{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2943", "width": "1950", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\ni^S 2. a 2^\\nChap.. i_ _. Copyright No.\\nShelf ...,.(a_b\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "2886", "width": "1814", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2906", "width": "1752", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2891", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2906", "width": "1752", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "W. B. CONKEY COMPANY IJW\\nfi t^", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "39094\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0r\\nt.ii,i^ry Of Congress\\nwo Copies Received\\nAUG 27 1900\\nCopyright entry\\nSECOND copy.\\nOetivered to\\nORDER DIVISION,\\n1 1900\\nO\\nCOPYRIGHT, 1900, BY W. B, CONKEY COMPANY.\\n7S98", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS,\\nPAGE.\\nAppledore 7\\nTo the Dandelion 9\\nDara 13\\nToJ. F.H 16\\nPrometheus 18\\nRosaline 31\\nSonnet 35\\nA Glance behind the Curtain 36\\nA Song... 45\\nThe Moon 46\\nThe Fatherland 48\\nA Parable 49\\nOn the Death of a Friend s Child 51\\nAn Incident in a Railroad Car 54\\nAn Incident in the Fire at Hamburgh. 57\\nSonnets 60\\nThe Unhappy Lot of Mr. Knott 63\\nHakon s Lay 90\\nTo the Future 93\\nOut of Doors 96\\nA Reverie 98\\nIn Sadness 100\\nFarewell 102\\nA Dirge 106\\nFancies about a Rosebud 112\\nNew Year s Eve, 1844 114\\nA Mystical Ballad 120\\nOpening Poem to A Year s Life 124\\nDedication to *^A Year s Life 125\\nThrenodia. 125\\nThe Serenade 127\\nSong 132\\nThe Departed 133\\n3", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "4 CONTENTS.\\nPAGE.\\nThe Bobolink 137\\nForgetfulness. 140\\nSong 141\\nThe Poet 142\\nFlowers 143\\nThe Lover 148\\nTo E. W. G 150\\nIsabel 152\\nMusic 154\\nSong 158\\nlanthe 161\\nLove s Altar. 167\\nMy Love 168\\nWith a Pressed Flower 171\\nImpartiality 172\\nBellerophon 1 73\\nSomething Natural 178\\nThe Syrens i79\\nA Feeling 182\\nThe Beggar.... 1S3\\nSerenade 185\\nIrene 1S6\\nThe Lost Child 189\\nThe Church 190\\nThe Unlovely 192\\nLove-Song 194\\nSong 195\\nA Love-Dream i97\\nFourth of July Ode 199\\nSphmx 200\\nGoe, Little Booke, 203\\nSonnets\\nI. Disappointment 204\\nII. Great Human Nature 205\\nIII. To a Friend 205\\nIV. So may it be 260\\nV. O Child of Nature 206\\nVL For this true nobleness 207\\nVIL To 207\\nVIII. Might I but be beloved 208\\nIX. Why should we ever weary? 209", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS. 5\\nSonnets; page.\\nX. Green Mountains 209\\nXI. My Friend, adown Life s Valley 210\\nXII. Verse cannot say 210\\nXIII. The soul would fain 211\\nXIV, I saw a gate 211\\nXV. I would not have this perfect love 212\\nXVI. To the dark, narrow house 212\\nXVII. I fain would give to thee .213\\nXVIII. Much I had mused of Love 213\\nXIX. Sayest thou, most beautiful 214\\nXX. Poet, who sittest in thy pleasant room. .215\\nXXI. No more but so? 215\\nXXII. To a Voice heard in Mount Auburn 216\\nXXIII. On Reading Spenser agam 216\\nXXIV. Light of mine eyes! 217\\nXXV. Silent as one who treads 217\\nXXVI. A gentleness that grows. 218\\nXXVII. When the glad soul 218\\nXXVIII. To the Evening-Star 21Q\\nXXIX. Reading 219\\nXXX. To after a Snow-Storm 220\\nSonnets on Names:\\nL Edith 221\\nII. Rose 221\\nIII. Mary 222\\nIV. Caroline 222\\nV. Anne 223", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "POEMS.\\nAPPLEDORE.\\nHow looks Appledore in a storm?\\nI have seen it when its crags seemed frantic.\\nButting against the maddened Atlantic,\\nWhen surge after surge would heap enorme\\nCliffs of Emerald topped with snow,\\nThat lifted, and lifted and then let go\\nA great white avalanche of thunder,\\nA grinding, blinding, deafening ire\\nMonadnock might have trembled under;\\nAnd the island, whose rock-roots pierce\\nbelow\\nTo where they are warmed with the central\\nfire.\\nYou could feel its granite fibres racked,\\nAs it seemed to plunge with a shudder and\\nthrill\\nRight at the breast of the swooping hill,\\nAnd to rise again, snorting a cataract\\nOf rage-froth from every cranny and ledge,\\nWhile the sea drew its breath in hoarse and\\ndeep.\\nAnd the next vast breaker curled its edge,\\nGathering itself for a mighty leap.\\n7", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "8 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nNorth, east, and south there are reefs and\\nbreakers,\\nYou would never dream of in smooth\\nweather.\\nThat toss and gore the sea for acres,\\nBellowing and gnashing and snarling to-\\ngether\\nLook northward, where Duck Island lies,\\nAnd over its crown you will see arise,\\nAgainst a background of slaty skies,\\nA row of pillars, still and white.\\nThat glimmer and then are out of sight,\\nAs if the moon should suddenly kiss,\\nWhile you crossed the gusty desert by night,\\nThe long colonnades of Persepolis,\\nAnd then as sudden a darkness should follow\\nTo gulp the whole scene at a single swallow,\\nThe city s ghost, the drear, brown waste,\\nAnd the string of camels, clumsy-paced:\\nLook southward for White Island light,\\nThe lantern stands ninety feet o er the tide;\\nThere is first a half-mile of tumult and fight,\\nOf dash and roar and tumble and fright,\\nAnd surging bewilderment wild and wide,\\nWhere the breakers struggle left and right,\\nThen a mile or more of rushing sea.\\nAnd then the lighthouse slim and lone;\\nAnd whenever the whole weight of ocean is\\nthrown\\nFull and fair on White Island head,\\nA great mist-jotun you will see\\nLifting himself up silently\\nHigh and huge o er the lighthouse top,\\nWith hands of wavering spray outspread.", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 9\\nGroping after the little tower,\\nThat seems t shrink, and shorten and\\ncower.\\nTill the monster s arms of a sudden drop,\\nAnd silently and fruitlessly\\nHe sinks again into the sea.\\nYou, meanwhile, where drenched you stand,\\nAwaken once more to the rush and roar\\nAnd on the rock-point tighten your hand,\\nAs you turn and see a valley deep,\\nThat was not there a moment before,\\nSuck rattling down between you and a heap\\nOf toppling billow, whose instant fall\\nMust sink the whole island once for all\\nOr watch the silenter, stealthier seas\\nFeeling their way to you more and more;\\nIf they once should clutch you high as the\\nknees\\nThey would whirl you down like a sprig of\\nkelp.\\nBeyond all reach of hope or help\\nAnd such in a storm is Appledore.\\nTO THE DANDELION.\\nDear common flower, that grow st beside the\\nway,\\nFringing the dusty road with harmless gold,\\nFirst pledge of blithesome May,\\nWhich children pluck, and, full of pride, up-\\nhold,\\nHigh-hearted buccaneers, o erjoyed that they", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "10 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAn Eldorado in the grass have found,\\nWhich not the rich earth s amble round\\nMay match in wealth thou art more dear to\\nme\\nThan all the prouder Summer-blooms may be.\\nGold such as thine ne*er drew the Spanish prow\\nThough the primeval hush of Indian seas,\\nNor wrinkled the lean brow\\nOf age, to rob the lover s heart of ease;\\nTis the Spring s largess, which she scatters\\nnow\\nTo rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,\\nThrough most hearts never understand\\nTo take it at God s value, but pass by\\nThe offered wealth with unrewarded eye.\\nThou art my tropics and mine Italy;\\nTo look at thee unlocks a warmer clime\\nThe eyes thou givest me\\nAre in the heart, and heed not space or time\\nNot in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee\\nPeels a more Summer-like, warm ravishment\\nIn the white lily s breezy tent.\\nHis fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first\\nFrom the dark green thy yellow circles burst.\\nThen think I of deep shadows in the grass.\\nOf meadows where in sun the cattle graze.\\nWhere, as the breezes pass.\\nThe gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,\\nOf leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass.\\nOr whiten in the wind, of waters blue\\nThat from the distance sparkle through", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 11\\nSome woodland gap, and of a sky above\\nWhere one white cloud like a stray lamb doth\\nmove.\\nMy childhood s earliest thoughts are linked\\nwith thee\\nThe sight of thee calls back the robin s song^\\nW^ho from the dark old tree\\nBeside the door, sang clearly all day long,\\nAnd I, secure in childish piety,\\nListened as if I heard an angel sing\\nWith news from Heaven, which he did bring\\nFresh every day to my untainted ears,\\nWhen birds and flowers and I were happy\\npeers.\\nThou art the type of those meek charities\\nWhich make up half the nobleness of life,\\nThose cheap delights the wise\\nPluck from the dusty wayside of earth s strife;\\nWords of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes,\\nLove s smallest coin, which yet to some may\\ngive\\nThe morsel that may keep alive\\nA starving heart, and teach it to behold\\nSome glimpse of God where all before was\\ncold.\\nThy winged seeds, whereof the winds take\\ncare,\\nAre like the words of poet and of sage\\nWhich through the free heaven fare.\\nAnd, now unheeded, in another age\\nTake root, and to the gladdened future bear", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "12 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThat witness which the present would not\\nheed,\\nBringing forth many a thought and deed,\\nAnd, planted safely in the eternal sky.\\nBloom into stars which earth is guided by.\\nFull of deep love thou art, yet not more full\\nThan all thy common brethren of the ground,\\nWherein, were we not dull,\\nSome words of highest wisdom might be found\\nYet earnest faith from day to day may cull\\nSome syllables, which, rightly joined, can\\nmake\\nA spell to soothe life s bitterest ache,\\nAnd ope Heaven s portals, which are near us\\nstill,\\nYea, nearer ever than the gates of 111.\\nHow like a prodigal doth nature seem.\\nWhen thou, for all thy gold, so common art!\\nThou teachest me to deem\\nMore sacredly of every human heart,\\nSince each reflects in joy its scanty gleam\\nOf Heaven, and could some wondrous secret\\nshow.\\nDid we but pay the love we owe.\\nAnd with a child s undoubting wisdom look\\nOn all these living pages of God s book.\\nBut let me read thy lesson right or no.\\nOf one good gift from thee my heart is sure;\\nOld I shall never grow\\nWhile thou each year dost come to keep me\\npure", "height": "2896", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 13\\nWith leg-ends of my childhood ah, we owe\\nWell more than half life s holiness to these\\nNature s first holy influences,\\nAt thought of which the heart s glad doors\\nburst ope,\\nIn dreariest days, to welcome peace and hope.\\nDARA.\\nWhen Persia s sceptre trembled in a hand\\nWilted by harem-heats, and all the land\\nWas hovered over by those vulture ills\\nThat snuff decaying empire from afar,\\nThen, with a nature balanced as a star,\\nDara arose, a shepherd of the hills.\\nHe, who had governed fleecy subjects well,\\nMade his own village, by the self-same spell.\\nSecure and peaceful as a guarded fold.\\nTill, gathering strength by slow and wise\\ndegrees.\\nUnder his sway, to neighbor villages\\nOrder returned, and faith and justice old.\\nNow, when it fortuned that a king more wise\\nEndued the realm with brain and hands and\\neyes,\\nHe sought on every side men brave and just.\\nAnd having heard the mountain-shepherd s\\npraise.\\nHow he rendered the mould of elder days.\\nTo Dara gave a satrapy in trust.", "height": "2886", "width": "1804", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "14 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSo Dara shepherded a province wide,\\nNor in his viceroy s sceptre took more pride\\nThan in his crook before; but Envy finds\\nMore soil in cities than on mountains bare,\\nAnd the frank sun of spirits clear and rare\\nBreeds poisonous fogs in low and marish\\nminds.\\nSoon it was whispered at the royal ear\\nThat, though wise Dara s province, year by\\nyear,\\nLike a great sponge, drew wealth and plenty\\nup,\\nYet, when he squeezed it at the king s behest,\\nSome golden drops, more rich than all the rest.\\nWent to the filling of his private cup.\\nFor proof, they said that wheresoe er he went\\nA chest, beneath whose weight the camel bent,\\nWent guarded, and no other eye had seen\\nWhat was therein, save only Dara s own.\\nYet, when twas opened, all his tent was known\\nTo glow and lighten with heapt jewels\\nsheen.\\nThe king set forth for Dara s province straight,\\nWhere, as was fit, outside his city s gate\\nThat viceroy met him with a stately train\\nAnd there, with archers circled, close at hand,\\nA camel with the chest was seen to stand\\nThe king grew red, for thus the guilt was\\nplain.", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 15\\n**Open me now, he cried, yon treasure-\\nchest!\\nTwas done, and only a worn shepherd s vest\\nWas found within some blushed and hung\\nthe head,\\nNot Dara open as the sky s blue roof\\nHe stood, and **0, my lord, behold the proof\\nThat I was worthy of my trust! he said.\\nFor ruling men, lo! all the charm I had;\\nMy soul, in those coarse vestments ever clad.\\nStill to the unstained past kept true and leal.\\nStill on these plains could breathe her mountain\\nair.\\nAnd Fortune s heaviest gifts serenely bear.\\nWhich bend men from the truth, and make\\nthem reeL\\n**To govern wisely I had shown small skill\\nWere I not lord of simple Dara still\\nThat sceptre kept, I cannot lose my way!\\nStrange dew in royal eyes grew round and\\nbright\\nAnd thrilled the trembling lids; before twas\\nnight\\nTwo added provinces blessed Dara s sway.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "16 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTO J. F. H.\\nNine years have slipped like hovir-glass sand\\nFrom life s fast emptying globe away,\\nSince last, dear friend, I clasped your hand,\\nAnd lingered on the impoverished land.\\nWatching the steamer down the bay.\\nI held the keepsake which you gave.\\nUntil the dim smoke-pennon curled\\nO er the vague rim tween sky and wave,\\nAnd closed the distance like a grave,\\nLeaving me to the outer world\\nThe old worn world of hurry and heat,\\nThe young, fresh world of thought and scope\\nWhile you, where silent surges fleet\\nTow rd far sky beaches still and swept,\\nSunk wavering down the ocean-slope.\\nCome back our ancient walks to tread,\\nOld haunts of lost or scattered friends.\\nAmid the Muses factories red.\\nWhere song, and smoke, and laughter sped\\nThe nights to proctor-hunted ends.\\nOur old familiars are not laid,\\nThough snapped our wands and sunk our\\nbooks,", "height": "2860", "width": "1785", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 17,\\nThey beckon, not to be gainsaid,\\nWhere, round broad meads which mowers wade,\\nSmooth Charles his steel-blue sickle crooks;\\nWhere, as the cloudbergs eastward blow,\\nFrom glow to gloom the hillside shifts\\nIts lakes of rye that surge and flow,\\nIts plumps of orchard-trees arow.\\nIts snowy white-weeds summer drifts.\\nOr let us to Nantasket, there\\nTo wander idly as we list.\\nWhether, on rocky hillocks bare.\\nSharp cedar-points, like breakers, tear\\nThe trailing fringes of gray mist.\\nOr whether, under skies clear-blown.\\nThe heightening surfs with foamy din,\\nTheir breeze-caught forelocks backward blown\\nAgainst old Neptune s yellow zone,\\nCurl slow, and plunge forever in.\\nFor years thrice three, wise Horace said,\\nA poem rare let silence bind;\\nAnd love may ripen in the shade.\\nLike ours, for nine long seasons laid\\nIn crypts and arches of the mind.\\nThat right Falernian friendship old\\nWill we, to grace our feast, call up,\\nAnd freely pour the juice of gold.\\nThat keeps life s pulses warm and bold,\\nTill Death shall break the empty cup.\\n2 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "18 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nPROMETHEUS.\\nOne after one the stars have risen and set,\\nSparkling upon the hoarfrost on my chain:\\nThe Bear that prowled all night about the fold\\nOf the North-Star, hath shrunk into his den,\\nScared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn,\\nWhose blushing smile floods all the Orient\\nAnd now bright Lucifer grows less and less.\\nInto the heaven s blue quiet deep withdrawn.\\nSunless and starless all, the desert sky\\nArches above me, empty as this heart\\nFor ages hath been empty of all joy\\nExcept to brood upon its silent hope,\\nAs o er its hope of day the sky doth now.\\nAll night have I heard voices: deeper yet\\nThe deep, low breathing of the silence grew,\\nWhile all about, muffled in awe, there stood\\nShadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at heart,\\nBut, when I turned to front them, far along\\nOnly a shudder through the midnight ran,\\nAnd the dense stillness walled me closer round,\\nBut still I heard them wander up and down\\nThat solitude, and flappings of dusk wings\\nDid mingle with them, whether of those hags\\nLet slip upon me once from Hades deep,\\nOr of yet direr torments, if such be,\\nI could but guess; and then toward me came\\nA shape as of a woman very pale", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 19\\nIt was, and calm its cold eyes did not move.\\nAnd mine moved not, but only stared on them\\nTheir moveless awe went through my brain\\nlike ice;\\nA skeleton hand seemed clutching at my hearty\\nAnd a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog-\\nSuddenly closed me in, was all I felt:\\nAnd then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh,\\nA long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips\\nStiffening in death, close to mine ear. I\\nthought\\nSome doom was close upon me, and I looked\\nAnd saw the red moon through the heavy mist.\\nJust setting, and it seemed as it were falling.\\nOr reeling to its fall, so dim and dead\\nAnd palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds\\nmerged\\nInto the rising surges of the pines.\\nWhich, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt\\nloins\\nOf ancient Caucasus with hairy strength,\\nSent up a murmur in the morning-wind.\\nSad as the wail that from the populous earth\\nAll day and night to high Olympus soars.\\nFit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove.\\nThy hated name is tossed once more in scorn\\nFrom off my lips, for I will tell thy doom.\\nAnd are these tears? Nay, do no triumph,\\nJove!\\nThey are wrung from me but by the agonies\\nOf prophecy, like those sparse drops which fall\\nFrom clouds in travail of the lightning, when", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "20 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThe great wave of the storm, high-curled and\\nblack,\\nRolls steadily onward to its thunderous break.\\nWhy art thou made a god of, thou poor type\\nOf anger, and revenge, and cunning force?\\nTrue Power was never born of brutish Strength,\\nNor sweet Truth suckled at the shaggy dugs\\nOf that old she-wolf. Are they thunderbolts.\\nThat scare the darkness for a space, so strong\\nAs the prevailing patience of meek Light,\\nWho, with the invincible tenderness of peace,\\nWins it to be a portion of herself?\\nWhy art thou made a god of, thou, who hast\\nThe never-sleeping terror at thy heart.\\nThat birthright of all tyrants, worse to bear\\nThan this thy ravening bird on which I\\nsmile?\\nThou swear st to free me, if I will unfold\\nWhat kind of doom it is whose omen flits,\\nAcross thy heart, as o er a troop of doves\\nThe fearful shadow of the kite. What need\\nTo know that truth whose knowledge cannot\\nsave?\\nEvil its errand hath, as well as Good\\nWhen thine is finished, thou art known no\\nmore:\\nThere is a higher purity than thou.\\nAnd higher purity is greater strength;\\nThy nature is thy doom, at which thy heart\\nTrembles behind the thick wall of thy might.\\nLet man but hope, and thou art straightway\\nchilled\\nWith thought of that drear silence and deep\\nnight", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 21\\nWhich, like a dream, shall swallow thee and\\nthine\\nLet man but will, and thou art god no more\\nMore capable of ruin than the gold\\nAnd ivory that image thee on earth.\\nHe who hurled down the monstrous Titan-\\nbrood\\nBlinded with lightnings, with rough thunders\\nstunned,\\nIs weaker than a simple human thought.\\nMy slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze,\\nThat seems but apt to stir a maiden s hair,\\nSways huge Oceanus from pole to pole\\nFor I am still Prometheus, and foreknow\\nIn my wise heart the end and doom of all.\\nYes, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown\\nBy years of solitude that holds apart\\nThe past and future, giving the soul room\\nTo search into itself and long commune\\nWith this eternal silence more a god\\nIn my long-suffering and strength to meet\\nWith equal front the direst shafts of fate.\\nThan thou in thy faint-hearted despotism,\\nGirt with thy baby-toys of force and wrath.\\nYes, I am that Prometheus who brought down\\nThe light to man which thou in selfish fear\\nHad St to thyself usurped his by sole right,\\nFor Man hath right to all save Tyranny\\nAnd which shall free him yet from thy frail\\nthrone.\\nTyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance,\\nBegotten by the slaves they trample on,\\nWho, could they win a glimmer of the light,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "22 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAnd see that Tyranny is always weakness,\\nOr Fear with its own bosom ill at ease,\\nWould laugh away in scorn the sand-wove chain\\nWhich their own blindness feigned for adamant.\\nWrong ever builds on quicksands, but the Right\\nTo the firm center lays its moveless base.\\nThe tyrant trembles if the air but stirs\\nThe innocent ringlets of a child s free hair,\\nAnd crouches, when the thought of some great\\nspirit,\\nWith world-wide murmur, like a rising gale.\\nOver men s hearts, as over standing corn.\\nRushes, and bends them to its own strong will.\\nSo shall some thought of mine yet circle earth\\nAnd puff away thy crumbling altars, Jove.\\nAnd, would St thou know of my supreme re-\\nvenge.\\nPoor tyrant, even now dethroned in heart,\\nRealmless in soul, as tyrants ever are.\\nListen and tell me if this bitter peak.\\nThis never-glutted vulture, and these chains\\nShrink not before it; for it shall befit\\nA sorrow-taught, unconquered Titan-heart.\\nMen, when their death is on them, seem to\\nstand\\nOn a precipitous crag that overhangs\\nThe abyss of doom, and in that depth to see,\\nAs in a glass, the features dim and huge\\nOf things to come, the shadows, as it seems,\\nOf what have been. Death ever fronts the\\nwise.\\nNot fearfully, but with clear promises\\nOf larger life, on whose broad vans upborne,\\nTheir out-look widens, and they see beyond", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 23\\nThe horizon of the Present and the Past,\\nEven to the very source and end of things.\\nSuch am I now immortal woe hath made\\nMy heart a seer, and my soul a judge\\nBetween the substance and the shadow of\\nTruth.\\nThe sure supremeness of the Beautiful,\\nBy all the martyrdoms made doubly sure\\nOf such as I am, this is my revenge.\\nWhich of my wrongs builds a triumphal arch,\\nThrough which I see a scepter and a throne.\\nThe pipings of glad shepherds on the hills,\\nTending the flocks no more to bleed for thee\\nThe songs of maidens pressing with white\\nfeet\\nThe vintage of thine altars poured no more\\nThe murmurous bliss of lovers, underneath\\nDim grape-vine bowers, whose rosy bunches\\npress\\nNot half so closely their warm cheeks, un-\\nscared\\nBy thoughts of thy brute lusts the hive-like\\nhum\\nOf peaceful commonwealths, where sunburnt\\nToil\\nReaps for itself the rich earth made its own,\\nBy its own labor, lightened with glad hymns\\nTo an omnipotence which thy mad bolts\\nWould cope with as a spark with the vast sea,\\nEven the spirit of free love and peace,\\nDuty s sure recompense through life and\\ndeath\\nThese are such harvests as all master-spirits\\nReap, haply not on earth, but reap no less", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "24 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBecause their sheaves are bound by hands not\\ntheirs\\nThese are the bloodless daggers wherewithal\\nThey stab fallen tyrants, this their high re-\\nvenge:\\nFor their best part of life on earth is when,\\nLong after death, prisoned and pent no more,\\nTheir thoughts, their wild dreams even, have\\nbecome\\nPart of the necessary air men breathe;\\nWhen, like the moon, herself behind a cloud.\\nThey shed down light before us on life s sea,\\nThat cheers us to steer onward still in hope.\\nEarth with her twining memories ivies o er\\nTheir holy sepulchres, the chainless sea\\nIn tempest or wide calm repeats their thoughts,\\nThe lightning and the thunder, all free things,\\nHave legends of them for the ears of men.\\nAll other glories are as falling stars,\\nBut universal Nature watches theirs;\\nSuch strength is won by love of human kind.\\nNot that I feel that hunger after fame,\\nWhich souls of a half-greatness are beset with;\\nBut that the memory of noble deeds\\nCries shame upon the idle and the vile.\\nAnd keeps the heart ot Man forever up\\nTo the heroic level of old time.\\nTo be forgot at first is little pain\\nTo a heart conscious of such high intent\\nAs must be deathless on the lips of men;\\nBut, having been a name, to sink and be\\nA something which the world can do without,\\nWhich, having been or not, would never change", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 25\\nThe lightest pulse of fate this is indeed\\nA cup of bitterness the worse to taste,\\nAnd this thy heart shall empty to the dregs.\\nOblivion is lonelier than this peak\\nBehold thy destiny! Thou think st it much\\nThat I should brave thee, miserable god!\\nBut I have braved a mightier than thou,\\nEven the temptings of this soaring heart\\nWhich might have made me, scarcely less than\\nthou,\\nA god among thy brethren weak and blind\\nScarce less than thou, a pitiable thing.\\nTo be down-trodden into darkness soon.\\nBut now I am above thee, for thou art\\nThe bungling workmanship of fear, the block\\nThat scarce the swart Barbarian but I\\nAm what myself have made, a nature wise\\nWith finding in itself the types of all,\\nWith watching from the dim verge of the\\ntime\\nWhat things to be are visible in the leams\\nThrown forward on them from the luminous\\npast\\nWise with the history of its own frail heart,\\nWith reverence and sorrow, and with love\\nBroad as the world for freedom and for man.\\nThou and all strength shall crumble, except\\nLove,\\nBy whom and for whose glory ye shall cease\\nAnd, when thou art but a dim moaning heard\\nFrom out the pitiless glooms of Chaos, I\\nShall be a power and a memory,\\nA name to scare all tyrants with, a light", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "26 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nUnsetting as the the pole-star, a great voice\\nHeard in the breathless pauses of the fight\\nBy truth and freedom ever waged with wrong,\\nClear as a silver trumpet, to awake\\nHuge echoes that from age to age live on\\nIn kindred spirits, giving them a sense\\nOf boundless power from boundless suffering\\nwrung.\\nAnd many a glazing eye shall smile to see\\nThe memory of my triumph (for to meet\\nWrong with endurance, and to overcome\\nThe present with a heart that looks beyond,\\nAre triumph), like a prophet eagle, perch\\nUpon the sacred banner of the right.\\nEvil springs up, and flowers, and bears no\\nseed.\\nAnd feeds the green earth with its swift\\ndecay,\\nLeaving it richer for the growth of truth\\nBut Good, once put in action or in thought,\\nLike a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed\\ndown\\nThe ripe germs of a forest. Thou, weak god,\\nShalt fade and be forgotten but this soul,\\nFresh-living still in the serene abyss,\\nIn every heaving shall partake, that grows\\nFrom heart to heart among the sons of men\\nAs the ominous hum before the earthquake\\nruns\\nFar through the ^gean from roused isle to\\nisle\\nForeboding wreck to palaces and shrines,\\nAnd mighty rents in many a cavernous error", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 2T\\nThat darkens the free light to man: This\\nheart\\nUnscarred by the grim vulture, as the truth\\nGrows but more lovely neath the beaks and\\nclaws\\nOf Harpies blind that fain would soil it, shall\\nIn all the throbbing exultations share\\nThat wait on freedom s triumphs, and in all\\nThe glorious agonies of martyr-spirits\\nSharp lightning-throes to split the jagged\\nclouds\\nThat veil the future, showing them the end\\nPain s thorny crown for constancy and truth,\\nGirding the temples like a wreath of stars.\\nThis is a thought, that, like the fable laurel.\\nMakes my faith thunder-proof, and thy dread\\nbolts\\nFall on me like the silent flakes of snow\\nOn the hoar brows of an aged Caucasus\\nBut, O thought far more blissful, they can\\nrend\\nThis cloud of flesh, and make my soul a star I\\nUnleash thy crouching thunders now, O Jove I\\nFree this high heart which, a poor captive\\nlong.\\nDoth knock to be let forth, this heart which\\nstill,\\nIn its invincible manhood, overtops\\nThy puny godship as this mountain doth\\nThe pines that moss its roots. O even now.\\nWhile from my peak of suffering I look down^\\nBeholding with a far-spread gush of hope\\nThe sunrise of that Beauty in whose face,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "^8 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nShone all around with love, no man shall look\\nBut straightway like a god he is uplift\\nUnto the throne long empty for his sake,\\nAnd clearly oft foreshadowed in wide dreams\\nBy his free inward nature, which nor thou,\\nNor any anarch after thee, can bind\\nFrom working its great doom now, now set\\nfree\\nThis essence, not to die, but to become\\nPart of that awful Presence which doth haunt\\nThe palaces of tyrants, to scare off,\\nWith its grim eyes and fearful whisperings\\nAnd hideous sense of utter loneliness.\\nAll hope of safety, all desire of peace.\\nAll but the loathed forefeelings of blank\\ndeath\\nPart of that spirit which doth ever brood\\nIn patient calm on the unpilfered nest\\nOf man s deep heart, till mighty thoughts\\ngrow fledged\\nTo sail with darkening shadow o er the world.\\nUntil they swoop, and their pale quarry make\\nOf some o erbloated wrong that spirit which\\nScatters great hopes in the seed-field of man,\\nLike acorns among grain, to grow and be\\nA roof of freedom in all coming time.\\nBut no, this cannot be for ages yet,\\nIn solitude unbroken, shall I hear\\nThe angry Caspian to the Euxine shout,\\nAnd Euxine answer with a muffled roar.\\nOn either side storming the giant walls\\nOf Caucasus with leagues of climbing foam,", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 29\\n(Less, from my height, than flakes of downy-\\nsnow),\\nThat draw back baffled but to hurl again,\\nSnatched up in wrath and horrible turmoil.\\nMountain on mountain, as the Titans erst.\\nMy brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove,\\nHeaved Pelion upon Ossa s shoulders broad.