, rising far and fast, Are fading with the stars. mo All day for us the smith shall stand Beside that flashing forge ; All day for us his heavy hand The groaning anvil scourge. From far-off hills, the panting team S76 For us is toiling near ; For us the raftsmen down the stream Their island barges steer. Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke In forests old and still ; 880 For us the century-circled oak Falls crashing down his hill. Up 1 up ! in nobler toil than ours No craftsmen bear a part : "We make of Nature's giant powers 386 The slaves of human Art. Lay rib to rib and beam to beam, And drive the treenails free ; Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam Shall tempt the searching sea ! 390 Where'er the keel of our good ship The sea's rough field shall plough ; Where'er her tossing spars shall drip With salt-spray caught below ; That ship must heed her master's beck, 898 Her helm obey his hand, 64 WHITTIER, And seamen tread her reeling deck As if they trod the land. Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak Of Northern ice may peel ; 400 The sunken rock and coral peak May grate along her keel ; And know we well the painted shell We give to wind and wave, Must float, the sailor's citadel, 40B Or sink, the sailor's grave ! Ho ! strike away the bars and blocks, And set the good ship free ! Why lingers on these dusty rocks The young bride of the sea ? 410 Look ! how she moves adown the gi'ooves. In graceful beauty now ! How lowly on the breast she loves Sinks down her virgin prow! God bless her ! vvheresoe'er the breeze 41B Her snowy wing shall fan, Aside the frozen Hebrides, Or sultry Hindostan ! Where'er, in mart or on the main, With peaceful flag unfurled, 420 She helps to wind the silken chain Of commerce round the world ! Speed on the ship ! But let her bear No merchandise of sin, No groaning cargo of despair 42B Her roomy hold within j SONGS OF LABOR. 65 No Lethean drug for Eastern lands, Nor poison-draught for ours ; But honest fruits of toiling hands And Nature's sun and showers. 430 Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, The Desert's golden sand, The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, The spice of Morning-land ! Her pathway on the open main 435 May blessings follow free, And glad hearts welcome back again Her white sails from the sea ! THE DROVERS. Thkough heat and cold, and shower and sunj Still onward cheerily driving ! 440 There 's life alone in duty done. And rest alone in striving. But see ! the day is closing cool, The woods are dim before us ; The white fog of the wayside pool 445 Is creeping slowly o'er us. The night is falling, comrades mine. Our footsore beasts are weary, And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. 450 The landlord beckons from his door, His beechen fire is glowing ; These ample barns, with feed in stor©^ Are filled to overflowing. 66 WHITTIER. From many a valley frowned across 465 By brows of rugged mountains ; From hillsides where, through spongy moss, Gush out the river fountains ; From quiet farm-fields, green and low, And bright with blooming clover ; 460 From vales of corn the wandering crow No richer hovers over ; Day after day our way has been O'er many a hill and hollow ; By lake and stream, by wood and glen, 465 Our stately drove we follow. Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, A smoke of battle o'er us. Their white horns glisten in the sun, Like plumes and crests before us. 470 We see them slowly climb the hill. As slow behind it sinking ; Or, thronging close, from roadside rill, Or sunny lakelet, drinking. Now crowding in the narrow road, 476 In thick and struggling masses, They glare upon the teamster's load, Or rattling coach that passes. Anon, with toss of horn and tail. And paw of hoof, and bellow, 480 They leap some farmer's broken pale. O'er meadow-close or fallow. Forth comes the startled goodman ; forth Wife, children, house-dog, sally. SONGS OF LABOR. 67 Till once more on their dusty path 488 The baffled truants rally. We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony, Like those who grind their noses down On pastures bare and stony, — 490 Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, And cows too lean for shadows, Disputing feebly with the frogs The crop of saw-grass meadows ! In our good drove, so sleek and fair, 498 No bones of leanness rattle, No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand That fed him unrepining ; 800 The fatness of a goodly land In each dun hide is shining. We 've sought them where, in warmest nooks, The freshest feed is growing, By sweetest springs and clearest brooks 605 Through honeysuckle flowing ; Wherever hillsides, sloping south. Are bright with early grasses, Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth. The mountain streamlet passes. 610 But now the day is closing cool. The woods are dim before us, The white fog of the wayside pool Is creeping slowly o'er uso 68 WHITTIER. The cricket to the frog's bassoon 615 His shrillest time is keeping ; The sickle of yon setting moon The meadow-mist is reaping. The night is falling, comrades mine, Our footsore beasts are weary, 620 And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. To-morrow, eastward with our charge We '11 go to meet the dawning, Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge 625 Have seen the sun of morning. "When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, Instead of birds, are flitting ; When children throng the glowing hearth. And quiet wives are knitting ; 580 While in the firelight strong and clear Young eyes of pleasure glisten, To tales of all we see and hear The ears of home shall listen. By many e, Northern lake and hiU, 835 From many a mountain pasture, Shall fancy play the Drover still, And speed the long night faster. Then let us on, through shower and sun. And heat and cold, be driving ; 840 There 's life alone in duty done. And rest alone in striving. SONGS OF LABOR. 