\\nIn vain emprise. The moon will come and go\\nWith her monotonous vicissitudes;\\nOnce beautiful, when I was free to walk\\nAmong my fellows and to interchange\\nThe influence benign of loving eyes,\\nBut now by aged use grown wearisome\\nFalse thought! most false! for how could I\\nendure\\nThese crawling centuries of lonely woe\\nUnshamed by weak complaining, but for thee,\\nLoneliest, save me, of all created things,\\nMild-eyed Astarte, my best comforter.\\nWith the pale smile of sad benignity?\\nYear after year will pass away and seem\\nTo me, in mine eternal agony,\\nBut as the shadows of dumb summer-clouds,\\nWhich I have watched so often darkening-\\no er\\nThe vast Sarmatian plain, league- wide at first,\\nBut, with still swiftness, lessening on and on\\nTill cloud and shadow meet and mingle where\\nThe gray horizon fades into the sky,\\nFar, far to northward. Yes, for ages yet\\nMust I lie here upon my altar huge,\\nA sacrifice for man. Sorrow will be,\\nAs it hath been, his portion; endless doom,\\nWhile the immortal with the mortal linked", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "30 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nDreams of its wings and pines for what it\\ndreams\\nWith upward yearn unceasing. Better so\\nFor wisdom is meek sorrow s patient child,\\nAnd empire over self, and all the deep\\nStrong charities that make men seem like gods;\\nAnd love, that makes them be gods, from her\\nbreasts\\nSucks in the milk that makes mankind one\\nblood.\\nGood never comes unmixed, or so it seems,\\nHaving two faces, as some images\\nAre carved, of foolish gods; one face is ill.\\nBut one heart lies beneath, and that is good,\\nAs are all hearts, when we explore their depths.\\nTherefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but\\ntype\\nOf what all lofty spirits endure, that fain\\nWould win men back to strength and peace\\nthrough love\\nEach hath his lonely peak, and on each heart\\nEnvy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong\\nWith vulture beak yet the high soul is left.\\nAnd faith, which is but hope grown wise, and\\nlove.\\nAnd patience which at last shall overcome.\\nCambridge, Mass., June, 1843.", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 31\\nROSALINE.\\nThou look d st on me all yesternight,\\nThine eyes were blue, thy hair was bright\\nAs when we murmured our trothplight\\nBeneath the thick stars, Rosaline\\nThy hair was braided on thy head\\nAs on the day we two were wed,\\nMine eyes scarce knew if thou wert dead\\nBut my shrunk heart knew, Rosaline\\nThe deathwatch tickt behind the wall,\\nThe blackness rustled like a pall,\\nThe moaning wind did rise and fall\\nAmong the bleak pines, Rosaline\\nMy heart beat thickly in mine ears\\nThe lids may shut out fleshly fears,\\nBut still the spirit sees and hears,\\nIts eyes are lidless, Rosaline!\\nA wildness rushing suddenly,\\nA knowing some ill shape is nigh,\\nA wish for death, a fear to die\\nIs not this vengeance, Rosaline\\nA loneliness that is not lone,\\nA love quite withered up and gone,\\nA strong soul trampled from its throne\\nWhatwould st thou further, Rosaline!", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "32 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTis lone such moonless nights as these.\\nStrange sounds are out upon the breeze,\\nAnd the leaves shiver in the trees,\\nAnd then thou comest, Rosaline!\\nI seem to hear the mourners go,\\nWith long black garments trailing slow,\\nAnd plumes anodding to and fro,\\nAs once I heard them, Rosaline!\\nThy shroud it is of snowy white,\\nAnd, in the middle of the night.\\nThou standest moveless and upright,\\nGazing upon me, Rosaline\\nThere is no sorrov\\\\r in thine eyes.\\nBut evermore that meek surprise\\nOh, God! her gentle spirit tries\\nTo deem me guiltless, Rosaline!\\nAbove thy grave the Robin sings.\\nAnd swarms of bright and happy things\\nFlit all about with sunlit v/ings\\nBut I am cheerless, Rosaline!\\nThe violets on the hillock toss.\\nThe gravestone is o ergrown with moss,\\nFor nature feels not any loss\\nBut I am cheerless, Rosaline\\nAh! why wert thou so lowly bred?\\nWhy was my pride galled on to wed\\nHer who brought lands and gold instead\\nOf thy heart s treasure, Rosaline!\\nWhy did I fear to let thee stay\\nTo look on me and pass away\\nForgivingly, as in its May,\\nA broken flower, Rosaline!", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 33\\nI thought not, when my dagger strook,\\nOf thy blue eyes; I could not brook\\nThe past all pleading in one look\\nOf utter sorrow, Rosaline\\nI did not know when thou wert dead\\nA blackbird whistling overhead\\nThrilled through my brain I would have fled\\nBut dared not leave thee, Rosaline!\\nA low, low moan, a light twig stirred\\nBy the upspringing of a bird,\\nA drip of blood were all I heard\\nThen deathly stillness, Rosaline!\\nThe sun rolled down, and very soon,\\nLike a great fire, the awful moon\\nRose, stained with blood, and then a swoon\\nCrept chilly o er me, Rosaline!\\nThe stars came out; and, one by one,\\nEach angel from his silver throne\\nLooked down and saw what I had done\\nI dared not hide me, Rosaline\\nI crouched I feared thy corpse would cry\\nAgainst me to God s quiet sky,\\nI thought I saw the blue lips try\\nTo utter something, Rosaline\\nI waited with a maddened grin\\nTo hear that voice all icy thin\\nSlide forth and tell my deadly sin\\nTo hell and Heaven, Rosaline!\\nBut no voice came, and then it seemed\\nThat if the very corpse had screamed\\nThe sound like sunshine glad had streamed\\nThrough that dark stillness, Rosaline\\nS Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "34 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nDreams of old quiet glimmered by,\\nAnd faces loved in infancy-\\nCame and looked on me mournfully,\\nTill my heart melted, Rosaline\\nI saw my mother s dying bed,\\nI heard her bless me, and I shed\\nCool tears but lo! the ghastly dead\\nStared me to madness, Rosaline\\nAnd then amid the silent night\\nI screamed with horrible delight,\\nAnd in my brain an awful light\\nDid seem to crackle, Rosaline\\nIt is my curse! sweet mem ries fall\\nFrom me like snow and only all\\nOf that one night, like cold worms crawl\\nMy doomed heart over, Rosaline\\nThine eyes are shut: they nevermore\\nWill leap thy gentle words before\\nTo tell the secret o er and o er\\nThou could st not smother, Rosaline!\\nThine eyes are shut they will not shine\\nWith happy tears, or, through the vine\\nThat hid thy casement, beam on mine\\nSunfull with gladness, Rosaline!\\nThy voice I nevermore shall hear,\\nWhich in old times did seem so dear,\\nThat, ere it trembled in mine ear.\\nMy quick heart heard it, Rosaline\\nWould I might die I were as well,\\nAy, better, at my home in Hell,\\nTo set for aye a burning spell\\nTwixt me and memory, Rosaline", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 35\\nWhy wilt thou haunt me with thine eyes,\\nWherein such blessed memories,\\nSuch pitying forgiveness lies,\\nThan hate more bitter, Rosaline!\\nWoe s me! I know that love so high\\nAs thine, true soul, could never die,\\nAnd with mean clay in church-yard lie\\nWould God it were so, Rosaline\\nSONNET.\\nIf some small savor creep into my rhyme\\nOf the old poets, if some words I use.\\nNeglected long, which have the lusty thews\\nOf that gold-haired and earnest-hearted time,\\nWhose loving joy and sorrow all sublime\\nHave given our tongue its starry eminence,\\nIt is not pride, God knows, but reverence\\nWhich hath grown in me since my childhood s\\nprime;\\nWherein I feel that my poor lyre is strung\\nWith soul- strings like to theirs, and that I have\\nNo right to muse their holy graves among.\\nIf I can be a custom-fettered slave.\\nAnd, in mine own true spirit, am not brave\\nTo speak what rusheth upward to my tongue.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "36 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nA GLANCE BEHIND THE CURTAIN.\\nWe see but half the causes of our deeds,\\nSeeking them wholly in the outer life,\\nAnd heedless of the encircling spirit\u00c2\u00b0world\\nWhich, though unseen, is felt, and sows in us\\nAll germs of pure and world-wide purposes.\\nFrom one stage of our being to the next\\nWe pass unconscious o er a slender bridge,\\nThe momentary work of unseen hands,\\nWhich crumbles down behind us looking back,\\nWe see the other shore, the gulf between.\\nAnd, marveling how we won to where we stand,\\nContent ourselves to call the builder Chance.\\nWe trace the wisdom to the apple s fall,\\nNot to the soul of Newton, ripe with all\\nThe hoarded thoughtfulness of earnest years,\\nAnd waiting but one ray of sunlight more\\nTo blossom fully.\\nBut whence came that ray?\\nWe call our sorrows destiny, but ought\\nRather to name our high successes so.\\nOnly the instincts of great souls are Fate,\\nAnd have predestined sway: all other things.\\nExcept by leave of us, could never be.\\nFor Destiny is but the breath of God\\nStill moving in us, the last fragment left\\nOf our unfallen nature, waking oft", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POE?vIS. 37\\nWithin our thought to beckon us beyond\\nThe narrow circle of the seen and known,\\nAnd always tending- to a noble end,\\nA.S all things must that overrule the soul.\\nAnd for a space unseat the helmsman, Will.\\nThe fate of England and of freedom once\\nSeemed wavering in the heart of one plain\\nman:\\nOne step of his, and the great dial-hand\\nThat marks the destined progress of the world\\nIn the eternal round from wisdom on\\nTo higher wisdom, had been made to pause\\nA hundred years. That step he did not take\\nHe knew not why, nor we, but only God\\nAnd lived to make his simple oaken chair\\nMore terrible and grandly beautiful.\\nMore full of majesty, than any throne,\\nBefore or after, of a British king.\\nUpon the pier stood two stern-visaged men,\\nLooking to where a little craft lay moored.\\nSwayed by the lazy current of the Thames\\nWhich weltered by in muddy listlessness.\\nGrave men they wxre, and battlings of fierce\\nthought\\nHad scared away all softness from their brows.\\nAnd ploughed rough furrows there before their\\ntime.\\nCare, not of self, but of the common weal.\\nHad robbed their eyes of youth, and left instead\\nA look of patient power and iron will,\\nAnd something fiercer, too, that gave broad\\nhint\\nOf the plain weapons girded at their sides.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "38 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThe younger had an aspect of command\\nNot such as trickles down, a slender stream,\\nIn the shrunk channel of a great descent\\nBut such as lies entowered in heart and head,\\nAnd an arm prompt to do the hests of both.\\nHis was a brow where gold were out of place.\\nAnd yet it seemed right worthy of a crown\\n(Though he despised such), were it only made\\nOf iron, or some serviceable stuff\\nThat would have matched his sinewy brown\\nface.\\nThe elder, although such he hardly seemed\\n(Care makes so little of some five short years),\\nBore a clear, honest face, where scholarship\\nHad mildened somewhat of its rougher\\nstrength.\\nTo sober courage, such as best befits\\nThe unsullied temper of a well-taught mind,\\nYet left it so as one could plainly guess\\nThe pent volcano smouldering underneath.\\nHe spoke: the other, hearing, kept his gaze\\nStill fixed, as on some problem in the sky.\\n**0, Cromwell, we are fallen on evil times!\\nThere was a day when England had wide room\\nFor honest men as well as foolish kings\\nBut now the uneasy stomach of the time\\nTurns squeamish at them both. Therefore,\\nlet us\\nSeek out that savage clime where men as yet\\nAre free there sleeps the vessel on the tide.\\nHer languid sails but drooping for the wind\\nAll things are fitly cared for, and the Lord\\nWill watch as kindly o er the Exodus", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 39\\nOf us His servants now, as in old time.\\nWe have no cloud or fire, and haply we\\nMay not pass dryshod through the ocean-\\nstream\\nBut, saved or lost, all things are in His hand.\\nSo spake he, and meantime the other stood\\nWith wide, grey eyes still reading the blank\\nair.\\nAs if upon the sky s blue wall he saw\\nSome mystic sentence written by a hand\\nSuch as of old did scare the Assyrian king.\\nGirt with his satraps in the blazing feast.\\nHampden, a moment since, my purpose was\\nTo fly with thee\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for I will call it flight,\\nNor flatter it with any smoother name\\nBut something in me bids me not to go;\\nAnd I am one, thou knowest, who, unscared\\nBy what the weak deem omens, yet give heed\\nAnd reverence due to whatsoe er my soul\\nWhispers of warning to the inner ear.\\nWhy should we fly? Nay, why not rather stay\\nAnd rear again our Zion s crumbled walls.\\nNot as of old the walls of Thebes were built\\nBy minstrel twanging, but, if need should be,\\nWith the more potent music of our swords?\\nThink st thou that score of men beyond the\\nsea\\nClaim more God s care than all of England\\nhere?\\nNo: when He moves His arm, it is to aid\\nWhole peoples, heedless if a few be crushed,\\nAs some are ever when the destiny\\nOf man takes one stride onward nearer home", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "40 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBelieve it, tis the mass of men He loves,\\nAnd where there is most sorrow and most want.\\nWhere the high heart of man is trodden down\\nThe most, tis not because He hides His face\\nFrom them in wrath, as purblind teachers\\nprate\\nNot so there most is He, for there is He\\nMost needed. Men who seek for Fate abroad\\nAre not so near His heart as they who dare\\nFrankly to face her where she faces them.\\nOn their own threshold, where their souls are\\nstrong\\nTo grapple with and throw her, as I once.\\nBeing yet a boy, did throw this puny king,\\nWho now has grown so dotard as to deem\\nThat he can wrestle with an angry realm.\\nAnd throw the brawned Antaeus of men s\\nrights.\\nNo, Hampden they have half-way conquered\\nFate\\nWho go half-way to meet her as will I.\\nFreedom hath yet a work for me to do\\nSo speaks that inward voice which never yet\\nSpake falsely, when it urged the spirit on\\nTo noble deeds for country and mankind.\\nWhat should we do in that small colony\\nOf pinched fanatics, who would rather choose\\nFreedom to clip an inch more from their hair\\nThan the great chance of setting England free?\\nNot there amid the stormy wilderness\\nShould we learn wisdom or, if learned, what\\nroom\\nTo put it into act else worse than naught?", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 41\\nWe learn our souls more, tossing for an hour\\nUpon this huge and ever vexed sea\\nOf human thought, where kingdoms go to\\nwreck\\nLike fragile bubbles yonder in the stream,\\nThan in a cycle of New England sloth,\\nBroke only by some petty Indian war,\\nOr quarrel for a letter, more or less.\\nIn some hard word, which, spelt in either way,\\nNot their most learned clerks can understand.\\nNew times demand new measures and new\\nmen;\\nThe world advances, and in time outgrows\\nThe laws that in our father s day were best;\\nAnd, doubtless, after us, some purer scheme\\nWill be shaped out by wiser men than we,\\nMade wiser by the steady growth of truth.\\nWe cannot bring Utopia at once\\nBut better almost be at work in sin\\nThan in a brute inaction browse and sleep.\\nNo man is born into the world whose work\\nIs not born with him; there is always work,\\nAnd tools to work withal, for those who will\\nAnd blessed are the horny hands of toil\\nThe busy world shoves angrily aside\\nThe man who stands with arms akimbo set,\\nUntil occasion tells him what to do;\\nAnd he who waits to have his task marked out,\\nShall die and leave his errand unfulfilled.\\nOur time is one that calls for earnest deeds.\\nReason and Government, like two broad seas,\\nYearn for each other with outstretched arms\\nAcross this narrow isthmus of the throne,\\nAnd roll their white surf higher every day.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "42 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThe field lies wide before us, where to reap\\nThe easy harvest of a deathless name,\\nThouo^h with no better sickles than our swords,\\nMy soul is not a palace of the past,\\nWhere outworn creeds, like Rome s grey sen-\\nate, quake,\\nHearing afar the Vandal s trumpet hoarse,\\nThat shakes old systems with a thunder-fit.\\nThe time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, for change\\nThen let it come: I have no dread of what\\nIs called by the instinct of mankind.\\nNor think I that God s world would fall apart\\nBecause we tear a parchment more or less.\\nTruth is eternal, but her effluence,\\nWith endless change, is fitted to the hour;\\nHer mirror is turned forward, to reflect\\nThe promise of the future, not the past.\\nI do not fear to follow out the truth,\\nAlbeit along the precipice s edge.\\nLet us speak plain: there is more force in\\nnames\\nThan most men dream of; and a lie may keep\\nIts throne a whole age longer, if it skulk\\nBehind the shield of some fair-seeming name.\\nLet us call tyrants tyrants, and maintain\\nThat only freedom comes by grace of God,\\nAnd all that comes not by His grace must fall;\\nFor men in earnest have no time to waste\\nIn patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.\\nI will have one more grapple with the man\\nCharles Stuart: whom the boy o ercame.\\nThe man stands not in awe of. I perchance\\nAm one raised up by the Almighty arm", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 43\\nTo witness some great truth to all the world.\\nSouls destined to o erleap the vulgar lot,\\nAnd mould the world unto the scheme of God,\\nHave a foreconsciousness of their high doom,\\nAs men are known to shiver at the heart,\\nWhen the cold shadow of some commg ill\\nCreeps slowly o er their spirits unawares:\\nHath Good less power of prophecy than 111?\\nHow else could men whom God hath called to\\nsway\\nEarth s rudder, and to steer the barque of\\nTruth,\\nBeating against the wind toward her port,\\nBear all the mean and buzzing grievances.\\nThe petty martyrdoms wherewith Sin strives\\nTo weary out the tethered hope of Faith,\\nThe sneers, the unrecognizing look of friends.\\nWho worship the dead corpse of old king\\nCustom,\\nWhere it doth lie in state within the Church,\\nStriving to cover up the mighty ocean\\nWith a man s palm, and making even the truth\\nLie for them, holding up the glass reversed,\\nTo make the hope of man seem further off?\\nMy God! when I read o er the bitter lives\\nOf men whose eager hearts were quite too\\ngreat\\nTo beat beneath the cramped mode of the\\nday,\\nAnd see them mocked at by the world they\\nlove.\\nHaggling with prejudice for pennyworths\\nOf that reform which their hard toil will make\\nThe common birthright of the age to come", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "44 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nWhen I see this, spite of my faith in God,\\nI marvel how their hearts bear up so long\\nNor could they, but for this same prophecy,\\nThis inward feeling of the glorious end.\\nDeem me not fond; but in my warmer youth,\\nEre my heart s bloom was soiled and brushed\\naway,\\nI had got dreams of mighty things to come;\\nOf conquest whether by the sword or pen,\\nI knew not but some conquest I would have,\\nOr else swift death now, wiser grown in years,\\nI find youth s dreams are but the flutterings\\nOf those strong wings whereon the soul shall\\nsoar\\nIn after time to win a starry throne\\nAnd therefore cherish them, for they were lots\\nWhich I, a boy, cast in the helm of Fate.\\nNor will I draw them, since a man s right\\nhand,\\nA right hand guided by an earnest soul,\\nWith a true instinct, takes the golden prize\\nFrom out a thousand blanks. What men call\\nluck.\\nIs the prerogative of valiant souls.\\nThe fealty life pays its rightful kings.\\nThe helm is shaking now, and I will stay\\nTo pluck my lot forth it were sin to flee\\nSo they two turned together; one to die\\nFighting for freedom on that bloody field;\\nThe other, far more happy, to become\\nA name earth wears forever next her heart;\\nOne of the few that have a right to rank", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 45\\nWith the true Makers; for his spirit wrought\\nOrder from Chaos proved that right divine\\nDwelt only in the excellence of Truth;\\nAnd far within old Darkness hostile lines\\nAdvanced and pitched the shining tents of\\nLight.\\nNor shall the grateful muse forget to tell,\\nThat not the least among his many claims\\nTo deathless honor he was Milton s friend,\\nA man not second among those who lived\\nTo show us that the poet s lyre demands\\nAn arm of tougher sinew than the sword.\\nA SONG.\\nViolet sweet violet\\nThine eyes are full of tears;\\nAre they wet\\nEven yet\\nWith the thought of other years,\\nOr with gladness are they full,\\nFor the night so beautiful,\\nAnd longing for those far-off spheres?\\nLoved one of my youth thou wast,\\nOf my merry youth,\\nAnd I see.\\nTearfully,\\nAll the fair and sunny past,\\nAll its openness and truth.\\nEver fresh and green in thee\\nAs the moss is in the sea.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "46 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThy little heart, that hath with love\\nGrown colored like the sky above,\\nOn which thou lookest ever,\\nCan it know\\nAll the woe\\nOf hope for what returneth never,\\nAll the sorrow and the longing\\nTo those hearts of ours belonging f\\nOut on it no foolish pining\\nFor the sky\\nDims thine eye,\\nOr for the stars so calmly shining;\\nLike thee let this soul of mine\\nTake hue from that wherefor I long,\\nSelf-stayed and high, serene and strong,\\nNot satisfied with hoping but divine.\\nViolet dear violet!\\nThy blue eyes are only wet\\nWith joy and love of Him who sent thee,\\nAnd for the fulfilling sense\\nOf that glad obedience\\nWhich made thee all which Nature meant thee!\\nTHE MOON.\\nMy soul was like the sea\\nBefore the moon was made\\nMoaning in vague immensity.\\nOf its own strength afraid,\\nUnrestful and unstaid.", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 47\\nThrough every rift it foamed in vain\\nAbout its earthly prison,\\nSeeking some unknown thing in pain\\nAnd sinking restless back again,\\nFor yet no moon had risen\\nIts only voice a vast dumb moan\\nOf utterless anguish speaking,\\nIt lay unhopefully alone\\nAnd lived but an aimless seeking.\\nSo was my soul: but when t was full\\nOf unrest to o erloading,\\nA voice of something beautiful\\nWhispered a dim foreboding.\\nAnd yet so soft, so sweet, so low.\\nIt had not more of joy than woe\\nAnd, as the sea doth oft lie still.\\nMaking his waters meet.\\nAs if by an unconscious will,\\nFor the moon s silver feet.\\nLike some serne, unwinking eye\\nThat waits a certain destiny,\\nSo lay my soul within mine eyes\\nWhen thou its sovereign moon didst rise.\\nAnd now, howe er its waves above\\nMay toss and seem uneaseful.\\nOne strong, eternal law of love\\nWith guidance sure and peaceful,\\nAs calm and natural as breath\\nMoves its great deeps through Life and Death.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "48 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTHE FATHERLAND.\\nWhere is the true man s fatherland?\\nIs it where he by chance is born?\\nDoth not the free-winged spirit scorn\\nIn such pent borders to be spanned?\\nOh yes, his fatherland must be\\nAs the blue heavens wide and free\\nIs it alone where freedom is,\\nWhere God is God and man is man?\\nDoth he not claim a broader span\\nFor the soul s love of home than this?\\nOh yes! his fatherland must be\\nAs the blue heavens wide and free\\nWhere er a human heart doth wear\\nJoy s myrtle wreath, or sorrow s gyves,\\nWhere er a human spirit strives\\nAfter a life more pure and fair,\\nThere is the true man s birthplace grand!\\nHis is a world-wide fatherland\\nWhere er a single slave doth pine.\\nWhere er one man may help another\\nThank God for such a birthright, brother!\\nThat spot of earth is thine and mine\\nThere is the true man s birthplace grand!\\nHis is a world-wide fatherland", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 49\\nA PARABLE.\\nWorn and footsore was the Prophet\\nWhen he reached the holy hill\\n**God has left the earth, he murmured,\\nHere his presence lingers still.\\nGod of all the olden prophets,\\nWilt thou talk with me no more?\\nHave I not as truly loved thee\\nAs thy chosen ones of yore?\\nHear me, guider of my fathers,\\nLo, an humble heart is mine;\\nBy thy mercy I beseech thee.\\nGrant thy servant but a sign!\\nBowing then his head, he listened\\nFor an answer to his prayer\\nNo loud burst of thunder followed,\\nNot a murmur stirred the air\\nBut the tuft of moss before him\\nOpened while he waited yet.\\nAnd from out the rock s hard bosom\\nSprang a tender violet.\\nGod! I thank thee, said the Prophet,\\nHard of heart and blind was I,\\nLowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "50 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nLooking to the holy mountain\\nFor the gift of prophecy.\\nStill thou speakest with thy children\\nFreely as in Eld sublime,\\nHumbleness and love and patience\\nGive dominion over Time.\\nHad I trusted in my nature,\\nAnd had faith in lowly things,\\nThou thyself wouldst then have sought me,\\nAnd set free my spirit s wings.\\nBut I looked for signs and wonders\\nThat o er men should give me sway;\\nThirsting to be more than mortal,\\nI was even less than clay.\\nEre I entered on my journey,\\nAs I girt my loins to start,\\nRan to me my little daughter,\\nThe beloved of my heart;\\nIn her hand she held a flower.\\nLike to this as like may be,\\nWhich beside my very threshold\\nShe had plucked and brought to me.*", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 51\\nON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND S CHILD.\\nDeath never came so nigh to me before,\\nNor showed me his mild face Oft I had mused\\nOf calm and peace and deep forgetfulness,\\nOf folded hands, closed eyes, and heart at rest.\\nAnd slumber sound beneath a flowery turf,\\nOf faults forgotten, and an inner place\\nKept sacred for us in the heart of friends;\\nBut these were idle fancies satisfied\\nWith the mere husk of this great Mystery,\\nAnd dwelling in the outward shows of things.\\nHeaven is not mounted to on wings of dreams.\\nNor doth the unthankful happiness of youth\\nAim thitherward, but floats from bloom to\\nbloom.\\nWith earth s warm patch of sunshine well con-\\ntent:\\nTis sorrow builds the shining ladder up\\nWhose golden rounds are our calamities.\\nWhereon our firm feet planting, nearer God\\nThe spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.\\nTrue is it that Death s face seems stern and\\ncold.\\nWhen he is sent to summon those we love.\\nBut all God s angels come to us disguised.\\nSorrow and sickness, poverty and death.\\nOne after other lift their frowning masks.\\nAnd we behold the seraph s face beneath,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "52 LOWELL S POEMS.\\n1\\nAll radiant with the glory and the calm\\nOf having looked upon the smile of God\\nWith every anguish of our earthly past\\nThe spirit s sight grows clearer; this was\\nmeant\\nWhen Jesus touched the blind man s lids with\\nclay.\\nLife is the jailor, Death the angel sent\\nTo draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.\\nHe flings not open the ivory gate of Rest\\nOnly the fallen spirit knocks at that\\nBut to benigner regions beckons us,\\nTo destines of more rewarded toil.\\nIn the hushed chamber, sitting by the dead,\\nIt grates on us to hear the flood of life\\nWhirl rustling onward, senseless of our loss.\\nThe bee hums on around the blossomed vine\\nWhirrs the light humming-bird; the cricket\\nchirps\\nThe locust s shrill alarum stings the ear;\\nHard by, the cock shouts lustily; from farm\\nto farm,\\nHis cheery brothers, telling of the sun.\\nAnswer, till far away the joyance dies;\\nWe never knew before how God had filled\\nThe summer air with happy living sounds\\nAll around us seems an overplus of life,\\nAnd yet the one dear heart lies cold and still.\\nIt is most strange, when the great Miracle\\nHath for our sakes been done when we have\\nhad\\nOur inwardest experience of God,\\nWhen with his presence still the room expands,", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 53\\nAnd is awed after him, that naught is changed,\\nThat Nature s face looks unacknowledging,\\nAnd the mad world still dances heedless on\\nAfter its butterflies, and gives no sign.\\nTis hard at first to see it all aright;\\nIn vain Faith blows her trump to summon back\\nHer scattered troop yet, through the clouded\\nglass\\nOf our own bitter tears, we learn to look\\nUndazzled on the kindness of God s face;\\nEarth is too dark, and Heaven alone shines\\nthrough.\\nHow changed, dear friend, are thy part and\\nthy child s!\\nHe bends above thy cradle now, or holds\\nHis warning finger out to be thy guide;\\nThou art nursling now he watches thee\\nSlow learning, one by one, the secret things\\nWhich are to him used sights of every day;\\nHe smiles to see thy wondering glances con\\nThe grass and pebbles of the spirit world,\\nTo thee miraculous; and he will teach\\nThy knees their due observances of prayer.\\nChildren are God s apostles, day by day.\\nSent forth to preach of love, and hope, and\\npeace\\nNor hath thy babe his mission left undone.\\nTo me, at least, his going hence hath given\\nSerener thoughts and nearer to the skies.\\nAnd opened a new fountain in my heart\\nFor thee, my friend, and all: and oh, if Death\\nMore near approaches, meditates, and clasps\\nEven now some dearer, more reluctant hand,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "54 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nGod, strengthen thou my faith, that I may see\\nThat tis thine angel who, with loving haste,\\nUnto the service of the inner shrine\\nDoth waken my beloved with a kiss\\nCambridge, Mass., Sept. 3d, 1844.\\nAN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR.\\nHe spoke of Burns; men rude and rough\\nPressed round to hear the praise of one\\nWhose breast was made of manly, simple stuff,\\nAs homespun as their own.\\nAnd when he read, they forward leaned\\nAnd heard, with eager hearts and ears.\\nHis birdlike songs whom glory never weanedj\\nFrom humble smiles and tears.\\nSlowly there grew a tender awe.\\nSunlike o er faces brown and hard,\\nAs if in him who reads they felt and saw\\nSome presence of the Bard.\\nIt was a sight for sin and wrong\\nAnd slavish tyranny to see,\\nA sight to make our faith more pure and strong\\nIn high Humanity.\\nI thought, these men will carry hence,\\nPromptings their former life above.\\nAnd something of a finer reverence\\nFor beauty, truth, and love.", "height": "2865", "width": "1841", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 65\\nGod scatters love on every side,\\nFreely among his children all,\\nAnd always hearts are lying open wide\\nWherein some grains may fall.\\nThere is no wind but sows some seeds\\nOf a more true and open life,\\nWhich bursts unlooked for into high-souled\\ndeeds\\nWith wayside beauty rife.\\nWe find within these souls of ours\\nSome wild germs of a higher birth.\\nWhich in the poet s tropic heart bears flowers\\nWhose fragrance fills the earth.\\nWithin the hearts of all men lie\\nThese promises of wider bliss,\\nWhich blossom into hopes that cannot die,\\nIn sunny hours like this.\\nAll that hath been majestical\\nIn life or death since time began,\\nIs native in the simple heart of all,\\nThe angel heart of man.\\nAnd thus among the untaught poor\\nGreat deeds and feelings find a home\\nWhich casts in shadow all the golden lore\\nOf classic Greece or Rome.