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 6« With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- flowers of May. 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. 660 And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, 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. And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, 865 Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why, 70 WHITTIER. 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. KM No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rust- ling as they fell. The summer grains were harvested ; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye ; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, B6B Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear ; Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold. And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. SONGS OF LABOR. 71 970 There wrought the busy harvesters ; and many a creaking wain 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, «t5 Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire be° yond. Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone. And the sunset and the raoonrise were mingled into one ! As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away. And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay ; 580 From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name, Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry buskers came. Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scena below I 72 WHITTIER. The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, 885 And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. 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. 590 Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair. 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. Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard I 895 Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, •00 The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine i SONGS OF LABOR. 78 We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift 605 Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. 610 We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June 616 Its leaves grew green and fair. And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now, with Autumn's moonlit eves, Its harvest-time has come, 620 We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There, when the snows about us drift, And winter winds are cold. Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 626 And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board ; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured ! J 74 WHITTIER. 630 Where'er the wide old kitchen heartli Sends up its smoky curls, Who will not thank the kindly earth. And bless our farmer girls ! Then shame on all the proud and vain, 63B Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn ! Let earth withhold her goodly root, Let mildew blight the rye, 640 Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat-field to the fly : But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; Still let us, for His golden corn, 64B Send up our thanks to God ! SELECTED POEMS. 75 IV. SELECTED POEMS. THE BAEEFOOT BOY, Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons. And thy merry whistled tunes ; 3 With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face. Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy, — 10 I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride ! Barefoot, trudging at his side, 15 Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye, — ■ Outward sunshine, inward joy : Blessings on thee, barefoot boy I Oh for boyhood's painless play, 20 Sleep that wakes in laughing day. Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, 76 WHITTIER. Of the wild-flower's time and place, 25 Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well : 30 How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung ; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 36 Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; Of the black wasp's cunning way. Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! 40 For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, — 45 Blessings on the barefoot boy ! Oh for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. 50 I was rich in flowers and trees. Humming-birds and honey-bees ; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry cone 56 Purpled over hedge and stone ; SELECTED POEMS. 77 Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; €0 Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides ! Still as my horizon grew, 65 Larger grew my riches too ; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy. Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! Oh for festal dainties spread, 70 Like my bowl of milk and bread ; Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. On the door-stone, gray and rude ! O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 75 Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While for music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir, 80 Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch : pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my little man. Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 85 Though the flinty slopes be hard. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 78 WHITTIER. Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet 90 Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, 96 Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil : Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in 100 Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! HOW THE ROBIN CAME, AN ALGONQUIN LEGENDo Happy young friends, sit by me, Under May's blown apple-tree. While these home-birds in and out Through the blossoms flit about. 5 Hear a story, strange and old, By the wild red Indians told, How the robin came to be : Once a great chief left his son, — Well-beloved, his only one, — io When the boy was well-nigh grown, In the trial-lodge alone. Left for tortures long and slow SELECTED POEMS. 79 Youths like him must undergo, Who their pride of manhood test, 15 Lacking water, food, and rest. Seven days the fast he kept, Seven nights he never slept. Then the young boy, wrung with pain, Weak from nature's overstrain, , 20 Faltering, moaned a low complaint : " Spare me, father, for I faint ! " But the chieftain, haughty-eyed, Hid his pity in his pride. " You shall be a hunter good, 25 Knowing never lack of food : You shall be a warrior great, Wise as fox and strong as bear ; Many scalps your belt shall wear, If with patient heart you wait 30 Bravely till your task is done. Better you should starving die Than that boy and squaw should cry Shame upon your father's son ! " When next morn the sun's first rays 36 Glistened on the hemlock sprays, Straight that lodge the old chief sought, And boiled samp and moose meat brought. " Rise and eat, my son ! " he said. Lo, he found the poor boy dead ! 40 As with grief his grave they made, And his bow beside him laid. Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid, On the lodge-top overhead, 80 WHITTIER. Preening smooth its breast of red 45 And the brown coat that it wore, Sat a bird, unknown before. And as if with human tongue, " Mourn me not," it said, or sung ; " I, a bird, am still your son, 50 Happier than if hunter fleet, Or a brave, before your feet Laying scalps in battle won. Friend of man, my song shall cheer Lodge and corn-land ; hovering near, 65 To each wigwam I shall bring Tidings of the coming spring ; Every child my voice shall know In the moon of melting snow, When the maple's red bud swells, 60 And the wind-flower lifts its bells. As their fond companion Men shall henceforth own your son, And my song shall testify That of human kin am I." 65 Thus the Indian legend saith How, at first, the robin came With a sweeter life and death. Bird for boy, and still the same. If my young friends doubt that this 70 Is the robin's genesis, Not in vain is still the myth If a truth be found therewith : Unto gentleness belong Gifts unknown to pride and wrong ; 75 Happier far than hate is praise, — - He who sings than he who slays. SELECTED POEMS. 81 TELLING THE BEES. [A remarkable custom, brouglit from the Old Country, formerly prevailed in the rural districts of New England. On the death of a member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, and their hives dressed in mourning. This ceremonial was supposed to be necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving- their hives and seeking a new home. The scene is minutely that of the Whittier homestead.] Here is the place ; right over the hill Runs the path I took ; You can see the gap in the old wall still, And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook, 5 There is the house, with the gate red-barred, And the poplars tall ; And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yardj, And the white horns tossing above the wall. TL :re are the beehives ranged in the sun ; 10 And down by the brink Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed o'errun, Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, Heavy and slow ; 15 And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, Ajid the same brook sings of a year ago. There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze ; And the June sun warm Tangles his wings of fire in the trees, 20 Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. 82 WHITTIER. I mind me how with a lover's care From my Sunday coat I brushed ofE the burrs, and smoothed my hair, And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. 25 Since we parted, a month had passed, — To love, a year ; Down through the beeches I looked at last On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain 30 Of light through the leaves, The sundown's blaze on her window-pane, The bloom of her roses under the eaves. Just the same as a month before, — The house and the trees, 36 The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — Nothing changed but the hives of bees. Before them, under the garden wall. Forward and back, Went drearily singing the chore-girl small, 40 Draping each hive with a shred of black. Trembling, I listened : the summer sun Had the chill of snow ; For I knew she was telling the bees of one Gone on the journey we all must go ! 45 Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps For the dead to-day : SELECTED POEMS. 83 Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps The fret and the pain of his age away." But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, 60 With his cane to his chin, The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still Sung to the bees stealing out and in. And the song she was singing ever since In my ear sounds on : — 55 " Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! Mistress Mary is dead and gone ! " SWEET FERN. The subtle power in perfume found Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned ; On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound No censer idly burned. 