\\nOh mighty brother-soul of man.\\nWhere er thou art, in low or high.\\nThy skyey arches with exulting span\\nO er- roof infinity.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "56 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAll thoughts that mould the age begin\\nDeep down within the primitive soul,\\nAnd, from the many, slowly upward wing\\nTo One who grasps the whole.\\nIn His broad breast, the feeling deep\\nWhich, struggled on the many s tongue,\\nSwells to a tide of Thought whose surges leap\\nO er the weak throne of wrong.\\nNever did poesy appear\\nSo full of Heav n to me as when\\nI saw how it would pierce through pride and\\nfear,\\nTo lives of coarsest men.\\nIt may be glorious to write\\nThoughts that shall glad the two or three\\nHigh souls like those far stars that come in\\nsight\\nOnce in a century.\\nBut better far it is to speak\\nOne simple word which now and then\\nShall waken their free nature in the weak\\nAnd friendless sons of men\\nTo write some earnest verse or line\\nWhich, seeking not the praise of Art,\\nShall make a clearer faith and manhood shine\\nIn the unlearned heart.\\nBoston, April, 1842.", "height": "2865", "width": "1805", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "And as the tower came crashing down. Page 59.\\nLowell s Poems.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 67\\nAN INCIDENT OF THE FIRE AT\\nHAMBURG.\\nThe tower of old Saint Nicholas soared up\\nward to the skies,\\nLike some huge piece of nature s make, the\\ngrowth of centuries\\nYou could not deem its crowding spires a work\\nof human art,\\nThey seemed to struggle lightward so from a\\nsturdy living heart.\\nNot Nature s self more freely speaks in crystal\\nor in oak\\nThan, through the pious builder s hand, in\\nthat gray pile she spoke\\nAnd as from acorn springs the oak, so, freely\\nand alone,\\nSprang from his heart this hymn to God, sung\\nin obedient stone.\\nIt seemed a wondrous freak of chance, so per-\\nfect, yet so rough,\\nA whim of Nature crystallized slowly in gran-\\nite tough;\\nThe thick spires yearned toward the sky in\\nquaint harmonious lines,\\nAnd in broad sunlight basked and slept, like a\\ngrove of blasted pines.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "58 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nNever did rock or stream or tree lay claim\\nwith better right\\nTo all the adorning sympathies of shadow and\\nof light;\\nAnd, in that forest petrified, as forester there\\ndwells\\nStout Herman, the old sacristan, sole lord of\\nall its bells.\\nSurge leaping after surge, the fire roared on-\\nward, red as blood,\\nTill half of Hamburg lay engulfed beneath the\\neddying flood\\nFor miles away, the fiery spray poured down\\nits deadly rain.\\nAnd back and forth the billows drew, and\\npaused, and broke again.\\nFrom square to square, with tiger leaps, still\\non and on it came\\nThe air to leeward trembled with the pantings\\nof the flame.\\nAnd church and palace, which even now stood\\nwhelmed but to the knee.\\nLift their black roofs like breakers lone amid\\nthe rushing sea.\\nUp in his tower old Herman sat and watched\\nwith quiet look;\\nHis soul had trusted God too long to be at last\\nforsook\\nHe could not fear, for surely God a pathway\\nwould unfold\\nThrough this red sea, for faithful hearts, as\\nonce he did of old.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 59\\nBut scarcely can he cross himself, or on his\\ngood saint call,\\nBefore the sacreligious flood o erleaped the\\nchurchyard wall.\\nAnd, ere a pater half, was said, mid smoke and\\ncrackling glare.\\nHis island tower scarce juts its head above the\\nwide despair.\\nUpon the peril s desperate peak his heart stood\\nup sublime;\\nHis first thought was for God above, his next\\nwas for his chime\\nSing now, and make your voices heard in\\nhymns of praise, cried he,\\nAs did the Israelites of old, safe- walking\\nthrough the sea!\\nThrough this red sea our God hath made our\\npathway safe to shore\\nOur promised land stands full in sight shout\\nnow as ne er before.\\nAnd, as the tower came crashing down, the\\nbells, in clear accord,\\nPealed forth the grand old German hymn\\nAll good souls praise the Lord!", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "60 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSONNETS.\\nAs the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth,\\nWith the majestic beating of his heart,\\nThe mighty tides, whereof its rightful part\\nEach sea- wide gulf and little weed receiveth\\nSo, through his soul who earnestly believeth,\\nLife from the universal Heart doth flow,\\nWhereby some conquest of the eternal woe\\nBy instinct of God s nature he achieveth:\\nA fuller pulse of this all-powerful Beauty\\nInto the poet s gulf-like heart doth tide.\\nAnd he more keenly feels the glorious duty\\nOf serving Truth despised and crucified\\nHappy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest\\nAnd feel God flow forever through his breast.\\nII.\\nOnce hardly in a cycle blossometh\\nA flower-like soul ripe with the seeds of song,\\nA spirit foreordained to cope with wrong.\\nWhose divine thoughts are natural as breath.\\nWho the old Darkness thickly scattereth\\nWith starry words which shoot prevailing\\nlight\\nInto the deeps, and wither with the blight\\nOf serene Truth the coward heart of Death:\\nWo if such spirit sell his birthright high,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 61\\nAnd mock with lies the longing- soul of man!\\nYet one age longer must true Culture lie,\\nSoothing her bitter fetters as she can,\\nUntil new messages of -love outstart\\nAt the next beatinsf of the infinite Heart.\\nIII.\\nThe love of all things springs from love of one\\nWider the soul s horizon hourly grows,\\nAnd o er it with fuller glory flows\\nThe sky-like spirit of God a hope begun\\nIn doubt and darkness, neath a fairer sun\\nCometh to fruitage, if it be of Truth;\\nAnd to the law of meekness, faith, and ruth,\\nBy invs^ard sympathy shall all be won;\\nThis thou shouldst know, who from the painted\\nfeature\\nOf shifting Fashion, couldst thy brethren\\nturn\\nUnto the love of ever youthful nature.\\nAnd of a beauty fadeless and eterne;\\nAnd always tis the saddest sight to see\\nAn old man faithless in Humanity.\\nA poet cannot strive for despotism\\nHis harp falls shattered; for it still must be\\nThe instinct of great spirits to be free,\\nAnd the sworn foes of cunning barbarism.\\nHe who has deepest searched the wide abysm\\nOf that life-giving Soul which men call fate.\\nKnows that he put more faith in lies and\\nhate\\nThan truth and love, is the worst atheism:\\nUpward the soul forever turns her eyes;", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "62 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThe next hour always shames the hour\\nbefore\\nOne beauty at its highest prophecies\\nThat by whose side it shall seem mean and\\npoor;\\nNo godlike thing knows aught of less and less,\\nBut widens to the boundless Perfectness.\\nTherefore think not the Past is wise alone,\\nFor Yesterday knows nothing of the Best,\\nAnd thou shalt love it only as the nest\\nWhence glory-winged things to Heaven have\\nflown.\\nTo the great Soul alone are all things known,\\nPresent and future are to her as past,\\nWhile she in glorious madness doth forecast\\nThat perfect bud which seems a flower full-\\nblown\\nTo each new Prophet, and yet always opes\\nFuller and fuller with each day and hour,\\nHeartening the soul with odor of fresh hopes.\\nAnd longings high and gushings of wide\\npower.\\nYet never is or shall be fully blown\\nSave in the forethought of the Eternal One.\\nVI.\\nFar yond this narrow parapet of Time,\\nWith eyes uplift, the poet s soul should look\\nInto the Endless Promise, nor should brook\\nOne prying doubt to shake his faith sublime;\\nTo him the earth is ever in her prime\\nAnd dewiness of morning; he can see", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 63\\nGood lying hid, from all eternity,\\nWithin the teeming womb of sin and crime;\\nHis soul shall not be cramped by any bar\\nHis nobleness should be so God-like high\\nThat his least deed is perfect as a star,\\nHis common look majestic as the sky.\\nAnd all o erflooded with a light from far,\\nUndimmed by clouds of weak mortality.\\nBoston, April 2, 1842.\\nTHE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT.\\nPART I.\\nShowing how he built his house and his wife moved\\ninto it.\\nMy worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,\\nFrom business snug withdrawn,\\nWas much contented with a lot\\nWhich would contain a Tudor cot\\nTwixt twelve feet square of garden-plot,\\nAnd twelve feet more of lawn.\\nHe had laid business on the shelf\\nTo give his taste expansion.\\nAnd, since no man, retired with pelf,\\nThe building mania can shun,\\nKnott, being middle-aged himself,\\nResolved to build (unhappy elf l)\\nA mediaeval mansion.\\nHe called an architect in counsel\\n**I want,** said he, a you know what,\\n(You are a builder, I am Knott.)", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "64 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nA thing complete from chimney-pot\\nDown to the very groundsels\\nHere s a half-acre of good land;\\nJust have it nicely mapped and planned\\nAnd make your workmen drive on\\nMeadow there is, and upland too,\\nAnd I should like a water- view%\\nD you think you could contrive one?\\n(Perhaps the pump and trough would do,\\nIf painted a judicious blue?)\\nThe woodland I ve attended to;\\n(He meant three pines stuck up askew,\\nTwo dead ones and a live one.)\\nA pocket-full of rocks twould take\\nTo build a house of free-stone,\\nBut then it is not hard to make\\nWhat now-a-days is the stone;\\nThe cunning painter in a trice\\nYour house s outside petrifies.\\nAnd people think it very gneiss\\nWithout inquiring deeper\\nMy money never shall be thrown\\nAway on such a deal of stone.\\nWhen stone of deal is cheaper.\\nAnd so the greenest of antiques\\nWas reared for Knott to dwell in\\nThe architect worked hard for weeks\\nInventing all his private peaks\\nUpon the roof, whose crop of leaks\\nHad satisfied Fluellen,\\nWhatever anybody had\\nOut of the common, good or bad,\\nKnott had it all worked well in,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 65\\nA donjon-keep, where clothes might dry,\\nA porter s lodge that was a sty,\\nA campanile slim and high.\\nToo small to hang a bell in\\nAll up and down and here and there,\\nWith Lord-knows-whats of round and square\\nStuck on at random everywhere,\\nIt was a house to make one stare,\\nAll corners and all gables\\nLike dogs let loose upon a bear,\\nTen emulous styles staboyed with care,\\nThe whole among them seemed to tear,\\nAnd all the oddities to spare\\nWere set upon the stables.\\nKnott was delighted with a pile\\nApproved by fashion s leaders;\\n(Only he made the builder smile\\nBy asking every little while.\\nWhy that was called the Twodoor style\\nWhich certainly had three doors?)\\nYet better for this luckless man\\nIf he had put a downright ban\\nUpon the thing in limine;\\nFor, though to quit affairs his plan,\\nEre many days, poor Knott began\\nPerforce accepting draughts, that ran\\nAll ways except up chimney\\nThe house, though painted stone to mock,\\nW^ith nice white lines round every block,\\nSome trepidation stood in,\\nWhen tempests (with petrific shock.\\nSo to speak) made it really rock,\\n5 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "66 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThough not a whit less wooden\\nAnd painted stone, howe er well done,\\nWill not take in the prodigal sun\\nWhose beams are never quite at one\\nWith our terrestrial lumber;\\nSo the wood shrank around the knots,\\nAnd gaped in disconcerting spots,\\nAnd there were lots of dots and rots\\nAnd crannies without number.\\nWherethrough, as you may well presume,\\nThe wind, like water through a flume,\\nCame rushing in ecstatic. j\\nLeaving, in all three floors no room\\nThat was not a rheumatic\\nAnd, what with points and squares and rounds\\nGrown shaky on their poises.\\nThe house at night was full of pounds.\\nThumps, bumps, creaks, scratchings, raps\\ntill\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Zounds!\\nCried Knott, this goes beyond all bounds,\\nI do not deal in tongues and sounds.\\nNor have I let my house and grounds j\\nTo a family of No3^eses! J\\nBut though Knott s house was full of airs.\\nHe had but one a daughter;\\nAnd, as he owned much stocks and shares,\\nMany who wished to render theirs\\nSuch vam, unsatisfying cares,\\nAnd needed wives to sew their tears,\\nIn matrimony sought her;\\nThey vowed her gold they wanted not.\\nTheir faith would never falter,\\nThey longed to tie this single Knott", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 67\\nIn the Hymeneal halter;\\nSo daily at the door they rang,\\nCards for the belle delivering,\\nOr in the choir at her they sang,\\nAchieving such a rapturous twang\\nAs set her nerves a-shivering.\\nNow Knott had quite made up his mind\\nThat Colonel Jones should have her;\\nNo beauty he, but oft we find\\nSweet kernels neath a roughish rind,\\nSo hoped his Jenny d be resigned\\nAnd make no more palaver;\\nGlanced at the fact that love was blind,\\nThat girls were ratherish inclined\\nTo pet their little crosses.\\nThen nosologically defined\\nThe rate at which the system pined\\nIn those unfortunates who dined\\nUpon that metaphoric kind\\nOf dish their own proboscis.\\nBut she with many tears and moans.\\nBesought him not to mock her.\\nSaid twas too much for flesh and bones.\\nTo marry mortgages and loans.\\nThat father s hearts were stocks and stones\\nAnd that she d go, when Mrs. Jones,\\nTo Davy Jones s locker;\\nThen gave her head a little toss\\nThat said as plain as ever was,\\nIf men are always at a loss\\nMere womankind to bridle\\nTo try the thing on woman cross.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "68 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nWere fifty times as idle;\\nFor she a strict resolve had made\\nAnd registered in private.\\nThat either she would die a maid,\\nOr else be Mrs. Dr. Slade,\\nIf woman could contrive it\\nAnd, though the wedding-day was set,\\nJenny was more so, rather.\\nDeclaring, in a pretty pet,\\nThat, howsoe er they spread their net,\\nShe would out-Jennyral them yet,\\nThe colonel and her father.\\nJust at this time the Public s eyes\\nWere keenly on the watch, a stir j\\nBeginning slowly to arise\\nAbout those questions and replies,\\nThose raps that unwrapped mysteries\\nSo rapidly at Rochester.\\nAnd, Knott, already nervous grown\\nBy lying much awake alone.\\nAnd listening, sometimes to a moan,\\nAnd sometimes to a clatter,\\nWhene er the wind at night would rouse\\nThe ginger-bread-work on his house,\\nOr when some hasty-tempered mouse,\\nBehind the plastering, made a towse\\nAbout a family matter.\\nBegan to wonder if his wife,\\nA paralytic half her life,\\nWhich made it more surprising,\\nMight not, to rule him from her urn,\\nHave taken a peripatetic turn\\nFor want of exorcising.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 69\\nThis thought, once nestled in his head,\\nEre long contagions grew, and spread\\nInfecting all his mind with dread,\\nUntil at last he lay in bed\\nAnd heard his wife, with well-known tread.\\nEntering the kitchen through the shed,\\n(Or was t his fancy mocking?)\\nOpening the pantry, cutting bread.\\nAnd then (she d been some ten years dead)\\nClosets and drawers unlocking\\nOr, in his room (his breath grew thick),\\nHe heard the long familiar click\\nOf slender needles flying quick,\\nAs if she knit a stocking;\\nFor whom? he prayed that years might flit\\nWith pains rheumatic shooting.\\nBefore those ghostly things she knit\\nUpon his unfleshed sole might fit.\\nHe did not fancy it a bit,\\nTo stand upon that footing\\nAt other times, his frightened hairs\\nAbove the bed-clothes trusting.\\nHe heard her, full of household cares,\\n(No dream entrapped in supper s snares,\\nThe foal of horrible nightmares,\\nBut broad awake, as he declares,)\\nGo bustling up and down the stairs.\\nOr setting back last evening s chairs,\\nOr with the poker thrusting\\nThe raked-up sea-coal s hardened crust\\nAnd what! impossible! it must!\\nHe knew she had returned to dust,\\nAnd yet could scarce his senses trust,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "70 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nHearing her as she poked and fussed\\nAbout the parlor, dusting\\nNight after night he strove to sleep\\nAnd take his ease in spite of it;\\nBut still his flesh would chill and creep,\\nAnd, though two night-lamps he might keep,\\nHe could not so make light of it.\\nAt last, quite desperate, he goes\\nAnd tells his neighbors all his woes,\\nWhich did but their amount enhance; t\\nThey made such mockery of his fears,\\nThat soon his days were of all jeers, J\\nHis nights of the rueful countenance I\\nI thought most folks, one neighbor said,\\nGave up the ghost when they were dead,\\nAnother gravely shook his head, i\\nAdding, from all we hear, it s I\\nQuite plain poor Knott is going mad\\nFor how can he at once be sad\\nAnd think he s full of spirits?\\nA third declared he knew a knife\\nWould cut this Knott much quicker,\\nThe surest way to end all strife,\\nAnd lay the spirit of a wife.\\nIs just to take and lick her!\\nA temperance man caught up the word,\\nAh, yes, he groaned, I ve always heard\\nOur poor friend always slanted\\nTow rd taking liquor overmuch;\\nI fear these spirits may be Dutch,\\n(A sort of gins, or something such,)\\nWith which his house is haunted;\\nI see the thing as clear as light\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 71\\nIf Knott would give np getting tight,\\nNaught farther would be wanted:\\nSo all his neighbors stood aloof\\nAnd, that the spirits neath his roof\\nWere not entirely up to proof,\\nUnanimously granted.\\nKnott knew that cocks and sprites were foes,\\nAnd so bought up, Heaven only knows\\nHow many, though he wanted crows\\nTo give ghosts cause, as I suppose,\\nTo think that day was breaking\\nMoreover, what he called his park,\\nHe turned into a kind of ark,\\nFor dogs, because a little bark\\nIs a good tonic in the dark.\\nIf one is given to waking\\nBut things went on from bad to worse,\\nHis curs were nothing but a curse.\\nAnd, what was still more shocking,\\nFoul ghosts of living fowl made scoff\\nAnd would not think of going off\\nIn spite of all his cocking.\\nShanghais, Bucks-counties, Dominiques,\\nMalays (that didn t lay for weeks),\\nPolanders, Bantams, Dorkings,\\nWaving the cost, no trifling ill,\\n(Since each brought in his little bill)\\nBy day or night were never still.\\nBut every thought of rest would kill\\nWith cacklings and with quorkings;\\nHenry the Eighth of wives got free\\nBy a way he had of axing;", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "72 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBut poor Knott s Tudor henery\\nWas not so fortunate, and he\\nStill found his trouble waxing\\nAs for the dogs, the rows they made,\\nAnd how they howled, snarled, barked, and\\nbayed,\\nBeyond all human knowledge is;\\nAll night, as wide awake as gnats, j\\nThe terriers rumpused after rats, I\\nOr, just for practice, taught their brats I\\nTo worry cast-off shoes and hats,\\nThe bull-dogs settled private spats,\\nAll chased imaginary cats,\\nOr raved behind the fence s slats\\nAt real ones, or, from their mats,\\nWith friends miles off, held pleasant chats,\\nOr, like some folks in white cravats,\\nContemptuous of sharps and flats,\\nSat up and sang dogsologies.\\nPART II.\\nShowing what is meant by a flow of Spirits.\\nAt first the ghosts were somewhat shy.\\nComing when none but Knott was nigh,\\nAnd people said twas all their eye,\\n(Or rather his) a flam, the sly\\nDigestion s machination;\\nSome recommended a wet sheet,\\nSome a nice broth of pounded peat,\\nSome a cold fiat-iron to the feet,\\nSome a decoction of lamb s- bleat;\\nSome a southwesterly grain of wheat", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 73\\nMeat was by some pronounced unmeet,\\nOthers thought fish most indiscreet,\\nAnd that twas worse than all to eat\\nOf vegetables, sour or sweet,\\n(Except, perhaps, the skin of beet,)\\nIn such a concatenation\\nOne quack his button gently plucks\\nAnd murmurs biliary ducks!\\nSays Knott, I never ate one:\\nBut all, though brimming full of wrath,\\nHomeo, Alio, Hydropath,\\nConcurred in this that t other s path\\nTo death s door was the straight one.\\nBut, spite of medical advice.\\nThe ghosts came thicker, and a spice\\nOf mischief grew apparent\\nNor did they only come at night.\\nBut seemed to fancy broad daylight,\\nTill Knott, in horror and affright,\\nHis unoffending hair rent;\\nWhene er, with handkerchief on lap,\\nHe made his elbow-chair a trap\\nTo catch an after-dinner nap.\\nThe spirits, always on the tap.\\nWould make a sudden rap, rap, rap,\\nThe half-spun cord of life to snap,\\n(And what is life without its nap\\nBut threadbareness and mere mishap?)\\nAs t were with a percussion cap\\nThe trouble s climax capping;\\nIt seemed a party dried and grim\\nOf mummies had come to visit him,\\nEach getting off from every limb", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "74 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nIts multitudinous wrapping;\\nScratchings sometimes the walls ran round,\\nThe merest penny-weights of sound;\\nSometimes t was only by the pound\\nThey carried on their dealing,\\nA thumping neath the parlor floor\\nThump bump thump bumping o er and\\no er,\\nAs if the vegetables in store,\\n(Quiet and orderly before,)\\nWere all together pealing;\\nYou would have thought the thing was done\\nBy the Spirit of some son of a gun,\\nAnd that a forty-two pounder.\\nOr that the ghost which made such sounds\\nCould be none other than John Pounds,\\nOf Ragged Schools the founder.\\nThrough three gradations of affright\\nThe awful noises reached their height;\\nAt first they knocked nocturnally,\\nThen, for some reason, changing quite,\\n(As mourners, after six months flight,\\nTurn suddenly from dark to light,)\\nBegan to knock diurnally.\\nAnd last, combining all their stocks,\\n(Scotland was ne er so full of Knox,)\\nInto one Chaos, (father of Nox,)\\nNode plnit they showered knocks.\\nAnd knocked, knocked, knocked eternally;\\nEver upon the go, like buoys,\\n(Wooden sea-urchins,) all Knott s joys,\\nThey turned to trouble and a noise\\nThat preyed on him internally.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 75\\nSoon they grew wider in their scope;\\nWhenever Knott a door would ope,\\nIt would ope not, or else elope\\nAnd fly back (curbless as a trope\\nOnce started down a stanza s slope\\nBy a bard that gave it too much rope\\nLike a clap of thunder slamming;\\nAnd, when kind Jenny brought his hat,\\n(She always, when he walked, did that,)\\nJust as upon his head it sat,\\nSubmitted to his settling pat\\nSome unseen hand would jam it flat,\\nOr give it such a furious bat\\nThat eyes and nose went cramming\\nUp out of sight, and consequently,\\nAs when in life it paddled free.\\nHis beaver caused much damning;\\nIf these things seem o erstrained to be,\\nRead the account of Doctor Dee,\\nTis in our college library;\\nRead Wesley s circumstantial plea.\\nAnd Mrs. Crowe, more like a bee.\\nSucking the nightshade s honied fee,\\nAnd Stilling s Pneumatology\\nConsult Scott, Glanvil, grave Wierus, and both\\nMathers; further, see\\nWebster, Casaubon, James First s treatise, a\\nright royal Q. E. D\\nWrit with the moon in perigree,\\nBodin de Demonomanie\\n(Accent that last line gingerly)\\nAll full of learning as the sea\\nOf fishes, and all disagree,\\nSave in Sathanas apage!", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "76 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nOr, what will surely put a flea\\nIn unbelieving ears with glee,\\nOut of a paper (sent to me\\nBy some friend who forgot to P\\nA Y I use cryptography\\nLest I his vengeful pen should dree\\nHis P O S T A G E\\nThings to the same effect I cut,\\nAbout the tantrums of a ghost,\\nNot more than three weeks since, at most,\\nNear Stratford, in Connecticut.\\n[Heavens! what a sentence that isl\\nI throw it in, though, gratis,\\nAnd, taking breath, anew\\nCatch up my legend s clew.]\\nKnott s Upas daily spread its roots,\\nSent up on all sides livelier shoots.\\nAnd bore more pestilential fruits;\\nThe ghosts behaved like downright brutes,\\nThey snipped holes in his Sunday suits,\\nPracticed all night on octave flutes.\\nPut peas (not peace) into his boots,\\nWhereof grew corns in season.\\nThey scotched his sheets, and, what was worse,\\nStuck his silk night-cap full of burs.\\nTill he, in language plain and terse,\\n(But much unlike a Bible verse,)\\nSwore he should lose his reason.\\nOf course such doings, far and wide,\\nWith rumors filled the country-side,\\nAnd, (as it is our nation s pride,\\nTo think a Truth s not verified\\nTill with majorities allied,)", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 77\\nParties sprang up, affirmed, denied,\\nAnd candidates with questions plied,\\nWho, like the circus-riders, tried\\nAt once both hobbies to bestride,\\nAnd each with his opponent vied\\nIn being inexplicit.\\nEarnest inquirers multiplied;\\nFolks, whose tenth cousins lately died,\\nWrote letters long, and Knott replied\\nAll who could either walk or ride,\\nGathered to wonder or deride,\\nAnd paid the house a visit;\\nHorses were at his pine-trees tied,\\nMourners in every corner sighed,\\nWidows brought children there that cried,\\nSwarms of lean Seekers, eager-eyed,\\n(People Knott never could abide,)\\nInto each hole and cranny pried\\nWith strings of questions cut and dried\\nFrom the Devout Inquirer s Guide,\\nFor the wise spirits to decide\\nAs, for example, is it\\nTrue that the damned are fried or boiled?\\nWas the earth s axis greased or oiled?\\nWho cleaned the moon when it was soiled?\\nHow heal diseased potatoes?\\nDid spirits have the sense of smell?\\nWhere would departed spinsters dwell?\\nIf the late Zenas Smith were well?\\nIf Earth were solid or a shell?\\nWere spirits fond of Doctor Fell?\\nDid the bull toll Cock-Robin s knell?\\nWhat remedy w^ould bugs expel?\\nIf Paine s inventions were a sell?", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "78 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nDid spirits by Webster s system spell?\\nWas it a sin to be a belle?\\nDid dancing sentence folks to hell\\nIf so, then where most torture fell\\nOn little toes or great toes?\\nIf life s true seat were in the brain?\\nDid Ensign mean to marry Jane?\\nBy whom, in fact, was Morgan slain?\\nCould matter ever suffer pain?\\nWhat would take out a cherry stain?\\nWho picked the pocket of Seth Crane,\\nOf Waldo precinct, State of Maine?\\nAVas vSir John Franklin sought in vain?\\nDid primitive Christians ev9r train?\\nWhat was the family name of Cain?\\nThem spoons, were they by Betty ta en?\\nW^ould earth-worm poultice cure a sprain?\\nWas Socrates so dreadful plain?\\nWhat teamster guided Charles s wain?\\nW^as Uncle Ethan mad or sane?\\nAnd could his will in force remain?\\nIf not, what counsel to retain?\\nDid Le Sage steal Gil Bias from Spain?\\nWas Junius writ by Thomas Paine?\\nWere ducks discomfited by rain?\\nHow did Britannia rule the main?\\nWas Jonas coming back again?\\nWas vital truth upon the wane?\\nDid ghosts, to scare folks, drag a chain?\\nWho was our Huldah s chosen swain?\\nDid none have teeth pulled without payin\\nEre ether was invented?\\nWhether mankind would not agree,\\nIf the universe were tuned in C?", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 79\\nWhat was it ailed Lucindy s knee?\\nWhether folks eat folks in Feejee?\\nWhether his name would end with T?\\nIf Saturn s rings were two or three?\\nAnd what bump in Phrenology\\nThey truly represented?\\nThese problems dark wherein they groped,\\nWherewith man s reason vainly coped,\\nNow that the spirit-world was oped,\\nIn all humility they hoped\\nWould be resolved instanter\\nEach of the miscellaneous rout\\nBrought his, or her, own little doubt.\\nAnd wished to pump the spirits out,\\nThrough his, or her, own private spout.\\nInto his, or her\u00c2\u00bb decanter.\\nPART in.\\nWherein it is shown that the mosi. ardent Spirits are\\nmore ornamental than useful.\\nMany a speculating wight\\nCame by express trains, day and night.\\nTo see if Knott would sell his right,\\nMeaning to make the ghosts a sight\\nWhat they called a meenaygerie;\\nOne threatened, if he would not trade,\\nHis run of custom to invade,\\n(He could not these sharp folks persuade\\nThat he was not, in some way, paid,)\\nAnd stamp him as a plagiary,\\nBy coming down, at one fell swoop.\\nWith THE ORIGINAL knocking troupe,\\nCome recently from Hades,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "80 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nWho (for a quarter-dollar heard)\\nWould ne er rap out a hasty word\\nWhence any blame might be incurred\\nFrom the most fastidious ladies;\\nThe late lamented Jesse Soule\\nTo stir the ghosts up with a pole\\nAnd be director of the whole,\\nWho was engaged the rather\\nFor the rare merits he d combine,\\nHaving been in the spirit line,\\nWhich trade he only did resign\\nWith general applause, to shine,\\nAwful in mail of cotton fine.\\nAs ghost of Hamlet s father!\\nAnother a fair plan reveals\\nNever yet hit on, which, he feels,\\nTo Knott s religious sense appeals\\nWe ll have your house set up on wheels,\\nA speculation pious;\\nFor music we can shortly find\\nA barrel-organ that will grind\\nPsalm-tunes (an instrument designed\\nFor the New England tour) refined\\nFrom secular drosses, and inclined\\nTo an unworldly turn (combined\\nWith no sectarian bias;)\\nThen, traveling by stages slow,\\nUnder the style of Knott Co.,\\nI would accompany the show\\nAs moral lecturer, the foe\\nOf Rationalism you could throw\\nThe rappings in, and make them go\\nStrict Puritan principles, you know,\\n(How do you make em? with your toe?)", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 81\\nAnd the receipts which thence might flow,\\nWe could divide between us;\\nStill more attractions to combine,\\nBeside these services of mine,\\nI will throw in a very fine\\n(It would do nicely for a sign)\\nOriginal Titian s Venus.\\nAnother offered handsome fees\\nIf Knott would get Demosthenes.\\n(Nay, his mere knuckles, for more ease,)\\nTo rap a few short sentences;\\nOr if, for want of proper keys,\\nHis Greek might make confusion,\\nThen, just to get a rap from Burke,\\nTo recommend a little work\\nOn Public Elocution.\\n{No /inulla hie desnut\\nMeliora quae sunt.\\nMeanwhile the spirits made replies\\nTo all the reverent whats and whys.\\nResolving doubts of every size.\\nAnd giving seekers grave and wise.\\nWho came to know their destinies,\\nA rap-turous reception\\nWhen unbelievers void of grace\\nCame to investigate the place,\\n(Creatures of Sadducistic race,\\nWith groveling intellects and base)\\nThey could not find the vSlightest trace\\nTo indicate deception\\nIndeed, it is declared by some\\nThat spirits (of this sort) are glum.\\nAlmost, or wholly, deaf and dumb,\\n6 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "82 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAnd (out of self-respect) quite mum\\nTo sceptic natures cold and numb,\\nWho of this kind of Kingdom Come,\\nHave not a just conception;\\nTrue, there were people who demurred\\nThat, though the raps no doubt were heard\\nBoth under them and o er them,\\nYet, somehow, when a search they made,\\nThey found Miss Jenny sore afraid.\\nOr Jenny s lover. Doctor Slade,\\nEqually awe-struck and dismayed,\\nOr Deborah, the chamber-maid.\\nWhose terrors, not to be gainsaid,\\nIn laughs hysteric were displayed.\\nWas always there before them\\nThis had its due effect with some\\nWho straight departed, muttering, Hum!\\nTransparent hoax! and Gammon!\\nBut these were few; believing souls\\nCame, day by day, in larger shoals,\\nAs, the ancients to the windy holes\\nNeath Delphi s tripod brought their doles,\\nOr to the shrine of Ammon.\\nThe spirits seemed exceeding tame.\\nCall whom you fancied and he came;\\nThe shades august of eldest fame\\nYou summoned with an awful ease;\\nAs grosser spirits gurgled out\\nPYom chair and table with a spout,\\nIn Auerbach s cellar once, to flout\\nThe senses of the rabble rout.\\nWhere er the gimlet twirled about\\nOf cunning Mephistophiles\\nSo did these spirits seem in store.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 83\\nBehind the wainscot or the door,\\nRead)^ to thrill the being s core\\nOf every enterprising; bore\\nWith their astounding glamour;\\nWhatever ghost one wished to hear,\\nBy strange coincidence, was near\\nTo make the past or future clear,\\n(Sometimes in shocking grammar,)\\nBy raps and taps, now there, now here\\nIt seemed as if the spirit queer\\nOf some departed auctioneer\\nWere doomed to practice by the year\\nWith the spirit of his hammer;\\nWhate er you asked was answered, yet\\nOne could not very deeply get\\nInto the obliging spirits debt.\\nBecause they used the alphabet\\nIn all communications.\\nAnd new revealings (though sublime)\\nRapped out, one letter at a time,\\nWith boggles, hesitations.\\nStoppings, beginnings o er again,\\nAnd getting matters into train.\\nCould hardly overload the brain\\nWith too excessive rations,\\nSince just to ask if two and two\\nReally make four? or. How d ye do?\\nAnd get the fit replies thereto\\nIn the tramundane rat-tat-too,\\nMight ask a whole day s patience.\\nT was strange mongst other things) to find\\nIn what odd sets the ghosts combined,\\nHappy forthwith to thump any", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "84 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nPiece of intelligence inspired,\\nThe truth whereof had been inquired\\nBy some one of the company;\\nFor instance, Fielding, Mirabeau,\\nOrator Henley, Cicero,\\nPaley, John Zisca, Marivaux,\\nMelancthon, Robertson, Jimot,\\nvScaliger, Chesterfield, Rousseau,\\nHakluyt, Boccaccio, South, De Foe,\\nDiaz, Josephus, Richard Roe,\\nOdin, Arminius, Charles le gros,\\nTiresias, the late James Crow,\\nCasabianca, Grose, Prideaux,\\nOld Grimes, Young Norval, Swift, Brissot,\\nMaimonides, the Chevalier D O,\\nSocrates, Fenelon, Job, Stow,\\nThe inventor of Elixir pro,\\nEuripides, Spinoza, Poe,\\nConfucius, Hiram Smith, and Fo,\\nCame (as it seemed, somewhat de trop)\\nWith a disembodied Esquimaux,\\nTo say that it was so and so\\nWith Franklin s expedition;\\nOne testified to ice and snow,\\nOne that the mercury was low.\\nOne that his progress was quite slow,\\nOne that he much desired to go.\\nOne that the cook had frozen his toe,\\n(Dissented from by Sandolo,\\nWordsworth, Cynaegirus, Boileau,\\nLa Hontan and Sir Thomas Roe,)\\nOne saw twelve white bears in a row,\\nOne saw eleven and a crow,\\nWith other things we could not know", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 85\\n(Of great statistic value, though)\\nBy our mere mortal vision,\\nSometimes the spirits made mistakes.\\nAnd seemed to play at ducks and drakes,\\nWith bold inquiry s heaviest stakes\\nIn science or in mystery\\nThey knew so little (and that wrong)\\nYet rapped it out so bold and strong.\\nOne would have said the entire throng\\nHad been Professors of History;\\nWhat made it odder was, that those\\nWho, you would naturally suppose,\\nCould solve a question, if they chose,\\nAs easily as count their toes\\nWere just the ones that blundered;\\nOne day, Ulysses happening down,\\nA reader of Sir Thomas Browne\\nAnd who (with him) had wondered\\nWhat song it was the Sirens sang,\\nAsked the shrewd Ithacan bang! bang!\\nWith this response the chamber rang,\\nI guess it was Old Hundred.\\nAnd Franklin, being asked to name\\nThe reason why the lightning came,\\nReplied, Because it thundered.\\nOn one sole point the ghosts agreed.\\nOne fearful point, than which, indeed,\\nNothing could seem absurder;\\nPoor Colonel Jones they all abused,\\nAnd finally downright accused\\nThe poor old man of murder;\\nTwas thus; by dreadful raps was shown\\nSome spirit s longing to make known", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "86 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nA bloody fact, which he alone\\nWas privy to, (such ghosts more prone\\nIn Earth s affairs to meddle are;)\\nWho are you? with awe-stricken looks,\\nAll ask: his airy knuckles he crooks,\\nAnd raps, I was Eliab Snooks,\\nThat used to be a pedler;\\nSome on ye still are on my books!\\nWhereat, to inconspicuous nooks,\\n(More fearing this than common spooks,)\\nShrank each indebted meddler;\\nFurther the vengeful ghost declared\\nThat while his earthly life was spared.\\nAbout the country he had fared,\\nA duly licensed follower\\nOf that much-wandering trade that wins\\nSlow profit from the sale of tins.\\nAnd various kinds of hollow-ware;\\nThat Colonel Jones enticed him in\\nPretending that he wanted tin.\\nThere slew him with a rolling-pin.\\nHid him in a potato-bin,\\nAnd (the same night) him ferried\\nAcross Great Pond to t other shore,\\nAnd there on land of Widow Moore,\\nJust where you turn to Larkin s store,\\nUnder a rock him buried;\\nSome friends (who happened to be by)\\nHe called upon to testify\\nThat what he said was not a lie,\\nAnd that he did not stir this\\nFoul matter out of any spite\\nBut from a simple love of right\\nWhich statement the Nine Worthies,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 87\\nRabbi Akiba, Charlemai^ne,\\nSeth, Colley Gibber, General Wayne,\\nGambyses, Tasso, Tubal-Gain,\\nThe owner of a castle in Spain,\\nJehangire, and the Widow of Nain,\\n(The friends aforesaid) made more plain\\nAnd by loud raps attested\\nTo the same purport testified\\nPlato, John Wilkes, and Golonel Pride\\nW^ho knew said Snooks before he died,\\nHad in his wares invested.\\nThought him entitled to belief\\nAnd freely could concur, in brief\\nIn every thing the rest did.\\nEliab this occasion seized,\\n(Distinctly here the Spirit sneezed)\\nTo say that he should ne er be eased\\nTill Jenny married whom she pleased,\\nFree from all checks and urgin s,\\n(This spirit dropped his final g s,)\\nAnd that, unless Knott quickly sees\\nThis done, the spirits to appease.\\nThey would come back his life to tease\\nAs thick as mites in ancient cheese,\\nAnd let his house on an endless lease\\nTo the ghosts (terrific rappers these\\nAnd veritable Eumenides,)\\nOf the Eleven Thousand Virgins!\\nKnott was perplexed and shook his head,\\nHe did not wish his child to wed\\nWith a suspected murderer,\\n(For, true or false, the rumor spread,)", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "88 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBut as for this riled life he led,\\n**It would not answer, so he said,\\nTo have it go no furderer.\\nAt last, scarce knowing what it meant,\\nReluctantly he gave consent\\nThat Jenny, since t was evident\\nThat she would follow her own bent,\\nShould make her own election;\\nFor that appeared the only way\\nThese frightful noises to allay\\nWhich had already turned him gray\\nAnd plunged him in dejection.\\nAccordingly, this artless maid\\nHer father s ordinance obeyed.\\nAnd, all in whitest crape arrayed,\\n(Miss Pulsifer the dresses made\\nAnd wishes here the fact displayed\\nThat she still carries on the trade,\\nThe third door south from Bagg s Arcade,)\\nA very faint I do essayed\\nAnd gave her hand to Hiram Slade,\\nFrom which time forth, the ghosts were laid\\nAnd ne er gave trouble after;\\nBut the Selectmen, be it known.\\nDug underneath the aforesaid stone.\\nWhere the poor pedler s corpse was thrown,\\nAnd found there-under a jaw-bone.\\nThough, when the crowner sat thereon,\\nHe nothing hatched, except alone\\nSuccessive broods of laughter;\\nIt was a frail and dingy thing,\\nIn which a grinder or two did cling,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 89\\nIn color like molasses,\\nWhich surgeons, called from far and wide,\\nUpon the horror to decide,\\nHaving put on their glasses,\\nReported thus To judge by looks,\\nThese bones, by some queer hooks or crooks,\\nMay have belonged to Mr. Snooks,\\nBut, as men deepest read in books\\nAre perfectly aware, bones,\\nIf buried, fifty years or so.\\nLose their identity and grow\\nFrom human bones to bare bones.\\nStill, if to Jaalam you go down.\\nYou ll find two parties in the town.\\nOne headed by Benaiah Brown,\\nAnd one by Perez Tinkham\\nThe first believe the ghosts all through,\\nAnd vow that they shall never rue\\nThe happy chance by which they knew\\nThat people in Jupiter are blue.\\nAnd very fond of Irish stew.\\nTwo curious facts when Prince Lee Boo\\nRapped clearly to a chosen few\\nWhereas the others think em\\nA trick got up b} Doctor Slade\\nWith Deborah the chamber-maid\\nAnd that sly cretur Jenny,\\nThat all the revelations wise,\\nAt which the Brownites made big eyes.\\nMight have been given by Jared Keyes,\\nA natural fool and ninny.\\nAnd, last week, didn t Eliab Snooks,\\nCome back with never better looks,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "90 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAs sharp as new bought mackerel hooks,\\nAnd bright as a new pin, eh?\\nGood Parson Wilbur, too, avers\\nThough to be mixed in parish stirs\\nIs worse than handling chestnut-burs)\\nThat no case to his mind occurs\\nWhere spirits ever did converse\\nSave in a kind of guttural Erse,\\n(So say the best authorities;)\\nAnd that a charge by raps conveyed,\\nShould be most scrupulously weighed\\nAnd searched into before it is\\nMade public, since it may give pain\\nThat cannot soon be cured again,\\nAnd one word may infix a stain\\nWhich ten cannot gloss over.\\nThough speaking for his private part.\\nHe is rejoiced with all his heart\\nMiss Knott missed not her lover:\\nDecember, 1850.\\nHAKON S LAY.\\nThen Thorstein looked at Hakon, where he\\nsate,\\nMute as a cloud amid the stormy hall,\\nAnd said: O, Skald, sing now an olden song.\\nSuch as our fathers heard who led great lives;\\nAnd, as the bravest on a shield is borne\\nAlong the waving host that shouts him king.\\nSo rode their thrones upon the thronging\\nseas!", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 91\\nThen the old man arose, white-haired he stood,\\nWhite-bearded, and with eyes that looked afar\\nFrom their still region of perpetual snow.\\nOver the little smokes and stirs of men\\nHis head was bowed with gathered flakes of\\nyears,\\nAs winter bends the sea-foreboding pine,\\nBut something triumphed in his brow and eye.\\nWhich whoso saw it, could not see and crouch\\nLoud rang the emptied beakers as he mused,\\nBrooding his eyried thoughts; then, as an eagle\\nCircles smooth-winged above the wind-vexed\\nwoods,\\nSo wheeled his soul into the air of song\\nHigh o er the stormy hall; and thus he sang:\\nThe fletcher for his arrow-shaft picks out\\nWood closest-grained, long-seasoned, straight\\nas light;\\nAnd, from a quiver full of such as these.\\nThe wary bow-man, matched against his peers,\\nLong doubting, singles yet once more the best.\\nWho is it that can make such shafts as Fate?\\nWhat archer of his arrows is so choice.\\nOr hits the white so surely? They are men,\\nThe chosen of her quiver nor for her\\nWill every reed suffice, or cross-grained stick\\nAt random from life s vulgar fagor plucked:\\nSuch answer household ends; but she will\\nhave\\nSouls straight and clear, of toughest fibre,\\nsound\\nDown to the heart of heart; from these she\\nstrips", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "92 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAll needless stuff, all sapwood, hardens them,\\nFrom circumstance untoward feathers plucks\\nCrumpled and cheap, and barbs with iron will\\nThe hour that passes is her quiver-boy;\\nWhen she draws bow, tis not across the wind,\\nNor gainst the sun, her haste-snatched arrow\\nsings,\\nFor sun and wind have plighted faith to her:\\nEre men have heard the sinew twang, behold,\\nIn the butt s heart her trembling messenger!\\nThe song is old and simple that I sing:\\nGood were the days of yore, when men were\\ntried\\nBy ring of shields, as now by ring of gold\\nBut, while the gods are left, and hearts of men,\\nAnd the free ocean, still the days are good\\nThrough the broad Earth roams Opportunity\\nAnd knocks at every door of hut or hall,\\nUntil she finds the brave soul that she wants.\\nHe ceased, and instantly the frothy tide\\nOf interrupted wassail roared along\\nBut Leif, the son of Eric, sat apart\\nMusing, and, with his eyes upon the fire,\\nSaw shapes of arrows, lost as soon as seen\\nBut then with that resolve his heart was bent.\\nWhich, like a humming shaft, through many\\na strife\\nOf day and night across the unventured seas,\\nShot the brave prow to cut on Vinland sands\\nThe first rune in the Saga of the West.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 93\\nTO THE FUTURE.\\nO, Land of Promise! from what Pisgah s height\\nCan I behold thy stretch of peaceful bowers?\\nThy golden harvests flowing out of sight,\\nThy nestled homes and sun-illumined towers\\nGazing upon the sunset s high-heaped gold,\\nIts crags of opal and of chrysolite,\\nIts deeps on deeps of glory that unfold\\nStill brightening abysses,\\nAnd blazing precipices,\\nWhence but a scanty leap it seems to heaven,\\nSometimes a glimpse is given,\\nOf thy more gorgeous realm, thy more\\nunstinted blisses.\\nO, Land of Quiet! to thy shore the surf\\nOf the perturbed Present rolls and sleeps;\\nOur storms breathe soft as June upon thy turf\\nAnd lure out blossoms; to thy bosom leaps,\\nAs to a mother s, the o er wearied heart.\\nHearing far off and dim the toiling mart,\\nThe hurrying feet, the curses without num-\\nber.\\nAnd, circled with the glow Elysian,\\nOf thine exulting vision.\\nOut of its very cares wooes charms for peace\\nand slumber.", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "94 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTo thee the Earth lifts up her fettered hands\\nAnd cries for vengeance with a pitying smile\\nThou blessest her, and she forgets her bands,\\nAnd her old wo-worn face a little while\\nGrows young and noble; unto thee the\\nOppressor\\nLooks, and is dumb with awe\\nThe eternal law\\nWhich makes the crime its own blindfold\\nredresser,\\nShadows his heart with perilous foreboding,\\nAnd he can see the grim-eyed Doom\\nFrom out the trembling gloom\\nIts silent-footed steeds toward his palace\\ngoading.\\nWhat promises hast thou for Poet s eyes,\\nAweary of the turmoil and the wrong!\\nTo all their hopes what over-joyed replies!\\nWhat undreamed ecstasies for blissful song!\\nThy happy plains no war-trump s brawling\\nclangor\\nDisturbs, and fools the poor to hate the poor;\\nThe humble glares not on the high with anger;\\nLove leaves no grudge at less, no greed for\\nmore;\\nIn vain strives Self the godlike sense to\\nsmother.\\nFrom the soul s deeps\\nIt throbs and leaps;\\nThe noble neath foul rags beholds his long-\\nlost brother.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 95\\nTo thee the Martyr looketh, and his fires\\nUnlock their fangs and leave his spirit free;\\nTo thee the Poet mid his toil aspires,\\nAnd grief and hunger climb about his knee\\nWelcome as children thou upholdest.\\nThe lone Inventor by his demon haunted;\\nThe Prophet cries to thee when hearts are\\ncoldest,\\nAnd, gazing o er the midnight s bleak\\nabyss,\\nSees the drowsed soul awaken at thy kiss,\\nAnd stretch its happy arms and leap up disen-\\nchanted.\\nThou bringest vengeance, but so loving kindly\\nThe guilty thinks it pity; taught by thee\\nFierce tyrants drop the scourges wherewith\\nblindly\\nTheir own souls they were scarring; con-\\nquerors see\\nWith horror in their hands the accursed spear\\nThat tore the meek One s side on Cavalry,\\nAnd from their trophies shrink with ghastly\\nfear\\nThou, too, art the Forgiver,\\nThe beauty of man s soul to man revealing;\\nThe arrows from thy quiver\\nPierce error s guilty heart, but only pierce for\\nhealing.\\nO, whither, whither, glory-winged dreams,\\nFrom out Life s sweat and turmoil would ye\\nbear me?\\nShut, gates of Fancy, on your golden gleams,", "height": "2850", "width": "1753", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "96 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThis agony of hopeless contrast spare me!\\nFade, cheating glow, and leave me to my i\\nnight I\\nHe is a coward who would borrow\\nA charm against the present sorrow\\nFrom the vague Future s promise of delight: i\\nAs life s alarums nearer roll, |j\\nThe ancestral buckler calls, 1\\nSelf -clanging, from the walls\\nIn the high temple of the soul I\\nWhere are most sorrows, there the poet s j|\\nsphere is,\\nTo feed the soul with patience,\\nTo heal its desolations j\\nWith words of unshorn truth, with love that\\nnever wearies.\\nOUT OF DOORS.\\nTis good to be abroad in the sun.\\nHis gifts abide when day is done\\nEach thing in nature from his cup\\nGathers a several virtue up\\nThe grace within its being s reach\\nBecomes the nutriment of each,\\nAnd the same life imbibed by all\\nMakes each most individual\\nHere the twig-bending peaches seek\\nThe glow that mantles in their cheek\\nHence comes the Indian-Summer bloom\\nThat hazes round the basking plum.\\nAnd, from the same impartial light,\\nThe grass sucks green, the lily white.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 97\\nLike these the soul, for sunshine made,\\nGrows wan and gracile in the shade,\\nHer faculties, which God decreed\\nVarious as Summer s datdal breed,\\nWith one sad color are imbued.\\nShut from the sun that tints their blood\\nThe shadow of the poet s roof\\nDeadens the dyes of warp and woof;\\nWhate er of ancient song remains\\nHas fresh air flowing in its veins,\\nFor Greece and eldest Ind. knew welL\\nThat out of doors, with world-wide swell\\nArches the student s lawful cell.\\nAway, unfruitful lore of books,\\nFor whose vain idiom we reject\\nThe spirit s mother-dialect,\\nAliens among the birds and brooks,\\nDull to interpret or believe\\nWhat gospels lost the woods retrieve,\\nOr w^hat the eaves-dropping violet\\nReports from God, who walketh yet\\nHis garden in the hush of eve\\nAway, ye pedants city-bred,\\nUnwise of heart, too wise of head,\\nWho handcuff Art with thus and so.\\nAnd in each other s footsteps tread,\\nLike those who walk through drifted snow;\\nW^ho, from deep study of brick walls,\\nConjecture of the water-falls,\\nBy six square feet of smoke-stained sky\\nCompute those deeps that overlie\\nThe still tarn s heaven-anointed eye,\\n7 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "98 LOWELL S POEMS.\\ni\\nAnd, in your earthen crucible,\\nWith chemic tests essay to spell\\nHow nature works in field and dell! i\\nSeek we where Shakespeare buried gold?\\nSuch hands no charmed witch-hazel hold; j\\nTo beach and rock repeats the sea\\nThe mystic Open Sesame\\nOld Greylock s voices not in vain j\\nComment on Milton s mountain strain, i\\nAnd cunningly the various wind\\nSpenser s locked music can unbind. j\\nA REVERIE. j\\nIn the twilight deep and silent\\nComes thy spirit unto mine, j\\nWhen the moonlight and the starlight i\\nOver cliff and woodland shine,\\nAnd the quiver of the river 1\\nSeems a thrill of joy benign. -i\\nThen I rise and wander slowly\\nTo the headland by the sea, j\\nWhen the evening star throbs setting\\nThrough the cloudy cedar tree, j\\nAnd from under, mellow thunder j\\nOf the surf comes fitfully.\\nThen within my soul I feel thee\\nLike a gleam of other years,\\nVisions of my childhood murmur\\nTheir old madness in my ears, i\\nTill the pleasance of thy presence i\\nCools my heart with blissful tears. i", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 99\\nAll the wondrous dreams of boyhood\\nAll youth s fiery thirst of praise\\nAll the surer hopes of manhood\\nBlossoming in sadder days\\nJoys that bound me, griefs that crowned me\\nWith a better wreath than bays\\nAll the longings after freedom\\nThe vague love of human kind,\\nWandering far and near at random\\nLike a winged seed in the wind\\nThe dim yearnings and fierce burnings\\nOf an undirected mind\\nAll of these, oh, best beloved,\\nHappiest present dreams and past,\\nIn thy love find safe fulfillment,\\nRipened into truth at last\\nFaith and beauty, hope and duty.\\nTo one center gather fast.\\nHow my nature, like an ocean,\\nAt the breath of thine awakes.\\nLeaps its shores in mad exulting\\nAnd in foamy thunder breaks.\\nThen downsinking, lieth shrinking\\nAt the tumult that it makes\\nBlazing Hesperus hath sunken\\nLow within the pale-blue west,\\nAnd with golden splendor crowneth\\nThe horizon s piny crest;\\nThoughtful quiet stills the riot\\nOf wild longing in my breast.\\nLire.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "100 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nHome I loiter through the moonlight,\\nUnderneath the quivering trees,\\nWhich, as if a spirit stirred them,\\nSway and bend, till by degrees\\nThe far surge s murmur merges\\nIn the rustle of the breeze.\\nIN SADNESS.\\nThere is not in this life of ours\\nOne bliss unmixed with fears,\\nThe hope that wakes our deepest powers\\nA face of sadness wears.\\nAnd the dew that showers our dearest flowers\\nIs the bitter dew of tears.\\nFame waiteth long, and lingereth\\nThrough weary nights and morns\\nAnd evermore the shadow Death\\nWith mocking finger scorns\\nThat underneath the laurel wreath\\nShould be a wreath of thorns.\\nThe laurel leaves are cool and green,\\nBut the thorns are hot and sharp.\\nLean Hunger grins and stares between\\nThe poet and his harp.\\nThough of Love s sunny sheen his woof have\\nbeen\\nGrim wan thrusts in the warp.\\nAnd if beyond this darksome clime\\nSome fair star Hope may see.\\nThat keeps un jarred the blissful chime", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 101\\nOf its golden infancy\\nWhere the harvest-time of faith sublime\\nNot always is to be\\nYet wonld the true soul rather choose\\nIts home where sorrow is,\\nThan in a stated peace to lose\\nIts life s supremest bliss\\nThe rainbow hues that bend profuse\\nO er cloudy spheres like this\\nThe want, the sorrow and the pain,\\nThat are Love s right to cure\\nThe sunshine bursting after rain\\nThe gladness insecure\\nThat makes us fain strong hearts to gain,\\nTo do and to endure.\\nHigh natures must be thunder-scarred\\nWith many a searing wrong;\\nFrom mother Sorrow s breasts the bard\\nSucks gifts of deepest song,\\nNor all unmarred with struggles hard\\nWax the Soul s sinews strong.\\nDear Patience, too, is born of wo,\\nPatience that opes the gate\\nWherethrough the soul of man must go\\nUp to each nobler state,\\nWhose voice s flow so meek and low\\nSmooths the bent brows of Fate.\\nThough Fame be slow, yet Death is swift,\\nAnd o er the spirit s eyes.\\nLife after life doth change and shift\\nWith larger destinies", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "102 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAs on we drift, some wider rift\\nShows us serener skies.\\nAnd though naught falleth to us here\\nBut gains the world counts loss,\\nThough all we hope of wisdom clear\\nWhen climbed to seems but dross,\\nYet all, though ne er Christ s faith they wear,\\nAt least may share his cross.\\nFAREWELL.\\nFarewell! as the bee round the blossom i\\nDoth murmur drowsily, -1\\nSo murmureth round my bosom i\\nThe memory of thee\\nLingering, it seems to go,\\nWhen the wind more full doth flow,\\nWaving the flower to and fro,\\nBut still returneth, Marian\\nMy hope no longer burneth,\\nWhich did so fiercely burn, J\\nMy joy to sorrow turneth, i\\nAlthough loath, loath to turn i\\nI would forget\\nAnd yet and yet\\nMy heart to thee still yearneth, Marian\\nFair as a single star thou shinest,\\nAnd white as lilies are i\\nThe slender hands wherewith thou twinest\\nThy heavy auburn hair j\\nThou art to me i\\nA memory vi", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 103\\nOf all that is divinest\\nThou art so fair and tall,\\nThy looks so queenly are,\\nThy very shadow on the wall,\\nThy step upon the stair,\\nThe thought that thou art nigh,\\nThe chance look of thine eye\\nAre more to me than all, Marian,\\nAnd will be till I die\\nAs the last quiver of a bell\\nDoth fade into the air,\\nWith a subsiding swell\\nThat dies we know not where.\\nSo my hope melted and was gone:\\nI raised mine eyes to bless the star\\nThat shared its light with me so far\\nBelow its silver throne.\\nAnd gloom and chilling vacancy\\nWere all was left to me,\\nIn the dark, bleak night I was alone!\\nAlone in the blessed Earth, Marian,\\nFor what were all to me\\nIts love, and light, and mirth, Marian,\\nIf I were not with thee?\\nMy heart will not forget thee\\nMore than the moaning brine\\nForgets the moon when she is set;\\nThe gush when first I met thee\\nThat thrilled my brain like wine,\\nDoth thrill as madly yet;\\nMy heart cannot forget thee.\\nThough it may droop and pine,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "104 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nToo deeply it had set thee\\nIn every love of mine\\nNo new moon evercometh,\\nNo flower ever bloometh,\\nNo twilight ever gloometh\\nBut I m more only thine.\\nOh, look not on me, Marian,\\nThine eyes are wild and deep,\\nAnd they have won me, Marian,\\nFrom peacefulness and sleep\\nThe sunlight doth not sun me.\\nThe meek moonshine doth shun me,\\nAll sweetest voices stun me\\nThere is no rest\\nWithin my breast\\nAnd I can only weep, Marian!\\nAs a landbird far at sea\\nDoth wander through the sleet\\nAnd drooping downward wearily\\nFinds no rest for her feet.\\nSo wandereth my memory.\\nO er the years when we did meet:\\nI used to say that everything\\nPartook a share of thee\\nThat not a little bird could sing,\\nOr green leaf flutter on a tree.\\nThat nothing could be beautiful\\nSave part of thee were there.\\nThat from thy soul so clear and full\\nAll bright and blessed things did cull\\nThe charm to make them fair;\\nAnd now I know\\nThat it was so.\\nThy spirit through the earth doth flow", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 105\\nAnd face me wheresoe er I go\\nWhat right hath perfectness to give\\nSuch weary weight of wo\\nUnto the soul which cannot live\\nOn anything more low?\\nleave me, leave me, Marian,\\nThere s no fair thing I see\\nBut doth deceive me, Marian,\\nInto sad dreams of thee!\\nA cold snake gnaws my heart\\nAnd crushes round my brain,\\nAnd I should glory but to part\\nSo bitterly again,\\nFeeling the slow tears start\\nAnd fall in fiery rain\\nThere s a wide ring round the moon,\\nThe ghost-like clouds glide by.\\nAnd I hear the sad winds croon\\nA dirge to the lowering sky;\\nThere s nothing soft or mild\\nIn the pale moon s sickly light,\\nBut all looks strange and wild\\nThrough the dim, foreboding night;\\n1 think thou must be dead\\nIn some dark and lonely place,\\nWith candles at thy head,\\nAnd a pall above thee spread\\nTo hide thy dead, cold face\\nBut I can see thee underneath\\nSo pale, and still, and fair.\\nThine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath\\nOf flowers in thy hair;\\nI never saw thy face so clear\\nWhen thou wast with the living.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "106 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAs now beneath the pall, so drear,\\nAnd stiff, and unforgiving;\\nI cannot flee thee, Marian,\\nI cannot turn away,\\nMine eyes must see thee, Marian,\\nThrough salt tears night and day.\\nA DIRGE.\\nPoet! lonely is thy bed.\\nAnd the turf is overhead\\nCold earth is thy cover;\\nBut thy heart hath found release,\\nAnd it slumbers full of peace\\nNeath the rustle of green trees\\nAnd the warm hum of the bees,\\nMid the drowsy clover;\\nThrough the chamber, still as death,\\nA smooth gurgle wandereth,\\nAs the blue stream murmureth\\nTo the blue sky over.\\nThree paces from the silver strand.\\nGently in the fine, white sand,\\nWith a lily in thy hand,\\nPale as snow, they laid thee\\nIn no coarse earth wast thou hid,\\nAnd no gloomy coffin-lid\\nDarkly overweighed thee.\\nSilently as snow-flakes drift,\\nThe smooth sand did sift and sift\\nO er the bed they made thee;\\nAll sweet birds did come and sing", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 107\\nAt thy sunny burying\\nChoristers unbidden,\\nAnd, beloved of sun and dew.\\nMeek forget-me-nots upgrew\\nWhere thine eyes so large and blue\\nNeath the turf were hidden.\\nWhere thy stainless clay doth lie,\\nBlue and open is the sky.\\nAnd the white clouds wander by,\\nDreams of summer silently\\nDarkening the river\\nThou hearest the clear water run\\nAnd the ripples every one,\\nScattering the golden sun.\\nThough thy silence quiver;\\nVines trail down upon the stream,\\nInto its smooth and glassy dream\\nA green stillness spreading.\\nAnd the shiner, perch, and bream\\nThrough the shadowed waters gleam\\nGainst the current heading.\\nWhite as snow, thy winding sheet\\nShelters thee from head to feet,\\nSave thy pale face only;\\nThy face is turned toward the skies.\\nThe lids lie meekly o er thine eyes,\\nAnd the low-voiced pine-tree sighs\\nO er thy bed so lonely.\\nAll thy life thou lov dst its shade;\\nUnderneath it thou art laid,\\nIn an endless shelter;\\nThou hearest it forever sigh", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "108 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAs the wind s vain longings die\\nIn its branches dim and high\\nThou hear st the waters gliding by\\nSlumberously welter.\\nThou wast full of love and truth,\\nOf forgiveness and ruth\\nThy great heart with hope and youth\\nTided to o erflowing.\\nThou didst dwell in mysteries,\\nAnd there lingered on thine eyes\\nShadows of serener skies.\\nAwfully wild memories,\\nThat were like foreknowing;\\nThrough the earth thou wouldst have gone,\\nLighted from within alone,\\nSeeds from flowers in Heaven grown\\nWith a free hand sowing.\\nThou didst remember well and long\\nSome fragments of thine angel-song,\\nAnd strive, through want and wo and wrong\\nTo win the world unto it\\nThy sin it was to see and hear\\nBeyond To-day s dim atmosphere\\nBeyond all mists of hope and fear,\\nInto a life more true and clear.\\nAnd dearly thou didst rue it\\nLight of the new world thou hadst won,\\nO erflooded by a purer sun\\nSlowly Fate s ship came drifting on,\\nAnd through the dark, save thou, not one\\nCaught of the land a token.\\nThou stood st upon the farthest prow.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 109\\nSomething within thy soul said Now!\\nAnd leaping forth with eager brow,\\nThou fell st on shore heart-broken.\\nLong time thy brethren stood in fear;\\nOnly the breakers far and near,\\nWhite with their anger, they could hear;\\nThe sounds of land, which thy quick ear\\nCaught long ago, they heard not.\\nAnd, when at last they reached the strand,\\nThey found thee lying on the sand\\nWith some wild flowers in thy hand,\\nBut thy cold bosom stirred not\\nThey listened, but they heard no sound\\nSave from the glad life all around\\nA low, contented murmur.