6 That power the old-time worships knew. The Corybantes' frenzied dance, The Pythian priestess swooning through The wonderland of trance. And Nature holds, in wood and field, .0 Her thousand sunlit censers still ; To spells of flower and shrub we yield Against or with our will. I climbed a hill path strange and new With slow feet, pausing at each turn ; 84 WHITTIER. 15 A sudden waft of west wind blew The breath of the sweet fern. That fragrance from my vision swept The alien landscape ; in its stead, Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, 20 As light of heart as tread. I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine Once more through rifts of woodland shade ; I knew my river's winding line By morning mist betrayed. 25 With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call Of birds, and one in voice and look In keeping with them all. A fern beside the way we went 30 She plucked, and, smiling, held it up. While from her hand the wild, sweet scent I drank as from a cup. O potent witchery of smell ! The dust-dry leaves to life return, 35 And she who plucked them owns the spell And lifts her ghostly fern. Or sense or spirit ? Who shall say What touch the chord of memory thrills ? It passed, and left the August day 40 Ablaze on lonely hills. SELECTED POEMS. 85 THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY. The proudest now is but my peer, The highest not more high ; To-day, of all the weary year, A king of men am I. 5 To-day alike are great and small, The nameless and the known; My palace is the people's hall. The ballot-box my throne ! Who serves to-day upon the list 10 Beside the served shall stand ; Alike the brown and wrinkled fist, The gloved and dainty hand ! The rich is level with the poor. The weak is strong to-day ; 15 And sleekest broadcloth counts no more Than homespun frock of gray. To-day let pomp and vain pretence My stubborn right abide ; I set a plain man's common sense 20 Against the pedant's pride. To-day shall simple manhood try The strength of gold and land ; The wide world has not wealth to buy The power in my right hand ! 25 While there 's a grief to seek redress, Or balance to adjust, Where weighs our living manhood less Than Mammon's vilest dust, — 86 WHIT TIER. While there 's a right to need my vote^ 30 A wrong to sweep away. Up ! clouted knee and ragged coat I A man 's a man to-day ! THE HILL-TOR The burly driver at my side, We slowly climbed the hill, Whose summit, in the hot noontide, Seemed rising, rising stilL 6 At last, our short noon-shadows hid The top-stone, bare and brown. From whence, like Gizeh's pyramid, The rough mass slanted down. I felt the cool breath of the North ; 10 Between me and the sun, O'er deep, still lake, and ridgy earth, I saw the cloud-shades run. Before me, stretched for glistening miles. Lay mountain-girdled Squam ; IS Like green-winged birds, the leafy isles Upon its bosom swam. And, glimmering through the sun-haze warm, Far as the eye could roam. Dark billows of an earthquake storm 20 Beflecked with clouds like foam. Their vales in misty shadow deep. Their rugged peaks in shine, 7. Gizeh's pyramid is one of the great pyramids on the banks of the Hile near Cairo. 14. Squam or Asquam lake, at the base of the White Hills. SELECTED POEMS. 87 I saw the mountain ranges sweep The horizon's northern line. 25 There towered Chocorua's peak ; and west Moosehillock's woods were seen, With many a nameless slide-scarred crest And pine-dark gorge between. Beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloudj 30 The great Notch mountains shone, Watched over by the solemn-browed And awful face of stone ! " A good look-off ! " the driver spake i " About this time last year, 36 I drove a party to the Lake, And stopped, at evening, here. 'T was duskish down below ; but all These hills stood in the sun, Till, dipped behind yon purple wall<, 40 He left them, one by one, "A lady, who, from Thornton hill. Had held her place outside. And, as a pleasant woman will, Had cheered the long, dull ride, 46 Besought me, with so sweet a smile, That — though I hate delays — I could not choose but rest awhile, — (These women have such ways !) " On yonder mossy ledge she sat, 50 Her sketch upon her knees, 26. The nearer Indian form is Moosil^auke, 32. See Hawthorne's story of The Great Stone Face, 88 WHITTIER, A stray brown lock beneath her hat Unrolling in the breeze ; Her sweet face, in the sunset light Upraised and glorified, — 85 I never saw a prettier sight In all my mountain ride. " As good as fair ; it seemed her joy To comfort and to give ; My poor, sick wife, and cripple boy, 60 Will bless her while they live ! " The tremor in the driver's tone His manhood did not shame : " I dare say, sir, you may have known " - He named a well-known name. 65 Then sank the pyramidal mounds. The blue lake fled away ; For mountain-scope a parlor's bounds, A lighted hearth for day ! From lonely years and weary miles 70 The shadows fell apart ; Kind voices cheered, sweet human smiles Shone warm into my heart. We journeyed on ; but earth and sky Had power to charm no more ; 75 Still dreamed my inward-turning eye The dream of memory o'er. Ah ! human kindness, human love, — To few who seek denied ; Too late we learn to prize above 80 The whole round world beside ! €;]^c Mtimiu Itterattttre ^eirtesf. With Introductions, Notes, Historical Sketches and Biographical Sketches, Each regular single number in paper covers, 15 cents. 1. Longfello-w's Evangeline.**|J 2. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish ; Elizabeth.** 3» Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. Dramatized. 4. 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