\\nThe long grass flowed adown the hill,\\nA hum rose from a hidden rill.\\nBut thy glad heart, which knew no ill\\nBut too much love, lay dead and still\\nThe only thing that sent a chill\\nInto the heart of summer.\\nThou didst not seek the poet s wreath\\nBut too soon didst win it\\nWithout twas green, but underneath\\nWere scorn and loneliness and death.\\nGnawing the brain with burning teeth,\\nAnd making mock within it.\\nThou, who wast full of nobleness,\\nWhose very life-blood twas to bless.\\nWhose soul s one law was giving,\\nMust bandy words with wickedness.\\nHaggle with hunger and distress,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "110 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTo win that death which worldliness\\nCalls bitterly a living.\\nThou sow st no gold, and shalt not reap!\\nMuttered earth, turning in her sleep;\\nCome home to the Eternal Deep!\\nMurmured a voice, and a wide sweep\\nOf wings through thy soul s hush did creep,\\nAs of thy doom o erflying;\\nIt seem d that thy strong heart would leap\\nOut of thy breast, and thou didst weep.\\nBut not with fear of dying;\\nMen could not fathom thy deep fears.\\nThey could not understand thy tears.\\nThe hoarded agony of years\\nOf bitter self-denying.\\nSo once, when high above the spheres\\nThy spirit sought its starry peers,\\nIt came not back to face the jeers\\nOf brothers who denied it\\nStar-crowned, thou dost possess the deeps\\nOf God, and thy white body sleeps\\nWhere the lone pine forever keeps\\nPatient watch beside it.\\nPoet! underneath the turf.\\nSoft thou sleepest, free from morrow,\\nThou hast struggled through the surf\\nOf wild thoughts and want and sorrow.\\nNow, beneath the moaning pine.\\nFull of rest, thy body lieth.\\nWhile far up is clear sunshine,\\nUnderneath a sky divine,\\nHer loosed wings thy spirit trieth", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. Ill\\nOft she strove to spread them here,\\nBut they were too white and clear\\nFor our dingy atmosphere.\\nThy body findeth ample room\\nIn its still and grassy tomb\\nBylhe silent river;\\nBut thy spirit found the earth\\nNarrow for the mighty birth\\nWhich it dreamed of ever;\\nThou wast guilty of a rhyme\\nLearned in a benigner clime,\\nAnd of that more grievous crime,\\nAn ideal too sublime\\nFor the low-hung sky of Time.\\nThe calm spot where thy body lies\\nGladdens thy soul in Paradise,\\nIt is so still and holy\\nThy body sleeps serenely there,\\nAnd well for it thy soul may care,\\nIt was so beautiful and fair,\\nLily white so wholly.\\nFrom so pure and sweet a frame\\nThy spirit parted as it came,\\nGentle as a maiden;\\nNow it lieth full of rest\\nSods are lighter on its breast\\nThan the great, prophetic guest\\nWherewith it was laden.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "112 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nFANCIES ABOUT A ROSEBUD,\\nPRESSED IN AN OLD COPY OF SPENSER.\\nWho prest you here? The Past can tell,\\nWhen summer skies were bright above.\\nAnd some full heart did leap and swell\\nBeneath the white new moon of love.\\nSome Poet, haply, when the world\\nShowed like a calm sea, grand and blue,\\nEre its cold, inky waves had curled\\nO er the numb heart once warm and true;\\nWhen, with his soul brimful of morn.\\nHe looked beyond the vale of Time,\\nNor saw therein the dullard scorn\\nThat made his heavenliness a crime\\nWhen, musing o er the Poets olden.\\nHis soul did like a sun upstart\\nTo shoot its arrows, clear and golden.\\nThrough slavery s cold and darksome heart.\\nAlas! too soon the veil is lifted\\nThat hangs between the soul and pain,\\nToo soon the morning-red hath drifted\\nInto dull cloud, or fallen in rain!", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "Pressed here by two lovers. Page 113.\\nLowell s Foenis,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 113\\nOr were you prest by one who rrnrst\\nBleak memories of love gone by,\\nWhose heart, like a star fallen, burst\\nIn dark and erring vacancy?\\nTo him you still were fresh and green\\nAs when you grew upon the stalk,\\nAnd many a breezy summer scene\\nCame back and many a moonlit walk\\nAnd there would be a hum of bees,\\nA smell of childhood in the air,\\nAnd old, fresh feelings cooled the breeze\\nThat, like loved fingers, stirred his hair.\\nThen would you suddenly be blasted\\nBy the keen wind of one dark thought.\\nOne nameless woe, that had outlasted\\nThe sudden blow whereby twas brought.\\nOr were you pressed here by two lovers\\nWho seemed to read these verses rare,\\nBut found between the antique covers\\nWhat Spenser could not prison there:\\nSongs which his glorious soul had heard,\\nBut his dull pen could never write,\\nWhich flew, like some gold- winged bird.\\nThrough the blue heaven out of sight?\\nMy heart is with them as they sit,\\nI see the rosebud in her breast,\\nI see her small hand taking it\\nFrom out its odorous, snowy nest\\n8 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "114 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nI hear him swear that he will keep it,\\nIn memory of that blessed day,\\nTo smile on it or over-weep it\\nWhen she and spring are far away.\\nAh me! I needs must droop my head,\\nAnd brush away a happy tear,\\nFor they are gone, and, dry and dead,\\nThe rosebud lies before me here.\\nYet is it no stranger s hand,\\nFor I will guard it tenderly,\\nAnd it shall be a magic wand\\nTo bring mine own true love to me.\\nMy heart runs o er v/ith sweet surmises,\\nThe while my fancy weaves her rhyme.\\nKind hopes and musical surprises\\nThrong round me from the olden time.\\nI do not care to know who prest you\\nEnough for me to feel and know\\nThat some heart s love and longing blest you,\\nKnitting to-day with long-ago.\\nNEW YEAR S EVE, 1844.\\nA FRAGMENT.\\nThe night is calm and beautiful; the snow\\nSparkles beneath the clear and frosty moon\\nAnd the cold stars, as if it took delight\\nIn its own silent whiteness; the hushed earth\\nSleeps in the soft arms of the embracing blue.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 115\\nSecure as if angelic squadrons yet\\nEncamped about her, and each watching star\\nGained double brightness from the flashing\\narms\\nOf winged and unsleeping sentinels.\\nUpward the calm of infinite silence deepens,\\nThe sea that flows between high heaven and\\nearth,\\nMusing by whose smooth brink we sometimes\\nfind\\nA stray leaf floated from those happier shores,\\nAnd hope, perchance not vainly, that some\\nflower,\\nWhich we had watered with our holiest tears,\\nPale blooms, and yet our scanty garden s best.\\nO er the same ocean piloted by love,\\nMay find a haven at the feet of God,\\nAnd be not wholly worthless in his sight.\\nO, high dependence on a higher Power,\\nSole stay for all these restless faculties\\nThat wander, Ishmael-like, the desert bare\\nWherein our human knowledge hath its home,\\nShifting their light-framed tents from day to\\nday.\\nWith each new-found oasis, wearied soon,\\nAnd only certain of uncertainty!\\nO, mighty humbleness that feels with awe,\\nYet with a vast exulting feels, no less,\\nThat this huge Minister of the Universe,\\nWhose smallest oratories are glorious worlds,\\nW^ith painted oriels of dawn and sunset;\\nWhose carved ornaments are systems grand,\\nOrion kneeling in his starry niche.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "116 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThe Lyre whose strings give music audible\\nTo holy ears, and countless splendors more,\\nCrowned by the blazing Cross high-hung o er\\nall;\\nWhose organ music is the solemn stops\\nOf endless Change breathed through by end-\\nless Good\\nWhose choristers are all the morning stars;\\nWhose altar is the sacred human heart\\nWhereon Love s candles burn unquenchably,\\nTrimmed day and night by gentle-handed\\nPeace\\nWith all its arches and its pinnacles\\nThat stretch forever and forever up.\\nIs founded on the silent heart of God,\\nSilent, yet pulsing forth exhaustless life\\nThrough the least veins of all created things.\\nFit musings these for the departing yea,T;\\nAnd God be thanked for such a crystal night\\nAs fills the spirit with good store of thoughts,\\nThat, like a cheering fire of walnut, crackle\\nUpon the hearthstone of the heart, and cast\\nA mild home-glow o er all Humanity!\\nYes, though the poisoned shafts of evil doubts\\nAssail the skyey panoply of Faith,\\nThough the great hopes which we have had\\nfor man.\\nFoes in disguise, because they based belief\\nOn man s endeavor, not on God s decree\\nThough these proud- visaged hopes, once turned\\nto fly,\\nHurl backward many a deadly Parthian dart\\nThat rankles in the soul and makes it sick", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 117\\nWith vain regret, nigh verging on despair\\nYet, in such calm and earnest hours as this,\\nWe well can feel how every living heart\\nThat sleeps to-night in palace or in cot,\\nOr unroofed hovel, or which need hath known\\nOf other homestead than the arching sky,\\nIs circled watchfully with seraph fires;\\nHow our own erring will it that hangs\\nThe flaming sword o er Eden s unclosed gate,\\nWhich gives free entrance to the pure in heart\\nAnd with its guarding walls doth fence the\\nmeek.\\nSleep then, O Earth, in thy blue-vaulted\\ncradle,\\nBent over always by thy mother Heaven!\\nWe are all tall enough to reach God s hand,\\nAnd angels are no taller; looking back\\nUpon the smooth wake of a year o er past.\\nWe see the black clouds furling, one by one,\\nFrom the advancing majesty of Truth,\\nAnd something won for Freedom, whose least\\ngain\\nIs as a firm and rock-built citadel\\nWherefrom to launch fresh battle on her foes;\\nOr, leaning from the time s extremest prow,\\nIf we gaze forward through the blending spray,\\nAnd dimly see how much of ill remains,\\nHow many fetters to be sawn asunder\\nBy the slow toil of individual zeal.\\nOr haply rusted by salt tears in twain,\\nWe feel, with something of a sadder heart,\\nYet bracing up our bruised mail the while,\\nAnd fronting the old foe with fresher spirit,\\nHow great it is to breathe with human breath,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "118 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTo be but poor foot-soldiers in the ranks\\nOf our old exiled king, Humanity;\\nEncamping after every hard-won field\\nNearer and nearer Heaven s happy plains.\\nMany great souls have gone to rest, and sleep\\nUnder this armor, free and full of peace\\nIf these have left the earth, yet Truth remains,\\nEndurance, too, the crowning faculty\\nOf noble minds, and Love, invincible\\nBy any weapons; and these hem us round\\nWith silence such that all the groaning clank\\nOf this mad engine men have made of earth\\nDulls not some ears for catching purer tones,\\nThat wander from the dim surrounding vast,\\nOr far more clear melodious prophecies.\\nThe natural music of the heart of man.\\nWhich by kind Sorrow s ministry hath learned\\nThat the true sceptre of all power is love\\nAnd humbleness the palace-gate of truth.\\nWhat man with soul so blind as sees not here\\nThe first faint tremble of Hope s morning-star,\\nForetelling how the God-forged shafts of dawn,\\nFitted already on their golden string,\\nShall soon leap earthward with exulting flight\\nTo thrid the dark heart of that evil faith\\nWhose trust is in the clumsy arms of Force,\\nThe ozier hauberk of a ruder age?\\nFreedom! thou other name for happy Truth,\\nThou warrior-maid, whose steel-clad feet were\\nnever\\nOut of the stirrup, nor thy lance uncouched,\\nNor thy fierce eye enticed from its watch,\\nThou hast learned now, bj^ hero-blood in vain", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 119\\nPoured to enrich the soil which tyrants reap\\nBy wasted lives of prophets, and of those\\nWho, by the promise in their souls upheld,\\nInto the red arms of a fiery death\\nWent blithely as the golden-girdled bee\\nSinks in the sleepy poppy s cup of flame;\\nBy the long woes of nations set at war,\\nThat so the swollen torrent of their wrath\\nMay find a vent, else sweeping off like straws\\nThe thousand cobweb threads, grown cable-\\nhuge\\nBy time s long gathered dust, but cobwebs\\nstill,\\nWhich bind the Many that the Few may gain\\nLeisure to wither by the drought of ease\\nWhat heavenly germs in their own souls were\\npown\\nBy all these searching lessons thou hast\\nlearned\\nTo throw aside thy blood-stained helm and\\nspear\\nAnd with thy bare brow daunt the enemy s\\nfront.\\nKnowing that God will make the lily stalk,\\nIn the soft grasp of naked Gentleness,\\nStronger than iron spear to shatter through\\nThe sevenfold toughness of Wrong s idle\\nshield.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "120 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nA MYSTICAL BALLAD.\\nThe sunset scarce had dimmed away\\nInto the twilight s doubtful gray;\\nOne long cloud o er the horizon lay,\\nNeath which, a streak of bluish white,\\nWavered between the day and night;\\nOver the pine trees on the hill\\nThe trembly evening-star did thrill\\nAnd the new moon, with slender rim.\\nThrough the elm arches gleaming dim,\\nFilled memory s chalice to the brim.\\nOn such an eve the heart doth grow\\nFull of surmise, and scarce can know\\nIf it be now or long ago.\\nOr if indeed it doth exist\\nA wonderful enchanted mist\\nFrom the new moon doth wander out.\\nWrapping all things in mystic doubt.\\nSo that this world doth seem untrue,\\nAnd all our fancies to take hue\\nFrom some life ages since gone through.\\nIII.\\nThe maiden sat and heard the flow\\nOf the west wind so soft and low", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 121\\nThe leaves scarce quivered to and fro\\nUnbound, her heavy golden hair\\nRippled across her bosom bare,\\nWhich gleamed with thrilling snowy white\\nFar through the magical moonlight\\nThe breeze rose with a rustling swell,\\nAnd from afar there came the smell\\nOf a long-forgotten lily-bell.\\nIV.\\nThe dim moon rested on the hill,\\nBut silent, without thought or will,\\nWhere sat the dreamy maiden still;\\nAnd now the moon s tip, like a star,\\nDrew down below the horizon s bar;\\nTo her black noon the night hath grown,\\nYet still the maiden sits alone,\\nPale as a corpse beneath a stream\\nAnd her white bosom still doth gleam\\nThrough the deep midnight like a dream.\\nV.\\nCloudless the morning came and fair,\\nAnd lavishly the sun doth share\\nHis gold among her golden hair,\\nKindling it all, till slowly so\\nA glory round her head doth glow\\nA withered flower is in her hand,\\nThat grew in some far distant land,\\nAnd, silently transfigured.\\nWith wide calm eyes, and undrooped head,\\nThey found the stranger-maiden dead.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "122 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nVI.\\nA youth, that morn, neath other skies,\\nFelt sudden tears burn in his eyes,\\nAnd his heart throng with memories;\\nAll things Without him seemed to win\\nStrange brotherhood with things within,\\nAnd he forever felt that he\\nWalked in the midst of mystery,\\nAnd thenceforth, why, he could not tell,\\nHis heart would curdle at the smell\\nOf his once-cherished lily-bell.\\nVII.\\nSomething from him had passed away\\nSome shifting trembles of clear day.\\nThrough starry crannies in his clay,\\nGrew bright and steadfast, more and more,\\nWhere all had been dull earth before;\\nAnd, through these chinks, like him of old,\\nHis spirit converse high did hold\\nWith clearer loves and wider powers,\\nThat brought him dewy fruits and flowers\\nFrom far Elysian groves and bowers.\\nVIII.\\nJust on the farther bound of sense,\\nUnproved by outward evidence.\\nBut known by deep influence\\nWhich through our grosser clay doth shine\\nWith light unwaning and divine.\\nBeyond where highest thought can fly\\nStretcheth the world of Mystery\\nAnd they not greatly overween", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 123\\nWho deem that nothing true hath been\\nSave the unspeakable Unseen.\\nIX.\\nOne step beyond life s work-day things,\\nOne more beat of the soul s broad wings,\\nOne deeper sorrow sometimes brings\\nThe spirit into that great Vast\\nWhere neither future is nor past;\\nNone knoweth how he entered there.\\nBut, waking, finds his spirit where\\nHe thought an angel could not soar.\\nAnd, what he called false dreams before\\nThe very air about his door.\\nX.\\nThese outward seemings are but shows\\nWhereby the body sees and knows;\\nFar down beneath, forever flows\\nA stream of subtlest sympathies\\nThat make our spirits strangely wise\\nIn awe, and fearful bodings dim\\nWhich, from the sense s outer rim,\\nStretch forth beyond our thought and sight,\\nFine arteries of circling light,\\nPulsed outward from the Infinite.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "121 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nOPENING POEM TO i\\nA YEAR S LIFE.\\nHope first the youthful Poet leads, ,1\\nAnd he is glad to follow her;\\nKind is she, and to all his needs\\nWith a free hand doth minister.\\nBut, when sweet Hope at last hath fled,\\nCometh her sister, Memory:\\nShe wreaths Hope s garlands round her head,\\nAnd strives to seem as fair as she.\\nThen Hope comes back, and by the hand\\nShe leads a child most fair to see,\\nV/ho with a joyous face doth stand\\nUniting Hope and Memory. j\\nSo brighter grew the Earth around,\\nAnd bluer grew the sky above;\\nThe Poet now is guide hath found,\\nAnd follows in the steps of Love.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 125\\nDEDICATION\\nTO VOLUME OF POEMS ENTITLED\\nA YEAR S LIFE.\\nThe ^^entle Una I have loved,\\nThe snowy maiden, pure and mild\\nSince ever by her side I roved,\\nThrough ventures strange, a wondering child,\\nIn fantasy a Red Cross Knight,\\nBurning for her dear sake to fight.\\nIf there be one who can, like her,\\nMake sunshine in life s shady places,\\nOne in whose holy bosom stir\\nAs many gentle household graces\\nAnd such I think there needs must be\\nWill she accept this book from me?\\nTHRENODIA.\\nGone, gone from us! and shall we see\\nThose sybil-leaves of destiny.\\nThose calm eyes, nevermore?\\nThose deep, dark eyes so warm and bright,\\nWherein the fortunes of the man\\nLay slumbering in prophetic light,\\nIn characters a child might scan?", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "126 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSo bright, and gone forth utterly?\\nO stern word\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nevermore!\\nThe stars of those two gentle eyes\\nWill shine no more on earth;\\nQuenched are the hopes that had their birth,\\nAs we watched them slowly rise,\\nStars of a mother s fate;\\nAnd she would read them o er and o er,\\nPondering, as she sate,\\nOver their dear astrology,\\nWhich she had conned and conned before,\\nDeeming she needs must read aright\\nWhat was writ so passing bright.\\nAnd yet, alas! she knew not why,\\nHer voice would falter in its song,\\nAnd tears would slide from out her eye.\\nSilent, as they were doing wrong.\\nHer heart was like a windflower, bent\\nEven to breaking with the balmy dew,\\nTurning its heavenly nourishment\\n(That filled with tears its eyes of blue.\\nLike a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer,\\nMaking her innocency show more fair\\nAlbeit unwitting of the ornament,)\\nInto a load too great for it to bear:\\nstern word Nevermore\\nThe tongue, that scarce had learned to claim\\nAn entrance to a mother s heart\\nBy that dear talisman, a mother s name,\\nSleeps all forgetful of its art!\\n1 loved to see the infant soul\\n(How mighty in the weakness", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 127\\nOf its untutored meekness!)\\nPeep timidly from out its nest,\\nHis lips, the while.\\nFluttering with half-fledged words,\\nOr hushing to a smile\\nThat more than words expressed.\\nWhen his glad mother on him stole\\nAnd snatched him to her breast!\\nO, thoughts were brooding in those eyes.\\nThat would have soared like strong- winged\\nbirds\\nFar, far into the skies,\\nGladdening the earth with song\\nAnd gushing harmonies,\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Had he but tarried with us long!\\nO stern word Nevermore\\nHow peacefully they rest,\\nCrossfolded there\\nUpon his little breast,\\nThose small, white hands that ne er were still\\nbefore,\\nBut ever sported with his mother s hair,\\nOr the plain cross that on her breast she wore?\\nHer heart no more will beat\\nTo feel the touch of that soft palm,\\nThat ever seemed a new surprise\\nSending glad thoughts up to her eyes\\nTo bless him with their holy calm\\nSweet thoughts they made her eyes as sweet.\\nHow quiet are the hands\\nThat wove those pleasant bands!\\nBut that they do not rise and sink\\nWith his calm breathing, I should think", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "i\\n128 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThat he were dropped asleep;\\nAlas! too deep, too deep\\nIs this his slumber! j\\nTime scarce can number j\\nThe years ere he will wake again\\nO, may we see his eyelids open then! s\\nO stern word Nevermore 1\\nAs the airy gossamere,\\nFloating in the sunlight clear,\\nWhere er it toucheth clinging tightly\\nRound glossy leaf or stump unsightly,\\nSo from his spirit wandered out\\nTendrils spreading all about,\\nKnitting all things to its thrall\\nWith a perfect love of all\\nO stern word Nevermore\\nHe did but float a little way\\nAdown the stream of time,\\nWith dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, j\\nOr listening to their fairy chime;\\nHis slender sail j\\nNe er felt the gale;\\nHe did but float a little way, j\\nAnd, putting to the shore j\\nWhile yet t was early day,\\nWent calmly on his way, j\\nTo dwell with us no more J\\nNo jarring did he feel, i\\nNo grating on his vessel s keel;\\nA strip of silver sand j\\nMingled the waters with the land\\nWhere he was seen no more 1\\nO stem word Nevermore", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 129\\nFull short his journey was: no dust\\nOf earth unto his sandals clave\\nThe weary weight that old men must,\\nHe bore not to the grave.\\nHe seemed a cherub who had lost his way\\nAnd wandered hither, so his stay\\nWith us was short, and t was most meet\\nThat he should be no delver in Earth s clod,\\nNor need to pause and cleanse his feet\\nTo stand before his God:\\nO blest word Evermore\\nTHE SERENADE.\\nGentle, Lady, be thy sleeping,\\nPeaceful may thy dreamings be,\\nWhile around thy soul is sweeping,\\nDreamy- winged, our melod}^;\\nChant we. Brothers, sad and slow,\\nLet our song be soft and low\\nAs the voice of other years.\\nLet our hearts within us melt,\\nTo gentleness, as if we felt\\nThe dropping of our mother s tears.\\nLady! now our song is bringing\\nBack again thy childhood s hours\\nHearest thou the humbee singing\\nDrowsily among the flowers?\\nSleepily, sleepily\\nIn the noontide swa)^eth he,\\nHalf rested on the slender stalks\\nThat edge those well-known garden walks;\\n9 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "130 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nHearest thou the fitful whirring-\\nOf the humbird s viewless wings\\nFeel st not round thy heart the stirring\\nOf childhood s half-forgotten things?\\nSeest thou the dear old dwelling\\nWith the woodbine round the door?\\nBrothers, soft! her breast is swelling\\nWith the busy thoughts of yore\\nLowly sing ye, sing ye mildly,\\nRouse her spirit not so wildly,\\nLest she sleep not any more.\\nTis the pleasant summertide,\\nOpen stands the window wide\\nWhose voices, Lady, art thou drinking?\\nWho sings that best beloved tune\\nIn a clear note, rising, sinking.\\nLike a thrush s song in June?\\nWhose laugh is that which rings so clear\\nAnd joyous in thine eager ear?\\nLower, Brothers, yet more low\\nWeave the song in mazy twines;\\nShe heareth now the west wind blow\\nAt evening through the clump of pines;\\nO mournful is their tone,\\nAs of a crazed thing\\nWho, to herself alone,\\nIs ever murmuring.\\nThrough the night and through the day,\\nFor something that hath past away.\\nOften, Lady, hast thou listened,\\nOften have thy blue eyes glistened,\\nWhen the summer evening breeze", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 131\\nMoaned sadly through those lonely trees,\\nOr with the fierce wind from the north\\nWrung their mournful music forth.\\nEver the river floweth\\nIn an unbroken stream,\\nEver the west wind bloweth,\\nMurmuring as he goeth,\\nAnd mingling with her dream:\\nOnward still the river sweepeth\\nWith a sound of long-agone;\\nLowly, Brothers, lo! she weepeth,\\nShe is now no more alone;\\nLong-loved forms and long-loved faces\\nRound about her pillow throng.\\nThrough her memory s desert places\\nFlow the waters of our song.\\nLady! if thy life be holy\\nAs when thou wert yet a child.\\nThough our song be melancholy,\\nIt will stir no anguish wild\\nFor the soul that hath lived well.\\nFor the soul that child-like is,\\nThere is quiet in the spell\\nThat brings back early memories.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "132 LOWELL S POEMS\\nSONG.\\nLift up the curtains of thine eyes\\nAnd let their light out-shine\\nLet me adore the mysteries\\nOf those mild orbs of thine,\\nWhich ever queenly calm do roll,\\nAttuned to an ordered soul!\\nOpen thy lips yet once again\\nAnd, while my soul doth hush\\nWith awe, pour forth that holy strain\\nWhich seemeth me to gush,\\nA fount of music, running o er\\nFrom thy deep spirit s inmost core!\\nIII.\\nThe melody that dwells in thee\\nBegets in me as well\\nA spiritual harmony,\\nA mild and blessed spell;\\nFar, far above earth s atmosphere\\nI rise, whene er thy voice I hear.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 133\\nTHE DEPARTED.\\nNot they alone are the departed,\\nWho have laid them down to sleep\\nIn the grave narrow and lonely,\\nNot for them only do I vigils keep,\\nNot for them only am I heavy-hearted,\\nNot for them only\\nMany, many, there are many\\nWho no more are with me here.\\nAs cherished, as beloved as any\\nWhom I have seen upon the bier.\\nI weep to think of those old faces.\\nTo see them in their grief of mirth\\nI weep for there are empty places\\nAround my heart s once crowded hearth;\\nThe cold ground doth not cover them.\\nThe grass hath not grown over them,\\nYet are they gone from me on earth\\nO how more bitter is this weeping.\\nThan for those lost ones who are sleeping\\nWhere sun will shine and flowers blow.\\nWhere gentle winds will whisper low,\\nAnd the stars have them in their keeping!\\nWherefore from me who loved you so,\\nO! wherefore did ye go?\\nI have shed full many a tear,\\nI have wrestled oft in prayer", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "134 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBut ye do not come again\\nHow could anything so dear,\\nHow could anything so fair,\\nVanish like the summer rain?\\nNo, no, it cannot be,\\nBut ye are still with me\\nAnd yet, O where art thou,\\nChildhood, with sunny brow\\nAnd floating hair?\\nWhere art thou hiding now?\\nI have sought thee everywhere,\\nAll among the shrubs and flowers\\nOf those garden- walks of ours\\nThou art not there\\nWhen the shadow of Night s wings\\nHath darkened all the Earth,\\nI listen for thy gambolings\\nBeside the cheerful hearth\\nThou art not there\\nI listen to the far-off bell,\\nI murmur o er the little songs\\nWhich thou didst love so well.\\nPleasant memories come in throngs\\nAnd mine eyes are blurred with tears,\\nBut no glimpse of thee appears\\nLonely am I in the Winter, lonely in the Spring,\\nSummer and Harvest bring no trace of thee\\nOh! whither, whither art thou wandering.\\nThou who didst once so cleave to me?\\nAnd Love is gone,\\nI have seen him come,\\nI have seen him, too, depart,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 135\\nLeaving desolate his home,\\nHis bright home in my heart.\\nI am alone\\nCold, cold is his hearth-stone,\\nWide open stands the door\\nThe frolic and the gentle one\\nShall I see no more, no more?\\nAt the fount the bowl is broken,\\nI shall drink it not again,\\nAll my longing prayers are spoken,\\nAnd felt, ah, woe is me, in vain!\\nOh, childish hopes and childish fancies,\\nWhither have ye fled away?\\nI long for you in mournful trances,\\nI long for you by night and day;\\nBeautiful thoughts that once were mine.\\nMight I but win you back once more,\\nMight ye about my being twine\\nAnd cluster as ye did of yore!\\nO! do not let me pray in vain\\nHow good and happy I should be.\\nHow free from every shade of pain,\\nIf ye would come again to me\\nO, come again! come, come again!\\nHath the sun forgot its brightness,\\nHave the stars forgot to shine,\\nThat they bring not their wonted lightness\\nTo this weary heart of mine?\\nTis not the sun that shone on thee,\\nHappy childhood, long ago\\nNot the same stars silently\\nLooking on the same bright snow\\nNot the same that Love and I", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "136 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTogether watched in days gone by\\nNo, not the same, alas for me!\\nWould God that those who early went\\nTo the house dark and low,\\nFor whom our mourning heads were bent,\\nFor whom our steps were slow\\nO, would that these alone had left us,\\nThat Fate of these alone had reft us.\\nWould God indeed that it were so\\nMany leaves too soon must wither,\\nMany flowers too soon must die,\\nMany bright ones wandering hither.\\nWe know not whence, we know not why,\\nLike the leaves and like the flowers.\\nVanish, ere the summer hours,\\nThat brought them to us, have gone by.\\nO for the hopes and for the feelings,\\nChildhood, that I stared with thee\\nThe high resolves, the bright revealings\\nOf the soul s might, which thou gav st me.\\nGentle love, woe worth the day.\\nWoe worth the hour when thou wert born,\\nWoe worth the day thou fled st away\\nA shade across the wind-waved corn\\nA dewdrop falling from the leaves\\nChance-shaken in a summer s morn!\\nWoe, woe is me my sick heart grieves,\\nCompanionless and anguish-worn!\\nI know it well, our manly years\\nMust be baptized in bitter tears;\\nFull many fountains must run dry\\nThat youth has dreamed for long hours by\u00c2\u00bb", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 137\\nChoked by convention s siroc blast\\nOr drifting sands of many cares\\nSlowly they leave us all at last,\\nAnd cease their flowing unawares.\\nTHE BOBOLINK.\\nAnacreon of the meadow,\\nDrunk with the joy of spring!\\nBeneath the tall pine s voiceful shadow\\nI lie and drink thy jargoning;\\nMy soul is full with melodies,\\nOne drop would overflow it,\\nAnd send the tears into mine eyes\\nBut what car st thou to know it?\\nThy heart is free as mountain air,\\nAnd of thy lays thou hast no care,\\nScattering them gaily everywhere,\\nHappy, unconscious poet!\\nUpon a tuft of meadow grass.\\nWhile thy loved-one tends the nest,\\nThou swayest as the breezes pass,\\nUnburthening thine o erfuU breast\\nOf the crowded songs that fill it.\\nJust as joy may choose to will it.\\nLord of thy love and liberty,\\nThe blithest bird of merry May,\\nThou turnest thy bright eyes on me.\\nThat say as plain as eye can say\\nHere sit we, here in the summer weather,\\nI and my modest mate together\\nWhatever your wise thoughts may be,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "138 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nUnder that gloomy old pine tree,\\nWe do not value them a feather\\nNow, leaving earth and me behind,\\nThou beatest up against the wind,\\nOr, floating slowly down before it.\\nAbove thy grass-hid nest thou flutterest\\nAnd thy bridal love-song utterest.\\nRaining showers of music o er it,\\nWeary never, still thou trillest.\\nSpring-gladsome lays,\\nAs of moss-rimmed water-brooks\\nMurmuring through pebbly nooks\\nIn quiet summer days.\\nMy heart with happiness thou fillest,\\nI seem again to be a boy\\nWatching thee, gay, blithsome lover,\\nO er the bending grass-tops hover,\\nQuivering thy wings for joy.\\nThere s something in the apple blossom,\\nThe greening grass and bobolink s song.\\nThat wakes again within my bosom\\nFeelings which have slumbered long.\\nAs long, long years ago I wandered,\\nI seem to wander even yet.\\nThe hours the idle school-boy squandered,\\nThe man would die ere he d forget.\\nhours that frosty eld deemed wasted,\\nNodding his gray head toward my books,\\n1 dearer prize the lore I tasted\\nWith you, among the trees and brooks.\\nThan all that I have gained since then\\nFrom learned books or study-withered men\\nNature, thy soul was one with mine.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 139\\nAnd, as a sister by a younger brother\\nIs loved, each flowing to the other,\\nSuch love from me was thine.\\nOr wert thou not more like a loving mother\\nWith sympathy and loving power to heal,\\nAgainst whose heart my throbbing heart I d\\nlay\\nAnd moan my childish sorrows all away,\\nTill calm and holiness would o er me steal?\\nWas not the golden sunset a dear friend?\\nFound I no kindness in the silent moon,\\nAnd the green trees, whose tops did sway\\nand bend,\\nLow singing evermore their pleasant tune?\\nFelt I no heart in dim and solemn woods\\nNo loved-one s voice in lonely solitudes?\\nYes, yes! unhoodwinked then my spirit s\\neyes,\\nBlind leaders had not taught me to be wise.\\nDear hours! which now again I o/er-live,\\nHearing and seeing with ears and eyes\\nOf childhood, ye were bees, that to the hive\\nOf my young heart came laden with rich\\nprize.\\nGathered in fields and woods and sunny\\ndells, to be\\nMy spirit s food in days more wintery.\\nYea, yet again ye come ye come\\nAnd, like a child once more at home\\nAfter long sojourning in alien climes,\\nI lie upon my mother s breast.\\nFeeling the blessedness of rest.\\nAnd dwelling in the light of other times.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "140 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nO ye whose living is not Life,\\nWhose dying is but death.\\nSong, empty toil and petty strife,\\nRounded with loss of breath\\nGo, look on Nature s countenance,\\nDrink in the blessing of her glance;\\nLook on the sunset, hear the wind,\\nThe cataract, the awful thunder;\\nGo, worship by the sea;\\nThen, and then only, shall ye find,\\nWith ever-growing wonder,\\nMan is not all in all to ye\\nGo with a meek and humble soul,\\nThen shall the scales of self unroll\\nFrom off your eyes the weary packs\\nDrop from your heavy-laden backs\\nAnd ye shall see.\\nWith reverent and hopeful eyes.\\nGlowing with new-born energies,\\nHow great a thing it is to be\\nFORGETFULNESS.\\nThere s a haven of sure rest\\nFrom the loud world s bewildering stress;\\nAs a bird dreaming on her nest.\\nAs dew hid in a rose s breast.\\nAs Hesper in the glowing West;\\nSo the heart sleeps\\nIn thy calm deeps.\\nSerene Forgetfulness", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 141\\n^Jo sorrow in that place may be,\\nThe noise of life grows less and less:\\n^s moss far down within the sea,\\n\\\\s, in white lily caves, a bee,\\n\\\\s life in a hazy reverie\\nSo the heart s wave\\nIn thy dim cave.\\nHushes, Forgetf ulness\\nDuty and care fade far away.\\nWhat toil may be we cannot guess;\\n\\\\s a ship anchored in the bay,\\n^s a cloud at summer-noon astray\\n\\\\s water-blooms in a breezeless day,\\nSo, neath thine eyes.\\nThe full heart lies.\\nAnd dreams, Forgetf ulness\\nSONG.\\nWhat reck I of the stars, when I\\nMay gaze into thine eyes.\\nO er which the brown hair flowingly\\nIs parted maidenwise\\nFrom thy pale forehead, calm and bright,\\nOver thy cheek so rosy white?\\nII.\\nWhat care I for the red moon-rise?\\nFar liefer would I sit\\nAnd watch the joy within thine eyes", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "142 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nGush up at sight of it;\\nThyself my queenly moon shall be,\\nRuling my heart s deep tides for me I\\nIII.\\nWhat heed I if the sky be blue?\\nSo are thy holy eyes,\\nAnd bright with shadows ever new\\nOf changeful sympathies,\\nWhich in thy soul s unruffled deep\\nRest evermore, but never sleep.\\nTHE POET.\\nHe who hath felt Life s mystery\\nPress on him like thick night,\\nWhose soul hath known no history\\nBut struggling after light;\\nHe who hath seen dim shapes arise\\nIn the soundless depths of soul.\\nWhich gaze on him with meaning eyes\\nFull of the mighty whole,\\nYet will no word of healing sp^ak^\\nAlthough he pray night-long,\\n0, help me, save me! I am weak^\\nAnd ye are wondrous strong!\\nWho, in the midnight dark and deep,\\nHath felt a voice of might\\nCome echoing through the halls of sleep\\nFrom the lone heart of Night,\\nAnd, starting from his restless bed,,\\nHath watched and wept to know\\nWhat meant that oracle of dread", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 143\\nThat stirred his beinof so\\nHe who hath felt how strong and great\\nThis Godlike soul of man,\\nAnd looked full in the eyes of Fate,\\nSince Life and Thought began;\\nThe armor of whose mo\\\\reless trust\\nKnoweth no spot of weakness,\\nWho hath trod fear into the dust\\nBeneath the feet of meekness;\\nHe who hath calmly borne his cross,\\nKnowing himself the king\\nOf time, nor counted it a loss\\nTo learn by suffering;\\nAnd who hath worshiped woman still\\nWith a pure soul and lowly,\\nNor ever hath in deed or will\\nProfaned her temple holy\\nHe is the Poet, him unto\\nThe gift of song is given,\\nWhose life is lofty, strong, and true,\\nWho never fell from Heaven;\\nHe is the Poet, from his lips\\nTo live forevermore,\\nMajestical as full-sailed ships.\\nThe words of Wisdom pour.\\nFLOWERS.\\nHail be thou, holie hearbe,\\nGrovv^ing on the ground,\\nAll in the mount Calvary\\nFirst wert thou found", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "144 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThou art good for manie a sore,\\nThou healest manie a wound,\\nIn the name of sweete Jesus\\nI take thee from the ground.\\nAncient Charm-verse.\\nWhen, from a pleasant ramble, home\\nFresh-stored with quiet thoughts, I come,\\nI pluck some wayside flower\\nAnd press it in the choicest nook\\nOf a much-loved and oft-read book\\nAnd, when upon its leaves I look\\nIn a less happy hour,\\nDear memory bears me far away\\nUnto her fairy bower.\\nAnd on her breast my head I lay,\\nWhile, in a motherly, sweet strain,\\nShe sings me gently back again\\nTo by-gone feelings, until they\\nSeem children born of yesterday.\\nII.\\nYes, many story of past hours\\nI read in these dear withered flowers,\\nAnd once again I seem to be\\nLying beneath the old oak tree,\\nAnd looking up into the sky.\\nThrough thick leaves rifted fitfully.\\nLulled by the rustling of the vine,\\nOr the faint low of far-off kine;\\nAnd once again I seem\\nTo watch the whirling bubbles flee.\\nThrough shade and gleam alternately,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 145\\nDown the vine-bowered stream\\nOr neath the odorous linden trees,\\nWhen Slimmer twilight lingers long,\\nTo hear the flowing of the breeze\\nAnd unseen insects slumberous song,\\nThat mingle into one and seem\\nLike dim murmurs of a dream\\nFair faces, too, I seem to see,\\nSmiling, from pleasant eyes at me,\\nAnd voices sweet I hear,\\nThat, like remembered melody,\\nFlow through my spirit s ear.\\nIII.\\nA poem every flower is,\\nAnd every leaf a line,\\nAnd with delicious memories\\nThey fill this heart of mine\\nNo living blossoms are so clear.\\nAs these dead relics treasured here\\nOne tells of love, of friendship one,\\nLove s quiet after-sunset time,\\nWhen the all-dazzling light is gone,\\nAnd, with the soul s low vesper-chime,\\nO er half its heaven doth out-flow\\nA holy calm and steady glow.\\nSome are gay feast-song, some are dirges,\\nIn some a joy with sorrow merges\\nOne sings the shadowed woods, and one the\\nroar\\nOf ocean s everlasting surges,\\nTumbling upon the beach s hard-beat floor,\\nOr sliding backward from the shore\\n10 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "146 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTo meet the landward waves and slowly plunge\\nonce more.\\nO flowers of grace, I bless ye all\\nBy the dear faces ye recall\\nIV.\\nUpon the banks of Life s deep streams\\nFull many a flower groweth,\\nWhich with a wondrous fragrance teems,\\nAnd in the silent water gleams,\\nAnd trembles as the water floweth,\\nMany a one the wave upteareth,\\nWashing ever the roots av/ay,\\nAnd far upon its bosom beareth,\\nTo bloom no more in Youth s glad May;\\nAs farther on the river runs,\\nFlowing more deep and strong,\\nOnly a few pale, scattered ones\\nAre seen the dreary banks along;\\nAnd where those flowers do not grow,\\nThe river floweth dark and chill.\\nIts voice is sad, and with its flow\\nMingles ever a sense of ill;\\nThen, Poet, thou who gather dost\\nOf Life s best flowers the brightest,\\nO, take good heed they be not lost\\nWhile with the angry flood thou fightest!\\nv.\\nIn the cool grottoes of the soul,\\nWhence flows thoug^ht s crystal river,\\nWher^ce songs of joy forever roll\\nTo Him who is the Giver\\nThere store thou them, where fresh and green", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 141\\nTheir leaves and blossoms may be seen,\\nA spring of joy that faileth never\\nThere store thou them, and they shall be\\nA blessing and a peace to thee.\\nAnd in their youth and purity\\nThou shalt be young forever!\\nThen, with their fragrance rich and rare,\\nThy living shall be rife,\\nStrength shall be thine thy cross to bear,\\nAnd they shall be a chaplet fair.\\nBreathing a pure and holy air,\\nTo crown thy holy life.\\nVI.\\nO Poet! above all men blest.\\nTake heed that thus thou store them\\nLove, Hope and Faith shall ever rest,\\nSweet birds (upon how sweet a nest!)\\nWatchfully brooding o er them.\\nAnd from those flowers of Paradise\\nScatter thou many a blessed seed,\\nWherefrom an offspring may arise\\nTo cheer the hearts and light the eyes\\nOf after-voyagers in their need.\\nThey shall not fall on stony ground.\\nBut, yielding all their hundred-fold.\\nShall shed a peacefulness around,\\nWhose strengthening joy may not be told.\\nSo shall thy name be blest of all.\\nAnd thy remembrance never die\\nFor of that seed shall surely fall\\nIn the fair garden of Eternity.\\nExult then in the nobleness\\nOf this thy work so holy,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "148 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nYet be not thou one jot the less\\nHumble and meek and lowly,\\nBut let thine exultation be\\nThe reverence of a bended knee;\\nAnd by thy life a poem write,\\nBuilt strongly day by day\\nAnd on the rock of Truth and Right\\nIts deep foundations lay.\\nVII.\\nIt is thy duty! Guard it well!\\nFor unto thee hath much been given,\\nAnd thou canst make this life a Hell,\\nOr Jacob s-ladder up to Heaven.\\nLet not thy baptism in Life s wave\\nMake thee like him whom Homer sings I\\nA sleeper in a living grave,\\nCallous and hard to outward things;\\nBut open all thy soul and sense\\nTo every blessed influence\\nThat from the heart of Nature springs:\\nThen shall thy Life-flowers be to thee,\\nWhen thy best years are told.\\nAs much as these have been to me\\nYea, xHore, a thousand-fold!\\nTHE LOVER.\\nGo roam the world from East to West,\\nSearch every land beneath the sky,\\nYou cannot find a man so blest,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 149\\nA king so powerful as I,\\nThough you should seek eternally.\\nII.\\nFor I a gentle lover be.\\nSitting at my loved-one s side;\\nShe giveth her whole soul to me\\nWithout a wish or thought of pride,\\nAnd she shall be my cherished bride.\\nIII.\\nNo show of gaudiness hath she,\\nShe doth not flash with jewels rare;\\nIn beautiful simplicity\\nShe weareth leafy garlands fair,\\nOr modest flowers in her hair.\\nIV.\\nSometimes she dons a robe of green,\\nSometimes a robe of snowy white.\\nBut, in whatever garb she s seen.\\nIt seems most beautiful and right.\\nAnd is the loveliest to my sight.\\nNot I her lover am alone.\\nYet unto all she doth suffice,\\nNone jealous is, and every one\\nReads love and truth within her eyes,\\nAnd deemeth her his own dear prize.\\nVI.\\nAnd so thou art, Eternal Nature\\nYes, bride of Heaven, so thou art;", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "150 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThou wholly lovest every creature,\\nGiving to each no stinted part,\\nBut filling every peaceful heart.\\nTO E. W. G.\\n**Dear Child! dear happy Girl! if thou appear\\nHeedless untouched with awe or serious\\nthought,\\nThy nature is not therefore less divine:\\nThou liest in Abraham s bosom all the year;\\nAnd worship st at the Temple s inner shrine,\\nGod being with thee when we know it not.\\nWordsworth.\\nAs throuo^h a strip of sunny light\\nA white dove flashes swiftly on.\\nSo suddenly before my sight\\nThou gleamed st a moment and wert gone;\\nAnd yet I long shall bear in mind\\nThe pleasant thoughts thou left st behind.\\nThou mad st me happy with thine eyes,\\nAnd happy with thine open smile,\\nAnd, as I write, sweet memories\\nCome thronging round me all the while;\\nThou mad st me happy with thine eyes\\nAnd gentle feelings long forgot\\nLooked up and oped their eyes,\\nLike violets when they see a spot\\nOf summer in the skies.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 151\\nAround thy playful lips did glitter\\nHeat-lightnings of a girlish scorn;\\nHarmless they were, for nothing bitter\\nIn thy dear heart was ever born\\nThat merry heart that could not lie\\nWithin its warm nest quietly,\\nBut ever from its each full, dark eye\\nWas looking kindly night and morn.\\nThere was an archness in thine eyes,\\nBorn of the gentlest mockeries,\\nAnd thy light laughter rang as clear\\nAs water-drops I loved to hear\\nIn days of boyhood, as they fell\\nTinkling far down the dim, still well;\\nAnd with its sound come back once more\\nThe feelings of my early years.\\nAnd half aloud I murmured o er\\nSure I have heard that sound before,\\nIt is so pleasant in mine ears.\\nWhenever thou didst look on me\\nI thought of merry birds,\\nAnd something of spring s melody\\nCame to me in thy words;\\nThy thoughts did dance and bound along\\nLike happy children in their play,\\nWhose hearts run over into song\\nFor gladness of the summer s day;\\nAnd mine grew dizzy with the sight.\\nStill feeling lighter and more light.\\nTill, joining hands, they whirled away.\\nAs blithe and merrily as they.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "152 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nI bound a larch-twig round with flowers,\\nWhich thou didst twine among thy hair,\\nAnd gladsome were the few, short hours\\nWhen I was with thee there\\nSo now that thou art far away.\\nSafe-nested in thy warmer clime,\\nIn memory of a happier day\\nI twine this simple wreath of rhyme.\\nDost mind how she, whom thou dost lov\u00c2\u00a9\\nMore than in light words may be said,\\nA coronal of amaranth wove\\nAbout thy duly-sobered head,\\nWhich kept itself a moment still\\nThat she might have her gentle will\\nThy childlike grace and purity\\nO keep forevermore,\\nAnd as thou art, still strive to be.\\nThat on the farther shore\\nOf Time s dark waters ye may meet,\\nAnd she may twine around thy brow\\nA wreath of those bright flowers that grow\\nWhere blessed angels set their feet!\\nISABEL.\\nAs the leaf upon the tree,\\nFluttering, gleaming constantly,\\nSuch a lightsome thing was she,\\nMy gay and gentle Isabel\\nHer heart was fed with love-springs sweet,\\nAnd in her face you d see it beat\\nTo hear the sound of welcome feet\\nAnd were not mine so, Isabel?", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 153\\nShe knev/ it not, but she v/as fair,\\nAnd like a moonbeam was her hair,\\nThat falls where flowing ripples are\\nIn summer evenings, Isabel!\\nHer heart and tongue were scarce apart,\\nUnwittingly her lips would part,\\nAnd love came gushing from her heart.\\nThe woman s heart of IsabeL\\nSo pure her flesh-garb, and like dew.\\nThat in her features glimmered through\\nEach working of her spirit true,\\nIn wondrous beauty, Isabel!\\nA sunbeam struggling through thick leaves,\\nA reaper s song mid yellow sheaves.\\nLess gladsome were my spirit grieves\\nTo think of thee, mild Isabel!\\nI know not when I loved thee first;\\nNot loving, I had been accurst.\\nYet, having loved, my heart will burst,\\nLonging for thee, dear Isabel!\\nWith silent tears my cheeks are wet,\\nI would be calm, I would forget,\\nBut thy blue eyes gaze on me yet.\\nWhen stars have risen, Isabel.\\nThe winds mourn for thee, Isabel,\\nThe flowers expect thee in the dell,\\nThy gentle spirit loved them well,\\nAnd i for thy sake, Isabel!\\nThe sunsets seem less lovely now\\nThan when, leaf checkered, on thy brow\\nThey fell as lovingly as thou\\nLingered st till moon-rise, Isabel!", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "154 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAt dead of night I seem to see\\nThy fair, pale features constantly\\nUpturned in silent prayer for me,\\nO er moveless clasped hands, Isabel!\\nI call thee, thou dost not reply;\\nThe stars gleam coldly on thine eye,\\nAs like a dream thou flittest by,\\nAnd leav st me weeping, Isabel!\\nMUSIC.\\nI seem to lie with drooping eyes,\\nDreaming sweet dreams.\\nHalf longings and half memories,\\nIn woods where streams\\nWith trembling shades and whirling gleams,\\nMany and bright,\\nIn song and light,\\nAre ever, ever flowing\\nWhile the wind, if we list to the rustling grass\\nWhich numbers his footsteps as they pass,\\nSeems scarcely to be blowing;\\nAnd the far-heard voice of Spring,\\nFrom sunny slopes comes wandering.\\nCalling the violets from the sleep,\\nThat bound them under the snow-drifts deep,\\nTo open their childlike, asking eyes\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0On the new summer s paradise.\\nAnd mingled with the gurgling waters\\nAs the dreamy witchery\\nOf Acheloiis silver-voiced dauofhters", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 155\\nRose and fell with the heaving sea,\\nWhose great heart swelled with ecstasy\\nThe song of many a floating bird,\\nWinding through the rifted trees,\\nIs dreamily half-heard\\nA sister stream of melodies\\nRippled by the flutterings\\nOf rapture-quivered wings.\\nII.\\nAnd now beside a cataract\\nI lie, and through my soul,\\nFrom over me and under,\\nThe never-ceasing thunder\\nArousingly doth roll;\\nThrough the darkness all compact,\\nThrough the trackless sea of gloom,\\nSad and deep I hear it boom\\nAt intervals the cloud is cracked\\nAnd a livid flesh doth hiss\\nDownward from its floating home.\\nLighting up the precipice\\nAnd the never-resting foam\\nWith a dim and ghastly glare,\\nWhich, for a heart-beat, in the air,\\nShows the sweeping shrouds\\nOf the midnight clouds\\nAnd their wildly-scattered hair.\\nIII.\\nNow listening to a woman s tone,\\nIn a wood I sit alone\\nAlone because our souls are one\\nAll around my heart it flows,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "158 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nLulling me in deep repose\\nI fear to speak, I fear to move,\\nLest I should break the spell I love\\nLow and gentle, calm and clear,\\nInto my inmost soul it goes,\\nAs if my brother dear,\\nWho is no longer here,\\nHad bended from the sky\\nAnd murm.ured in my ear\\nA strain of that high harmony,\\nWhich they may sing alone\\nWho worship round the throne.\\nIV.\\nNow in a fairy boat,\\nOn the bright waves of song,\\nFull merrily I float.\\nMerrily float along;\\nMy helm is veered, I care not how,\\nMy white sail bellies o er me.\\nAnd bright as gold the ripples be\\nThat plash beneath the bow;\\nBefore, behind.\\nThey feel the wind,\\nAnd they are dancing joyously\\nWhile, faintly heard, along the far-off shore\\nThe surf goes plunging v/ith a lingering roar\\nOr anchored in a shadowy cove,\\nEntranced with harmonies,\\nSlowly I sink and rise\\nAs the slow waves of music move", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 157\\nNow softly dashing,\\nBubbling, plashing,\\nMazy, dreamy,\\nFaint and streamy,\\nRipples into ripples melt,\\nNot so strongly heard as felt\\nNow rapid and quick.\\nWhile the heart beats thick.\\nThe music s silver wavelets crowd.\\nDistinct and clear, but never loud;\\nAnd now all solemnly and slow,\\nIn mild, deep tones they warble low,\\nLike the glad song of angels, when\\nThey sang good will and peace to men\\nNow faintly heard and far.\\nAs if the spirit s ears\\nHad caught the anthem of a star\\nChanting with his brother-spheres\\nIn the midnight dark and deep.\\nWhen the body is asleep\\nAnd wondrous shadows pour in streams\\nFrom the two-fold gate of dreams\\nNow onward roll the billows, swelling\\nWith a tempest-sound of might,\\nAs of voices doom foretelling\\nTo the silent ear of Night\\nAnd now a mingled ecstasy\\nOf all sweet sounds it is;\\nO who may tell the agony\\nOf rapture such as this?", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "158 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nVI.\\nI have drunk of the drink of immortals,\\nI have drunk of the life-giving wine,\\nAnd now I may pass the bright portals\\nThat open into a realm divine!\\nI have drunk it through mine ears\\nIn the ecstasy of song,\\nVv^hen mine eyes would fill with tears\\nThat its life were not more long;\\nI have drunk it through mine eyes\\nIn beauty s every shape.\\nAnd now around my soul it lies.\\nNo juice of earthly grape\\nWings! wings are given to me,\\nI can flutter, I can rise,\\nLike a new life gushing through me\\nSweep the heavenly harmonies!\\nSONG.\\nOh! I must look on that sweet face once more\\nbefore I die;\\nGod grant that it may lighten up with joy when\\nI draw nigh\\nGod grant that she may look on me as kindly\\nas she seems\\nIn the long night, the restless night, i the\\nsunny land of dreams!\\nI hoped, I thought, she loved me once, and yet,\\nI know not why.\\nThere is coldness in her speech, and a coldness\\nin her eye.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 159\\nSomething that in another s look would not\\nseem cold to me,\\nAnd yet like ice I feel it chill the heart of\\nmemory.\\nShe does not come to greet me so frankly as\\nshe did,\\nAnd in her utmost openness I feel there s some-\\nthing hid\\nShe almost seems to shun me, as if ^he thought\\nthat I\\nMight win her gentle heart again to feelings\\nlong gone by.\\nI sought the first spring-buds for her, the fair-\\nest and the best,\\nAnd she wore them for their loveliness upon\\nher spotless breast.\\nThe blood-root and the violet, the frail ane-\\nmone,\\nShe wore them, and alas! I deemed it was for\\nlove of me\\nAs flowers in a darksome place stretch forward\\nto the light.\\nSo to the mem.ory of her I turn by day and\\nnight;\\nAs flowers in a darksome place grow thin and\\npale and wan.\\nSo is it with my darkened heart, now that her\\nlight is gone.\\nThe thousand little things that love doth treas-\\nure up for aye,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "160 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAnd brood upon with moistened eyes when she\\nthat s loved s awa}^;\\nThe word, the look, the smile, the blnsh, the\\nribbon that she wore,\\nEach day they grow more dear to me, and pain\\nme more and more.\\nMy face I cover with my hands, and bitterly I\\nweep.\\nThat the quick-gathering sands of life should\\nchoke a love so deep.\\nAnd that the stream, so pure and bright, must\\nturn it from its track.\\nOr to the heart-springs, whence it rose, roll its\\nfull waters back\\ni\\nAs calm as doth the lily float close by the lake-\\nlet s brim.\\nSo calm and spotless, down time s stream, her\\npeaceful days did swim,\\nAnd I had longed, and dreamed, and prayed, j\\nthat closely by her side, J\\nDown to a haven still and sure, my happy life\\nmight glide.\\nBut, now, alas those golden days of youth and\\nhope are o er,\\nAnd I must dream those dreams of joy, those\\nguiltless dreams no more\\nYet there is something in my heart that whis-\\npers ceaselessly, i\\n**Would God that I might see that face once ^i\\nmore before I die!", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 161\\nlANTHE.\\nThere is a light within her eyes,\\nLike gleams of wandering fire-flies;\\nFrom light to shade it leaps and moves\\nWhenever in her soul arise\\nThe holy shapes of things she loves;\\nFitful it shines and changes ever,\\nLike star-lit ripples on a river,\\nOr summer sunshine on the eaves\\nOf silver trembling poplar eaves.\\nWhere the lingering dewdrops quiver.\\nI may not tell the blessedness\\nHer mild eyes send to mine.\\nThe sunset-tinted haziness\\nOf their mysterious shine,\\nThe dim and holy mournfulness\\nOf their mellow light divine;\\nThe shadow of the lashes lie\\nOver them so lovingly,\\nThat they seem to melt away\\nIn a doubtful twilight-gray.\\nWhile I watch the stars arise\\nIn the evening of her eyes.\\nI love it, yet I almost dread\\nTo think what it foreshadoweth;\\nAnd, when I muse how I have read\\nThat such strange light betokened death-\\n11 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "162 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nInstead of fire-fly gleams, I see\\nWild corpse-lights gliding waveringly.\\nII.\\nWith wayward thoughts her eyes are bright,\\nLike shiftings of the northern-light,\\nHither, thither, swiftly glance they.\\nIn a mazy twining dance they,\\nLike ripply lights the sunshine weaves.\\nThrown backward from a shaken nook,\\nBelow some tumbling water-brook,\\nOn the o erarching platan-leaves,\\nAll through her glowing face they flit,\\nAnd rest in their deep dwelling-place,\\nThose fathomless blue eyes of hers.\\nTill, from her burning soul re-lit.\\nWhile her upheaving bosom stirs,\\nThey stream again across her face\\nAnd with such hope and glory fill it.\\nDeath could not have the heart to chill it.\\nYet when their wild light fades again, j\\nI feel a sudden sense of pain, -i\\nAs if, while yet her eyes were gleaming, ^1\\nAnd like a shower of sun-lit rain j!\\nBright fancies from her face were streaming,\\nHer trembling soul might flit away\\nAs swift and suddenly as they. Ji\\\\\\nh\\nIII.\\nA wild, inspired earnestness\\nHer inmost being fills,\\nAnd eager self-forgetfulness,\\nThat speaks not what it wills,\\nBut what unto her soul is given,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 163\\nA living oracle from Heaven,\\nWhich scarcely in her breast is born\\nWhen on her trembling- lips it thrills,\\nAnd, like a burst of golden skies\\nThrough storm-clouds on a sudden torn,\\nLike a glory of the morn,\\nBeams marvelously from her eyes.\\nAnd then, like a Spring-swollen river,\\nRoll the deep waves of her full-hearted\\nthought\\nCrested with sun-lit spra}^\\nHer wild lips curve and quiver,\\nAnd my rapt soul, on the strong tide up-\\ncaught\\nUnwittingly is borne away.\\nLulled by a dreamful music ever.\\nFar through the solemn twilight-gray\\nOf hoary woods through valleys green\\nWhich the trailing vine embowers.\\nAnd where the purple-clustered grapes are\\nseen\\nDeep-glowing through rich clumps of waving\\nflowers\\nNow over foaming rapids swept\\nAnd with maddening rapture shook\\nNow gliding where the water-plants have\\nslept\\nFor ages in a moss-rimmed nook\\nEnwoven by a Vv^ild-eyed band\\nOf earth-forgetting dreams,\\nI float to a delicious land\\nBy a sunset heaven spanned.\\nAnd musical with streams;\\nAround, the calm, majestic forms", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "164 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAnd god-like eyes of early Greece I see,\\nOr listen, till my spirit warms.\\nTo songs of courtly chivalry.\\nOr weep, unmindful if my tears be seen.\\nFor the meek, suffering love of poor Undine.\\nIV.\\nHer thoughts are never memories,\\nBut ever changeful, ever new,\\nFresh and beautiful as dew\\nThat in a dell at noontide lies.\\nOr, at the close of summer day,\\nThe pleasant breath of new-mown hay:\\nSwiftly they come and pass\\nAs golden birds across the sun.\\nAs light-gleams on tall meadow-grass\\nWhich the wind just breathes upon.\\nAnd when she speaks, her eyes I see\\nDown-gushing through their silken lattices.\\nLike stars that quiver tremblingly\\nThrough leafy branches of the trees,\\nAnd her pale cheeks do flush and glow\\nWith speaking flashes bright and rare\\nAs crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow,\\nFrom out the veiling of her hair\\nHer careless hair that scatters down\\nOn either side her eyes,\\nA waterfall leaf-tinged with brown\\nAnd lit with the sunrise.\\nWhen first I saw her, not of earth.\\nBut heavenly both in grief and mirtlj\\nI thought her; she did seem", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. IW\\nAs fair and full of mystery,\\nAs bodiless, as forms we see\\nIn the rememberings of a dream\\nA moonlit mist, a strange, dim light,\\nCircled her spirit from my sight\\nEach day more beautiful she grew,\\nMore earthly, every day,\\n^et that mysterious, moony hue\\nFaded not all away;\\nShe has a sister s sympathy\\nWith all the wanderers of the sky.\\nBut most I ve seen her bosom stir\\nWhen moonlight round her fell,\\nFor the mild moon it loveth her,\\nShe loveth it as well.\\nAnd of their love perchance this grace\\nWas born into her wondrous face.\\nI cannot tell how it may be,\\nFor both, methinks, can scarce be true,\\nStill, as she earthly grew to me,\\nShe grew more heavenly too;\\nShe seems one born in Heaven\\nWith earthly feelings.\\nFor, while unto her soul are given\\nMore pure revealings\\nOf holiest love and truth.\\nYet is the mildness of her eyes\\nMade up of quickest sympathies,\\nOf kindliness and ruth\\nSo, though some shade of awe doth stir\\nOur souls for one so far above us,\\nWe feel secure that she will love us,\\nAnd cannot keep from loving her.\\nShe is a poem, which to me", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "166 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nIn speech and look is written bright,\\nAnd to her life s rich harmony-\\nDoth ever sing itself aright\\nDear, glorious creature\\nWith eyes so dewy bright,\\nAnd tenderest feeling\\nItself revealing\\nIn every look and feature,\\nWelcome as a homestead ligfht\\nTo one long- wandering in a clouded night;\\nO, lovelier for her woman s weakness\\nWhich yet is strongly mailed\\nIn armor of courageous meekness\\nAnd faith that never failed\\nVI.\\nEarly and late, at her soul s gate.\\nSits Chastity in warderwise.\\nNo thoughts unchallenged, small or great,\\nGo thence into her eyes;\\nNor may a low, unworthy thought\\nBeyond that virgin warder win,\\nNor one, whose password is not ought,\\nMay go without or enter in.\\nI call her, seeing those pure eyes.\\nThe Eve of a new Paradise,\\nWhich she by gentle word and deed.\\nAnd look no less, doth still create\\nAbout her, for her great thoughts breed\\nA calm that lifts us from our fallen state.\\nAnd makes us while with her both good and\\ngreat\\nNor is their memory wanting in our need\\nWith stronger loving, every hour,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 167\\nTurneth my heart to this frail flower,\\nWhich, thoughtless of the world, hath\\ngrown\\nTo beauty and meek gentleness,\\nHere in a fair world of its own\\nBy woman s instinct trained alone\\nA lily fair which God did bless,\\nAnd which from Nature s heart did draw\\nLove, wisdom, peace, and Heaven s perfect\\nlaw.\\nLOVE S ALTAR.\\nI built an altar in my soul,\\nI builded it to one alone\\nAnd ever silently I stole,\\nIn happy days of long-agone,\\nTo make rich offerings to that one.\\nTwas garlanded with purest thought.\\nAnd crowned with fancy s flowers bright.\\nWith choicest gems twas all inwrought\\nOf truth and feeling; in my sight\\nIt seemed a spot of cloudless light.\\nIII.\\nYet when I made my offering there,\\nLike Cain s, the incense would not rise;\\nBack on my heart down-sank the prayer,\\nAnd altar-stone and sacrifice\\nGrew hateful in my tear-dimmed eyes.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "168 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nIV.\\nO er- grown with age s mosses green,\\nThe little altar firmly stands\\nIt is not, as it once hath been,\\nA selfish shrine; these time-taught hands\\nBring incense now from many lands.\\nKnowledge doth only widen love\\nThe stream, that lone and narrow rose,\\nDoth, deepening ever, onward move,\\nAnd with an even current flows\\nCalmer and calmer to the close.\\nVI.\\nThe love, that in those early days\\nGirt round my spirit like a wall,\\nHath faded like a morning haze,\\nAnd flames, unpent by self s mean thrall,\\nRise clearly to the perfect all.\\nMY LOVE.\\nNot as all other women are\\nIs she that to my soul is dear\\nHer glorious fancies come from far\\nBeneath the silver evening-star.\\nAnd yet her heart is ever near.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "Some fair-haired German maid. Page 171.\\nLowell s Poems.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 169\\nII.\\nGreat feelings hath she of her own\\nWhich lesser souls may never know\\nGod giveth them to her alone,\\nAnd sweet they are as any tone\\nWherewith the wind may choose to blow.\\nIII.\\nYet in herself she dwelleth not,\\nAlthough no home were half so fair,\\nNo simplest duty is forgot,\\nLife hath no dim and lowly spot\\nThat doth not in her sunshine share.\\nIV.\\nShe doeth little kindnesses,\\nWhich most leave undone, or despise,\\nFor naught that sets one heart at ease,\\nXnd giveth happiness or peace,\\nIs low-esteemed in her eyes.\\nV.\\nShe hath no scorn of common things.\\nAnd, though she seem of other birth,\\nRound us her heart entwines and clings.\\nAnd patiently she folds her wings\\nTo tread the humble paths of earth.\\nVI.\\nBlessing she is: God made her so,\\nAnd deeds of week-day holiness\\nFall from her noiseless as the snow.\\nNor hath she ever chanced to know\\nThat aught were easier than to bless.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "170 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nVII.\\nShe is most fair, and thereunto\\nHer life doth rightly harmonize;\\nFeeling or thought that was not true\\nNe er made less beautiful the blue\\nUnclouded heaven of her eyes.\\nVIII.\\nOn Nature she doth muse and brood\\nWith such a still and love-clear eye\\nShe is so gentle and so good\\nThe very flowers in the wood\\nDo bless her with their sympathy.\\nIX.\\nShe is a woman one in whom\\nThe spring-time of her childish years\\nHath never lost its fresh perfume,\\nThough knowing well that life hath room\\nFor many blights and many tears.\\nX.\\nAnd youth in her a home will find,\\nWhere he may dwell eternally;\\nHer soul is not of that weak kind\\nWhich better love the life behind\\nThan that which is, or is to be.\\nXI.\\nI love her with a love as still\\nAs a broad river s peaceful might,\\nWhich, by high tower and lowly mill,\\nGoes wandering at its own will.\\nAnd yet doth ever flow aright.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 171\\nXII.\\nAnd, on its full, deep breast serene,\\nLike quiet isles my duties lie\\nIt flows around them and between,\\nAnd makes them fresh and fair and green,\\nSweet homes wherein to live and die.\\nWITH A PRESSED FLOWER.\\nThis little flower from afar\\nHath come from other lands to thine;\\nFor, once, its white and drooping star\\nCould see its shadow in the Rhine.\\nPerchance some fair-haired German maid\\nHath plucked one from the self- same stalk,\\nAnd numbered over, half afraid.\\nIts petals in her evening walk.\\nHe loves me, loves me not, she cries;\\nHe loves me more than earth or Heaven,\\nAnd then glad tears have filled her eyes\\nTo find the number was uneven.\\nSo, Love, my heart doth wander forth\\nTo farthest lands beyond the sea.\\nAnd search the fairest spots of earth\\nTo find sweet flowers of thought for thee.\\nA type this tiny blossom is\\nOf what my heart doth every day,\\nSeeking for pleasant fantasies\\nTo brood upon when thou rt away.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "2 LOWELUS POEMS.\\nAnd thou must count its petals well.\\nBecause it is a gift from me*\\nAnd the last one of all shall tell\\nSomething I ve often told to thee.\\nBut here at home, where we were born,\\nThou wilt find flowers just as true,\\nDown bending every summer morn,\\nWith freshness of New England dew.\\nFor Nature, ever right in love,\\nHath given them the same sweet tongue.\\nWhether with German skies above,\\nOr here our granite rocks among.\\nIMPARTIALITY.\\nI cannot say a scene is fair\\nBecause it is beloved of thee,\\nBut I shall love to linger there,\\nFor sake of thy dear memory;\\nI would not be so coldly just\\nAs to love only what I must.\\nII.\\nI cannot sa}^ a thought is good,\\nBecause thou foundest joy in it;\\nEach soul must choose its proper food\\nWhich Nature hath decreed most fit\\nBut I shall ever deem it so\\nBecause it made thv heart o erflow.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 173\\nIII.\\nI love thee for that thou art fair\\nAnd that thy spirit joys in aught\\nCreateth a new beauty there,\\nWith thine own dearest image fraught;\\nAnd love, for others sake that springs,\\nGives half their charm to lovely things.\\nBELLEROPHON.\\nDEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN F. HEATH.\\nI feel the bandages unroll\\nThat bound my inward seeing\\nFreed are the bright wings of my soul,\\nTypes of my godlike being:\\nHigh thoughts are swelling in my heart\\nAnd rushing through my brain;\\nMay I never more lose part\\nIn my soul s realm again\\nAll things fair, where er they be,\\nIn earth or air, in sky or sea,\\nI have loved them all, and taken\\nAll within my throbbing breast,\\nNo more my spirit can be shaken\\nFrom its calm and kingly rest\\nLove hath shed its light around me,\\nLove hath pierced the shades that bound me\\nMine eyes are opened, I can see\\nThe universe s mystery.\\nThe mighty heart and core\\nOf After and Before\\nI see, and I am weak no more.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "174 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nII.\\nUpward! upward evermore,\\nTo Heaven s open gate I soar!\\nLittle thoughts are far behind me,\\nWhich, when custom weaves together,\\nAll the nobler man can tether\\nCobwebs now no more can bind me!\\n]Aow fold thy wings a little while, J\\nMy tranced soul, and lie\\nAt rest on this Calypso-isle\\nThat floats in mellow sky,\\nA thousand isles with gentle motion\\nRock upon the sunset ocean\\nA thousand isles of thousand hues.\\nHow bright! how beautiful! how rare!\\nInto my spirit they infuse\\nA purer, a diviner air;\\nThe earth is growing dimmer.\\nAnd now the last faint glimmer\\nHath faded from the hill;\\nBut in my higher atmosphere\\nThe sunlight streameth red and clear,\\nFringing the islets still\\nLove lifts us to the sunlight.\\nThough the whole world be dark\\nLove, wide Love, is the one light,\\nAll else is but a fading spark\\nLove is the nectar which doth fill\\nOur soul s cup even to overflowing,\\nAnd, warming heart, and thought, and vrill,\\nDoth lie within us mildly glowing.\\nFrom its own centre raying out\\nBeauty and Truth on all without.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 175\\nIII.\\nEach on his golden throne,\\nFull royally, alone,\\nI see the stars above me.\\nWith scepter and with diadem;\\nMildly they look down and love me.\\nFor I have ever yet loved them,\\nI see their ever-sleepless eyes\\nWatching the growth of destinies;\\nCalm, sedate.\\nThe eyes of Fate,\\nThey wink not, nor do roll.\\nBut search the depths of soul\\nAnd in those mighty depths they see\\nThe germs of all Futurity,\\nWaiting but the fitting time\\nTo burst and ripen into prime,\\nAs in the womb of mother Earth\\nThe seeds of plants and forests lie\\nAge upon age and never die\\nSo in the souls of all men wait,\\nUndyingly the seeds of Fate;\\nChance breaks the clod and forth they spring,\\nFilling blind men with wondering.\\nEternal stars! with holy awe.\\nAs if a present God I saw,\\nI look into those mighty eyes\\nAnd see great destinies arise,\\nAs in those of mortal men\\nFeelings glow and fade again!\\nAll things below, all things above,\\nAre open to the eyes of Love.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "176 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nOf Knowledge Love is master-key,\\nKnowledge of Beauty; passing dear\\nIs each to each, and mutually\\nEach one doth make the other clear; i\\nBeauty is Love, and what we love j\\nStraightway is beautiful, i\\nSo is the circle round and full, i\\nAnd so dear Love doth live and move\\nAnd have his being,\\nFinding his proper food j\\nBy sure inseeing, i\\nIn all things pure and good,\\nWhich he at will doth cull, i\\nLike a joyous butterfly\\nHiving in the sunny bowers\\nOf the soul s fairest flowers,\\nOr, between the earth and sky,\\nWandering at liberty\\nFor happy, happy hours.\\nThe thoughts of Love are Poesy,\\nAs this fair earth and all we see\\nAre the thoughts of Deity\\nAnd Love is ours by our birthright!\\nHe hath cleared mine inward sight;\\nGlorious shapes with glorious eyes\\nRound about my spirit glance,\\nShedding a mild and golden light\\nOn the shadowy face of Night;\\nTo unearthly melodies,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 177\\nHand in hand, they weave their dance,\\nWhile a deep, ambrosial lustre\\nFrom their rounded limbs doth shine.\\nThrough many a rich and golden cluster\\nOf streaming hair divine.\\nIn our gross and earthly hours\\nWe cannot see the Love-given powers\\nWhich ever round the soul await\\nTo do its sovereign will,\\nWhen, in its moments calm and still,\\nIt re-assumes its royal state,\\nNor longer sits with eyes downcast,\\nA beggar, dreaming of the past,\\nAt its own palace-gate.\\nVI.\\nI too am a Maker and a Poet\\nThrough my whole soul I feel it and know it;\\nMy veins are fired with ecstasy!\\nAll-mother Earth\\nDid ne er give birth\\nTo one who shall be matched with me;\\nThe lustre of my coronal\\nShall cast a dimness over all.\\nAlas! alas! what have I spoken?\\nMy strong, my eagle wings are broken,\\nAnd back again to earth I fall\\n12 LoweU", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "178 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSOMETHING NATURAL.\\nWhen first I saw thy soul-deep eyes,\\nMy heart yearned to thee instantly,\\nStrange longing in my soul did rise\\nI cannot tell the reason why,\\nBut I must love thee till I die.\\nII.\\nThe sight of thee hath well-nigh grown\\nAs needful to me as the light\\nI am unrestful when alone,\\nAnd my heart doth not beat aright\\nExcept it dwell within thy sight.\\nIII.\\nAnd yet and yet O selfish love!\\nI am not happy even with thee;\\nI see thee in thy brightness move,\\nAnd cannot well contented be,\\nSave thou should st shine alone for me.\\nIV.\\nWe should love beauty even as flowers-\\nFor all, tis said, they bud and blow.\\nThey are the world s as well as ours\\nBut thou alas God made thee grow\\nSo fair, I cannot love thee so!", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 179\\nTHE SYRENS.\\nThe sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,\\nThe sea is restless and uneasy;\\nThou seekest quiet, thou art weary.\\nWandering thou knowestnot whither;\\nOur little isle is groen and breezy,\\nCome and rest thee! O come hither,\\nCome to this peaceful home of ours.\\nWhere evermore\\nThe low west-wind creeps panting up the shore\\nTo be at rest among the flowers\\nFull of rest, the green moss lifts,\\nAs the dark waves of the sea\\nDraw in and out of rocky rifts\\nCalling solemnly to thee.\\nWith voices deep and hollow\\nTo the shore\\nFollow! O follow!\\nTo be at rest for evermore\\nFor evermore\\nLook how the gray old Ocean\\nFrom the depths of his heart rejoices,\\nHeaving with a gentle motion,\\nWhen he hears our restful voices\\nList how he sings in an undertone.\\nChiming with our melody;\\nAnd all sweet sounds of earth and air", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "180 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nMelt into one low voice alone,\\nThat murmurs over the weary sea\\nAnd seems to sing from everywhere\\nHere mayest thou harbor peacefully,\\nHere mayest thou rest from the aching oar;\\nTurn thy curved prow ashore,\\nAnd in our green isle rest for evermore\\nFor evermore\\nAnd Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,\\nAnd, to her heart so calm and deep,\\nMurmurs over in her sleep,\\nDoubtfully pausing and murmuring still,\\nEvermore.\\nThus, on Life s weary sea;\\nHeareth the marinere\\nVoices sweet, from far and near,\\nEver singing low and clear.\\nEver singing longingly.\\nIs it not better here to be.\\nThan to be toiling late and soon?\\nIn the dreary night to see\\nNothing but the blood-red moon\\nGo up and down into the sea;\\nOr, in the loneliness of day,\\nTo see the still seas only.\\nSolemnly lift their faces gray,\\nMaking it yet more lonely?\\nIs it not better, than to hear\\nOnly the sliding of the wave\\nBeneath the plank, and feel so near\\nA cold and lonely grave,\\nA restless grave, where thou shalt lie\\nEven in death unquietly?", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 181\\nLook down beneath thy wave-worn bark,\\nLean over the side and see\\nThe leaden eye of the side-long shark\\nUpturned patiently,\\nEver waiting there for thee\\nLook down and see those shapeless forms,\\nWhich ever keep their dreamless sleep\\nFar down within the gloomy deep,\\nAnd only stir themselves in storms,\\nRising like islands from beneath,\\nAnd snorting through the angry spray.\\nAs the frail vessel perisheth\\nIn the whirls of their unwieldy play;\\nLook down! Look down!\\nUpon the seaweed, slimy and dark.\\nThat waves its arms so lank and brown.\\nBeckoning for thee\\nLook down beneath thy wave-worn bark\\nInto the cold depth of the sea!\\nLook down Look down\\nThus, on Life s lonely sea,\\nHeareth the marinere\\nVoices sad, from far and near,\\nEver singing full of fear,\\nEver singing drearfully.\\nHere all is pleasant as a dream\\nThe mind scarce shaketh down the dew,\\nThe green grass floweth like a stream\\nInto the ocean s blue:\\nListen! O listen!\\nHere is a gush of many streams,\\nA song of many birds.\\nAnd every wish and longing seems", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "182 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nLulled to a numbered flow of words\\nListen O listen\\nHere ever hum the golden bees\\nUnderneath full-blossomed trees,\\nAt once with glowing fruit and flower\\ncrowned\\nThe sand is so smooth, the yellow sand.\\nThat thy keel will not grate, as it touches the\\nland;\\nAll around, with a slumberous sound,\\nThe singing waves slide up the strand.\\nAnd there, where the smooth wet pebbles be,\\nThe waters gurgle longingly,\\nAs if they fain would seek the shore.\\nTo be at rest from the ceaseless roar,\\nTo be at rest for evermore\\nFor evermore.\\nThus, on Life s gloomy sea,\\nHeareth the marinere\\nVoices sweet, far and near,\\nEver singing in his ear,\\nHere is rest and peace for thee!\\nNantasket, July, 1840.\\nA FEELING.\\nThe flowers and the grass to me\\nAre eloquent reproachfully;\\nFor would they wave so pleasantly\\nOr look so fresh and fair,\\nIf a man, cunning, hollow, mean,\\nOr one in anywise unclean.\\nWere looking on them there?", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 183\\nNo; he hath grown so foolish-wise\\nHe cannot see with childhood s eyes;\\nHe hath forgot that purity\\nAnd lowliness which are the key\\nOf Nature s m3^steries;\\nNo; he hath wandered off so long\\nFrom his own place of birth,\\nThat he hath lost his mother-tongue,\\nAnd, like one come from far-off lands,\\nForgetting and forgot, he stands\\nBeside his mother s hearth.\\nTHE BEGGAR.\\nA beggar through the world am I,\\nFrom place to place I wander by;\\nFill up my pilgrim s scrip for me,\\nFor Christ s sweet sake and charity.\\nA little of thy steadfastness,\\nRounded with leafy gracefulness,\\nOld oak, give me\\nThat the world s blasts may round me blow.\\nAnd I yield gently to and fro,\\nWhile my stout-hearted trunk below\\nAnd firm-set roots unmoved be.\\nSome of thy stern, unyielding might,\\nEnduring still through day and night\\nRude tempest-shock and withering blight\\nThat I may keep at bay\\nThe changeful April sky of chance\\nAnd the strong tide of circumstance\\nGive me, old granite gray.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "184 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSome of thy mournfulness serene,\\nSome of thy never-dying green,\\nPut in this scrip of mine\\nThat grief may fall like snowflakes light,\\nAnd deck me in a robe of white.\\nReady to be an angel bright\\nO sweetly=mournful pine.\\nA little of thy merriment,\\nOf thy sparkling, light content,\\nGive me my cheerful brook\\nThat I may still be full of glee\\nAnd gladsomeness, where er I be,\\nThough fickle fate hath prisoned me\\nIn some neglected nook.\\nYe have been very kind and good\\nTo me, since I ve been in the wood;\\nYe have gone nigh to fill my heart;\\nBut good-bye, kind friends, every one,\\nI ve far to go ere set of sun;\\nOf all good things I would have part,\\nThe day was high ere I could start.\\nAnd so my journey s scarce begun.\\nHeaven help me how could I forget\\nTo beg of thee, dear violet!\\nSome of thy modesty,\\nThat flowers here as well, unseen.\\nAs if before the world thou dst been,\\nO give, to strengthen me.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 185\\nSERENADE.\\nFrom the close-shut windows gleams no spark,\\nThe night is chilly, the night is dark,\\nThe poplars shiver, the pine-trees moan.\\nMy hair by the autumn breeze is blown,\\nUnder thy window I sing alone.\\nAlone, alone, ah woe alone\\nThe darkness is pressing coldly around,\\nThe windows shake with a lonely sound,\\nThe stars are hid and the night is drear.\\nThe heart of silence throbs in thine ear,\\nIn thy chamber thou sittest alone,\\nAlone, alone, ah woe! alone!\\nThe world is happy, the world is wide.\\nKind hearts are beating on every side\\nAh, why should we lie so curled\\nAlone in the shell of this great world?\\nWhy should we any more be alone?\\nAlone, alone, ah woe! alone!\\nO tis a bitter and dreary word,\\nThe saddest by man s ear ever heard;\\nWe each are young, we each have a heart,\\nWhy stand we ever coldly apart?\\nMust we forever, then, be alone?\\nAlone, alone, ah woe! alone!", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "186 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nIRENE.\\nHers is a spirit deep and crystal-clear;\\nCalmly beneath her earnest face it lies,\\nFree without boldness, meek without a fear,\\nQuicker to look than speak its sympathies;\\nFar down into her large and patient eyes\\nI gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,\\nAs, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,\\nI look into the fathomless blues kies.\\nSo circled lives she with Love s holy light,\\nThat from the shade of self she walketh free;\\nThe garden of her soul still keepeth she\\nAn Eden where the snake did never enter;\\nShe hath a natural, wise sincerity,\\nA simple truthfulness, and these have lent her\\nA dignity as moveless as the centre\\nSo that no influence of earth can stir\\nHer steadfast courage, or can take away\\nThe holy peacefulness, which, night and day\\nUnto her queenly soul doth minister.\\nMost gentle is she her large charity\\n(An all unwitting, childlike gift in her)\\nNot freer is to give than meek to bear\\nAnd, though herself not unacquaint with care,\\nHath in her heart wide room for all that be\\nHer heart that hath no secrets of its own,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 187\\nBut open is as eglantine full-blown,\\nCloudless forever is her brow serene,\\nSpeaking calm hope and trust within her,\\nwhence\\nWelleth a noiseless spring of patience\\nThat keepeth all her life so fresh, so green\\nAnd full of holiness, that every look,\\nThe greatness of her woman s soul revealing,\\nUnto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling\\nAs when I read in God s own holy book.\\nA graciousness in giving that doth make\\nThe small St gift greatest, and a sense most\\nmeek\\nOf worthiness, that doth not fear to take\\nFrom others, but which always fears to speak\\nIts thanks in utterance, for the giver s sake\\nThe deep religion of a thankful heart.\\nWhich rests instinctively with Heaven s law;\\nWith a full peace, that never can depart\\nFrom its own steadfastness; a holy awe\\nFor holy things, not those which men call holy,\\nBut such as are revealed to the eyes\\nOf a true woman s soul bent down and lowly\\nBefore the face of daily mysteries\\nA love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly\\nTo the full goldenness of fruitful prime.\\nEnduring with a firmness that defies\\nAll shallow tricks of circumstance and time,\\nBy a sure insight knowing where to cling,\\nAnd where it clingeth never withering\\nThese are Irene s dowry which no fate\\nCan shake from their serene, deep-builded state..", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "188 LOWELL S POEiMS.\\nIn-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth\\nNo less loveth, scorning to be bound\\nWith fear of blame, and yet which ever hasten-\\neth\\nTo pour the balm of kind looks on the wound,\\nIf they be wounds which such sweet teaching\\nmakes,\\nGiving itself a pang for others sakes;\\nNo want of faith, that chills with side-long\\neye,\\nHath she no jealousy, no Levite pride\\nThat passeth by upon the other side\\nFor in her soul there never dwelt a lie,\\nRight from the hand of God her spirit came\\nUnstained, and she hath ne er forgotten whence\\nIt came, nor wandered far from thence,\\nBut laboreth to keep her still the same.\\nNear to her place of birth, that she may not\\nSoil her white raiment with an earthly spot.\\nYet sets she not her soul so steadily\\nAbove, that she forgets her ties to earth.\\nBut her whole thought would almost seem to\\nbe\\nHow to make glad one lowly human hearth-\\nFor with a gentle courage she doth strive\\nIn thought and word and feeling so to live\\nAs to make earth next Heaven; and her heart\\nHerein doth show its most exceeding v/orth,\\nThat, bearing in our frailty her just part.\\nShe hath not shrunk from evils of this life,\\nBut hath gone calmly forth into the strife,\\nAnd all its sins and sorrows hath withstood\\nWith lofty strength of patient womanhood:", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "LOWELLS POEMS. 189\\nFor this I love her great soul more than all,\\nThat, being bound, like us, with earthly thrall.\\nShe walks so bright and Heaven-wise therein\\nToo wise, too meek, too womanly to sm.\\nExceeding pleasant to mine eyes is she\\nLike a lone star through riven storm-clouds\\nseen\\nBy sailors, tempest- tost upon the sea,\\nTelling of rest and peaceful havens nigh.\\nUnto my soul her star-like soul hath been,\\nHer sight as full of hope and calm to me\\nFor she unto herself hath builded high,\\nA home serene, wherein to lay her head,\\nEarth s noblest thing a Woman perfected.\\nTHE LOST CHILD.\\nI wandered down the sunny glade\\nAnd ever mused, my love, of thee\\nMy thoughts, like little children, played,\\nAs gaily and as guilelessly.\\nIf any chanced to go astray,\\nMoaning in fear of coming harms,\\nHope brought the wanderer back alway,\\nSafe nestled in her snowy arms.\\nIII.\\nFrom that soft nest the happy one\\nLooked up at me and calmly smiled;", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "190 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nIts hair shone golden in the sun,\\nAnd made it seem a heavenly child.\\nIV.\\nDear Hope s blue eyes smiled mildly down.\\nAnd blest it with a love so deep,\\nThat, like a nurseling of her own.\\nIt clasped her neck and fell asleep.\\nTHE CHURCH.\\nI love the rites of England s church;\\nI love to hear and see\\nThe priest and people reading slow\\nThe solemn Litany;\\nI love to hear the glorious swell\\nOf chanted psalm and prayer,\\nAnd the deep organ s bursting heart,\\nThrob through the shivering air.\\nII.\\nChants, that a thousand years have heard\\nI love to hear again,\\nFor visions of the olden time\\nAre wakened by the strain\\nWith gorgeous hues the window-glass\\nSeems suddenly to glow\\nAnd rich and red the streams of light\\nDown through the chancel flow.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 191\\nIII.\\nAnd then I murmur, Surely, God\\nDelighteth here to dwell;\\nThis is the temple of his Son\\nWhom he doth love so well;\\nBut, when I hear the creed which saith,\\nThis church alone is His,\\nI feel within my soul that He\\nHath purer shrines than this.\\nIV.\\nFor his is not the builded church,\\nNor organ-shaken dome\\nIn everything that lovely is\\nHe loves and hath his home;\\nAnd most in soul that loveth well\\nAll things which he hath made,\\nKnowing no creed but simple faith\\nThat may not be gainsaid.\\nV.\\nHis church is universal Love,\\nAnd whoso dwells therein\\nShall need no customed sacrifice\\nTo wash away his sin\\nAnd music in its aisles shall swell,\\nOf lives upright and true,\\nSweet as dreamed sounds of angel-harps\\nDown-quivering through the blue.\\nVI.\\nThey shall not ask a litany.\\nThe souls that worship there,\\nBut every look shall be a hymn,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "192 LOWELLS POEMS.\\nAnd every word a prayer;\\nTheir service shall be written bright\\nIn calm and holy eyes,\\nAnd every day from fragrant hearts\\nFit incense shall arise.\\nTHE UNLOVELY.\\nThe pretty things that others wear\\nLook strange and out of place on me,\\nI never seem dressed tastefully,\\nBecause I am not fair;\\nAnd, when I would most pleasing seem,\\nAnd deck myself with joyful care,\\nI find it is an idle dream,\\nBecause I am not fair.\\nIf I put roses in my hair,\\nThey bloom as if in mockery;\\nNature denies her sympathy,\\nBecause I am not fair;\\nAlas! I have a warm, true heart.\\nBut when I show it people stare\\n1 must forever dwell apart.\\nBecause I am not fair.\\nI am least happy being where\\nThe hearts of others are most light,\\nAnd strive to keep me out of sight,\\nBecause I am not fair;\\nThe glad ones often give a glance,\\nAs I am sitting lonely there,\\nThat asks me why 1 do not dance\\nBecause I am not fail.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 193\\nAnd if to smile on them I dare,\\nFor that my heart with love runs o er,\\nThey say: What is she laughing for?\\nBecause I am not fair\\nLove scorned or misinterpreted\\nIt is the hardest thing to bear;\\nI often wish that I were dead,\\nBecause I am not fair.\\nIn joy or grief I must not share,\\nFor neither smiles nor tears on me\\nWill ever look becomingly.\\nBecause I am not fair;\\nWhole days I sit alone and cry.\\nAnd in my grave I wish I were\\nYet none will weep me if I die,\\nBecause I am not fair.\\nMy grave will be so lone and bare,\\nI fear to think of those dark hours.\\nFor none will plant it o er with flowers,\\nBecause I am not fair;\\nThey will not in the summer come\\nAnd speak kind words above me there\\nTo me the grave will be no home,\\nBecause I am not fair.\\nIS LoweU", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "194 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nLOVE-SONG.\\nNearer to thy mother-heart,\\nSimple Nature, press me.\\nLet me know thee as thou art,\\nFill my soul and bless me\\nI have loved thee long- and well,\\nI have loved thee heartily;\\nShall I never with thee dwell,\\nNever be at one with thee?\\nInward, inward to thy heart,\\nKindly Nature, take me.\\nLovely even as thou art.\\nFull of loving make me\\nThou knowest naught of dead-cold forms,\\nKnowest naught of littleness,\\nLifeful Truth thy being warms,\\nMajesty and earnestness.\\nHomeward, homeward to thy heart,\\nDearest Nature, call me\\nLet no halfness, no mean part,\\nAny longer thrall me\\nI will be thy lover true.\\nWill be a faithful soul,\\nThen circle me, then look me through,\\nFill me with the mighty Whole.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 195\\nSONG.\\nAll things are sad:\\nI go and ask of Memory,\\nThat she tells sweet tales to me\\nTo make me glad\\nAnd she takes me by the hand,\\nLeadeth to old places,\\nShoweth the old faces\\nIn her hazy mirage-land;\\nO, her voice is sweet and low,\\nAnd her eyes are fresh to mine\\nAs the dew\\nGleaming through\\nThe half-unfolded Eglantine,\\nLong ago, long ago!\\nBut I feel that I am only\\nYet more sad, and yet more lonely\\nThen I turn to blue-eyed Hope,\\nAnd beg of her that she will ope\\nHer golden gates for me\\nShe is fair and fuM of grace,\\nBut she hath the form and face\\nOf her mother Memory\\nClear as air her glad voice ringeth.\\nJoyous are the songs she singeth,\\nYet I hear them mournfully;\\nThey are songs her mother taught her,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "196 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nCrooning to her infant daughter,\\nAs she lay upon her knee.\\nMany little ones she bore me,\\nWoe is me in by-gone hours,\\nWho danced along and sang before me,\\nScattered my way with flowers;\\nOne by one\\nThey are gone,\\nAnd their silent graves are seen.\\nShining fresh with mosses green.\\nWhere the rising sunbeams slope\\nO er the dewy land of Hope.\\nBut, when sweet Memory faileth,\\nAnd Hope looks strange and cold;\\nWhen youth no more availeth.\\nAnd grief grows over bold;\\nWhen softest winds are dreary,\\nAnd summer sunlight weary.\\nAnd sweetest things uncheery\\nWe know not why:\\nWhen the crown of our desires\\nWeighs upon the brow and tires.\\nAnd we would die,\\nDie for, ah we know not what.\\nSomething we seem to have forgot.\\nSomething we had, and now have not;\\nWhen the present is a weight\\nAnd the future seems our foe,\\nAnd with shrinking eyes we wait,\\nAs one who dreads a sudden blow\\nIn the dark, he knows not whence;\\nWhen Love at last his bright eye closes.\\nAnd the bloom upon his face.\\nThat lends him such a living grace,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 197\\nIs a shadow from the roses\\nWherewith we have decked his bier,\\nBecause he once was passing dear;\\nWhen we feel a laden sense\\nOf nothingness and impotence,\\nTill we grow mad\\nThen the body saith,\\nThere s but one true faith;\\nAll things are sad!\\nA LOVE-DREAM.\\nPleasant thoughts come wandering,\\nWhen thou art far, from thee to me;\\nOn the silver wings they bring\\nA very peaceful ecstasy,\\nA feeling of eternal spring;\\nSo that Winter half forgets\\nEverything but that thou art.\\nAnd, in his bewildered heart,\\nDreameth of the violets,\\nOr those bkier flowers that ope.\\nFlowers of steadfast love and hope,\\nWatered by the living wells,\\nOf memories dear, and dearer prophecies,\\nWhen young spring forever dwells\\nIn the sunshine of thine eyes.\\nI have most holy dreams of thee,\\nAll night I have such dreams;\\nAnd, when I awake, reality\\nNo whit the darker seems;\\nThrough the twin gates of Hope and Mem-\\nory", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "198 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThey pour in crystal streams\\nFrom out an angel s calmed eyes,\\nWho, from twilight till sunrise,\\nFar away in the upper deep,\\nPoised upon his shining wings.\\nOver us his watch doth keep,\\nAnd, as he watcheth, ever sings.\\nThrough the still night I hear him sing,\\nDown-looking on our sleep;\\nI hear his clear, harp-strings ring,\\nAnd, as the golden notes take wing.\\nGently downward hovering,\\nFor very joy I weep;\\nHe singeth songs of holy Love,\\nThat quiver through the depths afar.\\nWhere the blessed spirits are,\\nAnd lingeringly from above\\nShower till the morning star\\nHis silver shield hath buckled on\\nAnd sentinels the dawn alone,\\nQuivering his gleamy spear\\nThrough the dusky atmosphere.\\nAlmost, my love, I fear the morn,\\nWhen that blessed voice shall cease,\\nLest it should leave me quite forlorn,\\nStript of my snowy robe of peace\\nAnd yet the bright reality\\nIs fairer than all dreams can be.\\nFor, through my spirit, all day long,\\nRing echoes of that angel-song\\nIn melodious thoughts of thee\\nAnd well I know it cannot die", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 199\\nTill eternal morn shall break,\\nFor, through life s slumber, thou and I\\nWill keep it for each other s sake,\\nAnd it shall not be silent when we wake.\\nFOURTH OF JULY ODE.\\nOur fathers fought for Liberty,\\nThey struggled long and well,\\nHistory of their deeds can tell\\nBut did they leave us free?\\nAre we free from vanity,\\nFree from pride, and free from self,\\nFree from love of power and self.\\nFrom everything that s beggarly?\\nIII.\\nAre we free from stubborn will,\\nFrom low hate and malice small.\\nFrom opinion s tyrant thrall?\\nAre none of us our own slaves still?\\nIV.\\nAre we free to speak our thought,\\nTo be happy, and be poor.\\nFree to enter Heaven s door,\\nTo live and labor as we ought?", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "200 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nV.\\nAre we then made free at last\\nFrom the fear of what men say,\\nFree to reverence To-day,\\nFree from the slavery of the Past?\\nVI.\\nOur fathers fought for liberty,\\nThey struggled long and well.\\nHistory of their deeds can tell\\nBut ourselves must set us free.\\nSPHINX.\\nI.\\nWhy mourn we for the golden prime\\nWhen our young souls were kingly, strong, and\\ntrue?\\nThe soul is greater than all time,\\nIt changes not, but yet is ever new.\\nBut that the soul is noble, we\\nCould never know what nobleness had been\\nBe what ye dream and earth shall see\\nA greater greatness than she e er hath seen.\\nIII.\\nThe flower pines not to be fair,\\nIt never asketh to be sweet and dear,\\nBut gives itself to sun and air,\\nAnd so is fresh and full from year to year.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 201\\nIV.\\nNothing in Nature weeps its lot,\\nNothing, save man, abides in memory,\\nForgetful that the Past is what\\nOurselves may choose the coming time to be.\\nAll things are circular; the Past\\nWas given us to make the Future great;\\nAnd the void Future shall at last\\nBe the strong rudder of an after fate.\\nVI.\\nWe sit beside the Sphinx of Life,\\nWe gaze into its void, unanswering eyes,\\nAnd spend ourselves in idle strife\\nTo read the riddle of their mysteries.\\nVII.\\nArise be earnest and be strong\\nThe Sphinx s eyes shall suddenly grow clear,\\nAnd speak as plain to thee ere long.\\nAs the dear maiden s who holds thee most dear.\\nVIII.\\nThe meaning of all things in us\\nYea, in the lives we give our souls doth lie;\\nMake, then, their meaning glorious\\nBy such a life as need not fear to die\\nIX.\\nThere is no heart-beat in the day,\\nWhich bears a record of the smallest deed.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "202 LOWELLS POEMS. I\\nBut holds within its faith alway i\\nThat which in doubt we vainly strive to read.\\nOne seed contains another seed, i\\nAnd that a third, and so for evermore\\nAnd promise of as great a deed\\nLies folded in the deed that went before.\\nXI. _ I\\nSo ask not fitting space or time, j\\nYet could not dream of things which could not\\nbe, i\\nEach day shall make the next sublime,\\nAnd Time be swallowed in Eternity.\\nXII.\\nGod bless the Present! it is all; 1\\nIt has been Future, and it shall be Past;\\nAwake and live! thy strength recall,\\nAnd in one trinity unite them fast.\\nXIII.\\nAction and Life lo! here the key\\nOf all on earth that seemeth dark and wrong;\\nWin this and, with it, freely ye\\nMay enter that bright realm for which ye long.\\nXIV. I\\nThen all these bitter questionings j\\nShall with a full and blessed answer meet;\\nPast worlds, whereof the Poet sings, j\\nShall be the earth beneath his snow-white fleet.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "LOWELLS POEMS. 203\\n**GOE, LITTLE BOOKE!\\nGo little book the world is wide,\\nThere s room and verge enough for thee;\\nFor thou hast learned that only pride\\nLacketh fit opportunity,\\nWhich comes unhid to modesty.\\nGo! win thy way with gentleness:\\nI send thee forth, my first-born child,\\nQuite, quite alone, to face the stress\\nOf fickle skies and pathways wild,\\nWhere few can keep them undefiled.\\nThou camest from a poet s heart,\\nA warm, still home, and full of rest;\\nFar from the pleasant eyes thou art\\nOf those who know and love thee best,\\nAnd by whose hearthstones thou wert-blest\\nGo knock thou softly at the door\\nWhere any gentle spirit s bin,\\nTell them thy tender feet are sore,\\nWandering so far from all thy kin,\\nAnd ask if thou may enter in.\\nBeg thou a cup-full from the spring\\nOf Charity, in Christ s dear name;\\nFew will deny so small a thing.\\nNor ask unkindly if thou came\\nOf one whose life might do thee shame.\\nWe all are prone to go astray.\\nOur hopes are bright, our lives are dim;", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "204 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nBut thou art pure, and if they say,\\nWe know thy father, and our whim\\nHe pleases not, plead thou for him.\\nFor many are by whom all truth,\\nThat speaks not in their mother-tongue,\\nIs stoned to death with hands unruth,\\nOr hath its patient spirit wrung\\nCold words and colder looks among.\\nYet fear not for skies are fair\\nTo all whose souls are fair within;\\nThou wilt find shelter everywhere\\nWith those to whom a different kin\\nIs not a damning proof of sin.\\nBut, if all others are unkind,\\nThere s one heart whither thou canst fly\\nFor shelter from the biting wind;\\nAnd, in that home of purity.\\nIt were no bitter thing to die.\\nSONNETS.\\nI.\\nDISAPPOINTMENT.\\nI pray thee call not this society;\\nI asked for bread, thou givest me a stone;\\nI am an hungered, and I find not one\\nTo give me meat, to joy or grive with me;\\nI find not here what I went out to see\\nSouls of true men, of women who can move\\nThe deeper better part of us to love.\\nSouls that can hold with mine communion free.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 205\\nAlas! must then these hopes, these longings\\nhigh,\\nThis yearning of the soul for brotherhood,\\nAnd all that makes us pure, and wise, and\\ngood,\\nCome broken-hearted, home again to die?\\nNo, Hope is left, and prays with bended head,\\nGive us this day, O God, our daily bread!\\nII.\\nGreat human nature, whither art thou fled?\\nAre these things creeping forth and back agen,\\nThese hollow formalists and echoes, m.en?\\nArt thou entombed with the mighty dead?\\nIn God s name, no! not yet hath all been said,\\nOr done, or longed for, that is truly great;\\nThese pitiful dried crusts will never sate\\nNatures for which pure Truth is daily bread;\\nV/e were not meant to plod along the earth,\\nStrange to ourselves and to our fellows strange\\nY/e were not meant to struggle from our birth,\\nTo skulk and creep, and in mean pathways\\nrange\\nAct! with stern truth, large faith, and loving\\nwill!\\nUp and be doing! God is with us still.\\nIII.\\nTO A FRIEND.\\nOne strip of bark may feed the broken tree,\\nGiving to some few limbs a sickly green;\\nAnd one light shower on the hills, I ween,\\nMay keep the spring from drying utterly.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "206 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nThus seemeth it with these our hearts to be\\nHope is the strip of bark, the shower of rain,\\nAnd so they are not wholly crushed with pain.\\nBut live and linger on, for sadder sight to see,\\nMuch do they err, who tell us that the heart\\nMay not be broken; what, then, can we call\\nA broken heart, if this may not be so,\\nThis death in life when, shrouded in its pall,\\nShunning and shunned it dwelleth all apart,.\\nIts power, its love, its sympathy laid low?\\nIV.\\nSo may it be, but let it not be so,\\nO, let it not be so with thee, my friend;\\nBe of good courage, bear up to the end.\\nAnd on thine after way rejoicing go\\nWe all must suffer, if we aught would know;\\nLife is a teacher stern, and v/isdom s crown\\nIs oft a crown of thorns, whence, trickling\\ndown.\\nBlood, mixed with tears, blinding her eyes doth\\nflow;\\nBut Time, a gentle nurse, shall v/ipe away\\nThis bloody sweat, and thou shalt find on earth,\\nThat woman is not all in all to Love,\\nBut, living by a new and second birth.\\nThy soul shall see all things below, above,\\nGrow bright and brighter to the perfect day.\\nO child of Nature O most meek and free.\\nMost gentle spirit of true nobleness!\\nThou doest not a worthy deed the less\\nPecause the world may not its greatness see;", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 207\\nWhat were a thousand triumphings to thee,\\nWho, in thyself, art as a perfect sphere\\nWrapt in a bright and natural atmosphere\\nOf mighty-souledness and majesty?\\nThy soul is not too high for lowly things,\\nFeels not its strength seeing its brother weak.\\nNot for itself unto itself is dear,\\nBut for that it may guide the wanderings\\nOf fellow-men, and to their spirits speak\\nThe lofty faith of heart that knows no fear.\\nVI.\\nFor this true nobleness T seek in vain,\\nIn woman and in man I find it not,\\nI almost weary of my earthly lot.\\nMy life-springs are dried up w4th burning\\npain.\\nThou find st it not? I pray thee look again.\\nLook inward through the depths of thine own\\nsoul;\\nHow is it with thee? Art thou sound and\\nwhole\\nDoth narrow search show thee no earth stain?\\nBe noble I and the nobleness that lies\\nIn other men, sleeping but never dead,\\nWnU rise in majesty to meet thine own;\\nThen wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes.\\nThen will pure light around thy path be shed,\\nAnd thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone.\\nVII.\\nTO\\nDeem it no Sodon-fruit of vanity,\\nOr fickle fantasy of unripe youth", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "208 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nWhich ever takes the fairest shows for truth,\\nThat I should wish my verse beloved of thee\\nTis love s deep thirst which may not quenched\\nbe.\\nThere is a gulf of longing and unrest,\\nA wild love-craving not to be represt,\\nWhereto, in all our hearts, as to the sea.\\nThe streams of feeling do forever flow.\\nTherefore it is that thy well-meted praise\\nFalleth so shower-like and fresh on me,\\nFilling those springs which else had sunk full\\nlow.\\nLost in the dreary desert-sands of woe,\\nOr parched by passion s fierce and withering\\nblaze.\\nVIII.\\nMight I be beloved, and, O most fair\\nAnd perfect-ordered soul, beloved of thee,\\nHow should I feel a cloud of earthly care,\\nIf thy blue eyes were ever clear to me?\\nO woman s love! O flower most bright and\\nrare!\\nThat blossom st brightest inextremest need,\\nWoe, woe is me! that thy so precious seed\\nIs ever sown by Fancy s changeful air,\\nAnd grows sometimes in poor and barren hearts\\nWho can be little even in the light\\nOf thy meek holiness v/hile souls more great\\nAre left to wonder on a starless night,\\nPraying unheard and yet the hardest parts\\nBefit those best who best can cope with fate.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. \u00c2\u00a309\\nIX.\\nWh}^ should we ever weary of this life?\\nOur souls should widen ever, not contract,\\nGrow stronger, and not harder, in the strife,\\nFilling each moment with a noble act;\\nIf we live thus, of vigor all compact,\\nDoing our duty to our fellow-men,\\nAnd striving rather to exalt our race\\nThan our poor selves, with earnest hand or pen\\nWe shall erect our names a dwelling-place\\nWhich not all ages shall cast down agen\\nOffspring of Time shall then be born each hour.\\nWhich, as of old, earth lovingly shall guard,\\nTo live forever in youth s perfect flower.\\nAnd guide her future children Heavenward.\\nX.\\nGREEN MOUNTAINS.\\nYe mountains, that far off lift up your heads,\\nSeen dimly through their canopies of blue,\\nThe shade of my unrestful spirit sheds\\nDistance-created beauty over you;\\nI am not well content with this far view\\nHow may I know what foot of loved-one treads\\nYour rocks moss-grown and sun-dried forrent\\nbeds?\\nWe should love all things better, of we knew\\nWhat claims the meanest have upon our hearts;\\nPerchance even now some eye, that would be\\nbright\\nTo meet my own, looks on your mist-robed\\nforms;\\nPerchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts\\n14 Lowell", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2210 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nTo souls that have encircled mine with light\\nO brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms!\\nXI.\\nMy friend, adown Life s valley, hand in hand,\\nWith grateful change of grave and merry\\nspeech\\nOr song, our hearts unlocking each to each,\\nWe ll journey onward to the silent land;\\nAnd when stern Death shall loose that loving\\nband,\\nTaking in his cold hand a hand of ours,\\nThe one shall strew the other s grave with\\nflowers.\\nNor shall his heart a moment be unmanned.\\nMy friend and brother! if thou goest first,\\nWilt thou no more re- visit me below?\\nYea, when my heart seems happy causelessly\\nAnd swells, not dreaming why, as it would\\nburst\\nWith joy unspeakable\u00e2\u0080\u0094 my soul shall know\\nThat thou, unseen, art bending over me.\\nXII.\\nVerse cannot say how beautiful thou art.\\nHow glorious the calmness of thine eyes.\\nFull of unconquerable energies,\\nTelling that thou hast acted well thy part.\\nNo doubt or fear thy steady faith can start.\\nNo thought of evil dare come nigh to thee,\\nWho hast the courage meek of purity,\\nThe self-stayed greatness of a loving heart,\\nStrong with serene, enduring fortitude;\\nWhere er thou art, that seems thy fitting place,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 211\\nFor not of forms but Nature art thou child\\nAnd lowest things put on a noble grace\\nWhen touched by ye, O patient, Ruth-like,\\nmild\\nAnd spotless hands of earnest womanhood.\\nXIII.\\nThe soul would fain its loving kindness tell,\\nBut custom hangs like lead upon the tongue\\nThe heart is brimful, hollow crowds among,\\nWhen it finds one whose life and thought are\\nwell;\\nUp to the eyes its gushing love doth swell.\\nThe angel cometh and the waters move,\\nYet it is fearful still to say I love,\\nAnd words come grating as a jangled bell.\\nmight we only speak but what we feel,\\nMight the tongue pay but what the heart doth\\nowe.\\nNot Heaven s great thunder, when, deep peal\\non peal,\\nIt shakes the earth, could rouse our spirits so.\\nOr to the soul such majesty reveal,\\nAs two short words half-spoken faint and low!\\nXIV.\\n1 saw a gate a harsh voice spake and said,\\n**This is the gate of Life; above was writ,\\nLeave hope behind, all ye who enter it;\\nThen shrank my heart within itself for dread;\\nBut, softer than the summer rain is shed,\\nWords dropt upon my soul, and they did say,\\n**Fear nothing. Faith shall save thee, watch\\nand pray!", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "212 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSo, without fear I lifted up my head,\\nAnd lo! that writing was not, one fair word\\nWas carven in its stead, and it was Love.\\nThen rained once more those sweet tones from\\nabove\\nWith healing on their wings: I humbly heard,\\nI am the Life, ask and it shall be given!\\nI am the way, by me ye enter Heaven!\\nXV.\\ni would not have this perfect love of ours\\nGrow from a single root, a single stem,\\nBearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers\\nThat idly hide Life s iron diadem:\\nIt should grow alway like that Eastern tree\\nWhose limbs take root and spread forth con-\\nstantly\\nThat love for one, from which there doth not\\nspring\\nWide love for all, is but a worthless thing.\\nNot in another world, as poets prate.\\nDwell we apart, above the tide of things,\\nHigh floating o er earth s clouds on faery wings\\nBut our pure love doth ever elevate\\nInto a holy bond of brotherhood\\nAll earthly things, making them pure and good.\\nXVI.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2To the dark, narrow house where loved ones\\nWhence no steps outward turn, whose silent\\ndoor\\nNone but the sexton knocks at any more.\\nAre they not sometimes with us yet below?", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 2i:j\\nThe longings of the soul would tell us so\\nAlthough, so pure and fine their being s es-\\nsence,\\nOur bodily eyes are witless of their presence,\\nYet not within the tomb their spirits glow.\\nLike wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever\\nWith great thoughts worthy of their high be-\\nhests\\nOur souls are filled, those bright ones with us\\nbe.\\nAs, in the patriarch s tent, his angel guests;\\nlet us live so worthily, that never\\nWe may be far from that blest company.\\nXVII.\\n1 fain would give to thee the loveliest things,\\nFor lovely things belong to thee of right,\\nAnd thou hast been as peaceful to my sight.\\nAs the still thoughts that summer twilight\\nbrings;\\nBeneath the shadow of thine angel wings\\nO let me live O let me rest in thee,\\nGrowing to thee more and more utterly,\\nUpbearing and upborn, till outward things\\nAre only as they share in thee a part!\\nLook kindly on me, let thy holy eyes\\nBless me from the deep fulness of thy heart;\\nSo shall my soul in its right strength arise,\\nAnd nevermore shall pine and shrink and start,\\nSafe-sheltered in thy full souled sympathies.\\nXVIII.\\nMuch I had mused of Love, and in my soul\\nThere was one chamber where I dared not look,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "214 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nSo much its dark and dreary voidness shook\\nMy spirit, feeling that I was not whole\\nAll my deep longings flowed toward one goal\\nFor long, long years, but were not answered,\\nTill Hope was drooping, Faith well-nigh stone\\ndead,\\nAnd I was still a blind, earth-delving mole;.\\nYet did I know that God was wise and good.\\nAnd would fulfill my being late or soon\\nNor was such thought in v lin, for, seeing thee,\\nGreat Love rose up, as, o e r a black pine wood,\\nRound, bright, and clear, upstarteth the full\\nmoon.\\nFilling my soul with glory utterly.\\nXIX.\\nSayest thou, most beautiful, that thou wilt\\nwear\\nFlowers and leafy crowns when thou art old,\\nAnd that thy heart shall never grow so cold\\nBut they shall love to wreath thy silvered hair\\nAnd into age s snows the hope of spring-tide\\nbear?\\nO, in thy childlike wisdom s moveless hold\\nDwell ever! still the blessings manifold\\nOf purity, of peace, and untaught care\\nFor other s hearts, around thy pathway shed,\\nAnd thou shalt have a crown of deathless\\nflowers,\\nTo glorify and guard thy blessed head\\nAnd give their freshness to thy life s last\\nhours;\\nAnd, when the Bridegroom calleth, they shall be\\nA wedding-garment white as snow for thee.", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. L lo\\nXX.\\nPoet! who sittest in thy pleasant room,\\nWarming thy heart with idle thoughts of love,\\nAnd of a holy life that leads above.\\nStriving to keep life s spring-flower still in\\nbloom,\\nAnd lingering to snuff their fresh perfume\\nO, there were other duties meant for thee,\\nThan to sit down in peacefulness and Be)\\nO, there are brother-hearts that dwell in gloom,\\nSouls loathsome, foul, and black with daily sin,\\nSo crusted o er with baseness, that no ray\\nOf heaven s blessed light may enter in!\\nCome down, then, to the hot and dusty way.\\nAnd lead them back to hope and peace again\\nFor, save in Act, thy Love is all in vain.\\nXXI.\\nno more but so?\\nNo more but so? Only with uncold looks,\\nAnd with a hand not laggard to clasp mine,\\nThink st thou to pay what debt of love is thine?\\nNo more but so? Like gushing water-brooks,\\nFreshening and making green the dimmest\\nnooks\\nOf thy friend s soul thy kindliness should flow;\\nBut, if t is bounded by not saying no,\\nI can find more of friendship in my books,\\nAll lifeless though they be, and more, far more\\nIn every simplest moss, or flower, or tree\\nOpen to me thy heart of hearts deep core,\\nOr never say that I am dear to thee\\nCall me not Friend, if thou keep close the door\\nThat leads into thine inmost sympath3\\\\", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "216 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nXXII.\\nTO A VOICE HEARD IN MOUNT AUBURN.\\nLike the low warblings of a leaf-hid bird,\\nThy voice came to me through tho screening\\ntrees.\\nSinging the simplest, long-known melodies;\\nI had no glimpse of thee, and yet I heard\\nAnd blest thee for each clearly-carolled word;\\nI longed to thank thee, and my heart would\\nframe\\nMary or Ruth, some sisterl}^ sweet name\\nFor thee, yet could I not my lips have stirred;\\nI knew that thou wert lovely, that thine eyes\\nWere blue and downcast, and methought large\\ntears,\\nUnknown to thee, up to their lids must rise\\nWith half-sad memories of other years,\\nAs to th5^self alone thou sangest o er\\nWords that to childhood seemed to say **No\\nMore!\\nXXIII.\\nON READING SPENSER AGAIN.\\nDear, gentle Spenser thou my soul dost lead,\\nA little child again, through Fairy land.\\nBy many a bower and stream of golden sand.\\nAnd many a sunny plain whose light doth breed\\nA sunshine in my happy heart, and feed\\nMy fancy with sweet visions; I become\\nA knight, and with my charmed arms would\\nroam\\nTo seek for fame in many a wonderous deed\\nOf high emprize for I have seen the light", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 217\\nOf Una s angels face, the golden hair\\nAnd backward eyes of startled Florimel;\\nAnd, for their holy sake, I would outdare\\nA host of cruel Paynims in the fight,\\nOr Archimage and all the powers of Hell.\\nXXIV.\\nLight of mine eyes I with thy so trusting look,\\nAnd thy sweet smile of charity and love,\\nThat from a treasure well uplaid above.\\nAnd from a hope in Christ its blessing took\\nLight of my heart) which, when it could not\\nbrook\\nThe coldness of another s sympathy,\\nFinds ever a deep peace and stay in thee,\\nWarm as the sunshine of a mossy nook;\\nLight of my soul who, by the saintliness\\nAnd faith that acts itself in daily life,\\nCanst raise me above weakness, and canst bless\\nThe hardest thraldom of my earthly strife\\nI dare not say how much thou art to me\\nEven to myself and O, far less to thee\\nXXV.\\nSilent as one who treads on new-fallen snow,\\nLove came upon me ere I was aware\\nNot light of heart, for there was troublous care\\nLTpon his eyelids, drooping them full low.\\nAs with sad memory of a healed woe\\nThe cold rain shivered in his golden hair,\\nAs if an outcast lot had been his share,\\nAnd he seemed doubtful whither he should go:\\nThen he fell on my neck, and, in my breast\\nHiding his face, awhile sobbed bitterly,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "218 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAs half in grief to be so long distrest,\\nAnd half in joy at his security\\nAt last, uplooking from his place of rest,\\nHis eyes shone blessedness and hope on me.\\nXXVI.\\nA gentleness that grows of steady faith\\nA joy that sheds its sunshine everywhere;\\nA humble strength and readiness to bear\\nThose burthens which strict duty ever lay th\\nUpon our souls; which unto sorrow saith,\\nHere is no soil for thee to strike thy roots,\\nHere only grow those sweet and precious fruits\\nWhich ripen for the soul that well obey th,\\nA patience which the world can neither give\\nNor take away; a courage strong and high,\\nThat dares in simple usefulness to live,\\nAnd without one sad look behind to die\\nWhen that day comes; these tell me that our\\nlove\\nIs building for itself a home above.\\nXXVII.\\nWhen the glad soul is full to overflow.\\nUnto the tongue all power it denies,\\nAnd only trusts its secret to the eyes;\\nFor, by an inborn wisdom it doth know\\nThere is no other eloquence but so;\\nAnd, when the tongue s weak utterance doth\\nsuffice,\\nPrisoned within the body s cell it lies,\\nRemembering in tears its exiled woe:\\nThat word which all mankind so long to hear,\\nWhich bears the spirit back to whence it came,", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 219\\nMaketh this sullen clay as crystal clear,\\nAnd will not be enclouded in a name;\\nIt is a truth which we can feel and see,\\nBut is as boundless at Eternity.\\nXXVIII.\\nTO THE EVENING-STAR.\\nWhen we have once said lowly Evening-\\nStar!\\nWords give no more for, in thy silver pride,\\nThou shinest as nought else can shine beside:\\nThe thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar\\nForever, and the customed lamp-light mar\\nThe stillness of my thought seeing things\\nglide\\nSo samely: then I ope my windows wide.\\nAnd gaze in peace to where thou shin st afar,\\nThe wind that comes across the faint-white\\nsnow\\nSo freshly, and the river dimly seen,\\nSeem like new things that never had been so.\\nBefore and thou art bright as thou hast been\\nSince thy white rays put sweetness in the eyes\\nOf the first souls that loved in Paradise.\\nXXIX.\\nREADING.\\nAs one who on some well-known landscape\\nlooks.\\nBe it alone, or with some dear friend nigh.\\nEach day beholdeth fresh variety.\\nNew harmonies of hills, and trees, and brooks\\nSo is it with the worthiest choice of books,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "220 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nAnd oftenest read: if thou no meaning spy,\\nDeem there is meaning wanting in thine eyes;\\nWe are so lured from judgment by the crooks\\nAnd winding ways of covert fantasy,\\nOr turned unwittingly down beaten tracks\\nOf our foregone conclusions, that we see.\\nIn our own want, the writer s misdeemed lacks:\\nIt is with true books as with Nature, each\\nNew day of living doth new insight teach.\\nXXX.\\nTO AFTER A SNOW-STORM.\\nBlue as thine eyes the river gently flows\\nBetween his banks, which, far as eye can see,\\nAre whiter than aught else on earth may be,\\nSave inmost thoughts that in thy soul repose\\nThe trees, all crystalled by the melted snows,\\nSparkle with gems and silver, such as we\\nIn childhood sav/ mong groves of Faerie,\\nAnd the dear skies are sunny-blue as those\\nStill as thy heart, when next mine own it lies\\nIn love s full safety, is the bracing air;\\nThe earth is all enwrapt with draperies\\nSnow-white as that pure love might choose to\\nwear\\nO for one moment s look into thine eyes,\\nTo share the joy such scene would kindle there!", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 221\\nSONNETS ON NAMES.\\nEDITH.\\nA Lily with its frail cup filled with dew,\\nDown-bending- modestly, snow-white and pale,\\nShedding faint fragrance round its native vale,\\nMinds me of thee, sweet Edith, mild and true,\\nAnd of thy eyes so innocent and blue,\\nThy heart is fearful as a startled hare,\\nYet hath in it a fortitude to bear\\nFor Love s sake, and a gentle faith which grew\\nOf Love: need of a stay whereon to lean,\\nFelt, in thyself, hath taught thee to uphold\\nAnd comfort others, and to give, unseen,\\nThe kindness thy still love cannot withhold:\\nMaiden, I would my sister thou hadst been.\\nThat round thee I my guarding arms might\\nfold.\\nII.\\nROSE.\\nMy ever-lightsome, ever-laughing Rose,\\nWho always speakest first and thinkest last,\\nThy full voice is as clear as bugle-blast\\nRight from the ear down to the heart it goes\\nAnd says, I m beautiful! as who but knows?\\nThy name reminds me of old romping days,\\nOf kisses stolen in dark passage-ways,", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "222 LOWELL S POEMS.\\nOr in the parlor, if the mother-nose\\nGave sign of drowsy watch. I wonder where\\nAre gone thy tokens, given with a glance\\nSo full of everlasting love till morrow,\\nOr a day s endless grieving for the dance\\nLast night denied, backed with a lock of hair,\\nThat spake of broken hearts and deadly sorrow.\\nIII.\\nMARY.\\nDark hair, dark eyes not too dark to be deep\\nAnd full of feeling, yet enough to glow\\nWith fire when angered; feelings never slow.\\nBut which seem rather watching to forth leap\\nFrom her full breast a gently-flowing sweep\\nOf words in common talk, a torrent-rush,\\nWhenever through her soul swift feelings gush,\\nA heart less ready to be gay than weep,\\nYet cheerful ever; a calm matron-smile,\\nThat bids God bless you; a chaste simpleness,\\nWith somewhat, too, of proper pride, in\\ndress;\\nThis portrait to my mind s eye came, the while\\nI thought of thee, the well-grown woman Mary,\\nWhilome a gold-haired laughing little fairy.\\nIV.\\nCAROLINE.\\nA staidness sobers o er her pretty face,\\nWhich something but ill-hidden in her eyes,\\nAnd a quaint look about her lips denies;\\nA lingering love of girlhood you can trace\\nIn her checked laugh and half-restrained pace;", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "LOWELL S POEMS. 223\\nAnd, when she bears herself most womanly,\\nIt seems as if a watchful mother s eye\\nKept down with sobering glance her childish\\ngrace\\nYet oftentimes her nature gushes free\\nAs water long held back by little hands,\\nWithin a pump, and let forth suddenly,\\nUntil, her task remembering, she stands\\nA moment silent, smiling doubtfully.\\nThen laughs aloud and scorns her hated band^.\\nV.\\nANNE.\\nThere is a pensiveness in quiet Anne,\\nA mournful drooping of the full gray eye,\\nAs if she had shook hands with misery,\\nAnd known some care since her short life\\nbegan\\nHer cheek is seriously pale, nigh wan,\\nAnd, though of cheerfulness there is no lack,\\nYou feel as if she must be dressed in black\\nYet is she not of those who, all they can,\\nStrive to be gay, and striving, seem most sad\\nHers is not grief, but silent soberness;\\nYou would be startled if you saw her glad,\\nAnd startled if you saw her weep, no less;\\nShe walks through life, as, on the Sabbath day,\\nShe decorously glides to church to pray.", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2855", "width": "1737", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "AUG 27 }m)U", "height": "2865", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2850", "width": "1773", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2969", "width": "1915", "jp2-path": "earlypoems00lowe_0242.jp2"}}