{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3562", "width": "2213", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "Seven\\nGreat American Poets\\nby\\nBEATRICE HART, Pd. D.\\nFormerly First Grammar Grade Teacher, Public School No. 3,\\nHead of Department, Public School No. 7.1, Borough\\nof Brooklyn. New York City.\\nILLUSTRATED\\nSILVER, BURDETT COMPANY\\nNEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "THE LIBRARY OF\\nCONGRESS,\\nTwo CoptE8 Received\\nMAY. 16 1901\\nCopyright entry\\nOf*.?,\\nCLASS X XXc. N\u00c2\u00bb.\\n6 73 3\\nCOPY 8.\\nCopyright, 1901,\\nBy SILVER, BUKDETT COMPANY", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "PEEFAOE\\nThere is a well-founded conviction among educa-\\ntors that students should be acquainted not only with\\nthe best American literature but with the lives of its\\nauthors, to the end that they may realize that the great\\nwriters experienced joys and suffered hardships in com-\\nmon with their fellowmen in short, that we should aim\\nto sound a more human note in the study of literature.\\nUnfortunately this work is postponed until the stu-\\ndent reaches the more advanced grades, usually the\\nHigh School. Since but a small proportion of pupils\\nattend the High School, it would seem advisable to\\nbegin the work much earlier in the school course.\\nBiography and autobiography are being generally\\nrecognized as the form of literature that is the most\\ninteresting and stimulating in the education of youth.\\nIf an autobiography is what a biograph}^ ought to be,\\nthen no biography is of value that is not largely auto-\\nbiographical. It should not only tell the life story as\\nothers knew it, but it should tell, also, as much as may\\nbe, what the author himself thought of that life. It\\nshould be both objective and subjective. This, then, is\\nthe plan adopted in these biographical sketches to tell\\nbriefly and simply the life story of each author, with the\\nhope that an interest will be awakened in his works\\nthrough the interest in his life. The selections chosen\\nfrom those parts of his works which are autobiographi-\\niii", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "IV PKEFACE\\ncal, reminiscent, personal or subjective, form an impor-\\ntant part of the narrative, and serve to awaken a per-\\nsonal interest, while at the same time they furnish\\nexamples of his writings which may be used apart from\\nthe context, in the study of literature. As there are no\\ncompilations simple enough to be so used, this book has\\nbeen prepared with the hope that it will meet the re-\\nquirements of those teachers who are endeavoring to\\ncarry forward this work.\\nAs poetry is the highest form of literary expression,\\nand as children are attracted by the music of rhyme\\nand rhythm, these sketches have been devoted to the\\nlives of poets. The works of other men live, but\\ntheir personality dies out of their labors the poet who\\nreproduces himself in his creation, as no other artist\\ndoes or can, goes down to posterity with all of his per-\\nsonality blended with whatever is imperishable in his\\nsong. A single lyric is enough, if one can only find\\nin his soul and finish in his intellect one of those jewels\\nfit to sparkle on the stretched forefinger of all time.\\nSincere thanks are due to Mr. Charles Eliot Norton,\\nMr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, Mr. Parke Godwin,\\nProfessor George Edward Woodberry, and Messrs.\\nHarper Brothers, Stone Kimball, and D. Appleton\\nCo., for the use of copyrighted material controlled\\nby them. By special arrangement, permission has been\\nobtained from Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin Co. for the\\nuse of their copyrighted material.\\nBEATRICE H. SLAIGHT.\\nBrooklyn, N.Y., 1900.", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant 5\\nRalph Waldo Emerson 51\\n-LdGAR ALLAX POE 91\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow 151\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier 193\\nOliver Wendell Holmes 243\\nJames Russell Lowell 279", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "ILLUSTRATIONS\\nPAGE\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant 4\\nThe Bryant Homestead, Cummington 9\\nGoodrich and Hopkins Halls, Williams College 17\\nGreen River 27\\nCedarmere, Roslyn, Long Island, N.Y 37\\nRalph Waldo Emerson 50\\nThe Old Manse 69\\nEmerson s Concord Home 75\\nConcord Bridge 83\\nEmerson s Grave 85\\nEdgar Allan Foe 90\\nUniversity of Virginia: The Lawn 106\\nThe Coliseum 115\\nThe Poe Cottage at Fordham, New York 136\\nHenry Wadswohth Longfellow 150\\nLongfellow s Birthplace 153\\nDeering s Woods 157\\nWadsworth House, Portland, Maine 163\\nCraigie House, Cambridge, Massachusetts 177\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier 192\\nWhittier s Birthplace 197\\nSnow-Bound 203\\nOak Knoll, Danvers, Massachusetts 217\\nOliver Wendell Holmes 242\\nHolmes s Birthplace 245\\nHome of Dorothy Q., Quincy, Massachusetts 249\\nOld Ironsides 259\\nJames Russell Lowell 278\\nElmwood, Lowell s Home 282\\nLowell s Study, Elmwood 293\\nMemorial Hall, Harvard College 305", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\n1794-1878", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "So live, that when thy summons comes to join\\nThe innumerable caravan, which moves\\nTo that mysterious realm, where each shall take\\nHis chamber in the silent halls of death,\\nThou go not, like the quarry -slave at night,\\nScourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed\\nBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,\\nLike one who wraps the drapery of his couch\\nAbout him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.\\nThanatopsis.", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nSo shalt thou frame a lay\\nThat haply may endure from age to age,\\nAnd they who read shall say\\nWhat witchery hangs upon this poet s page\\nWhat art is his the written spells to find\\nThat sway from mood to mood the willing mind.\\nThe Poet.\\nHis youth was innocent his riper age\\nMarked with some act of goodness every day\\nAnd watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,\\nFaded his late declining years away.\\nMeekly he gave his being up, and went\\nTo share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.\\nThe Old Man s Funeral.\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant is justly called the\\nfather of our song. His greatest poem, Thanatopsis,\\nwhich established his reputation, was written twenty-\\neight years before the appearance of Longfellow s first\\nvolume of poetry. Bryant was a poet of nature, inter-\\npreting her in simple and most musical verse. Though\\nhe was a patriot in the best sense of the word, a nota-\\nble journalist for half a century, and a part of the\\nnational life of the American republic, it is as poet that\\nhe will be best remembered and best loved.\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant was born November 3, 1794,\\nat Cummington, Hampshire county, Massachusetts.\\n5", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "6 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nThe log cabin which was his birthplace was removed\\nduring his childhood, and the Bryant Homestead, owned\\nby the poet until his death, was really his childhood s\\nhome. In 1872, Bryant wrote to a friend of his boy-\\nhood,\\nA hundred years since, this broad highland region lying\\nbetween the Housatonic and the Connecticut was principally\\nforest, and bore the name of Pontoosuc. In a few places, set-\\ntlers had cleared away woodlands, and cultivated the cleared\\nspots. Bears, catamounts and deer were not uncommon here.\\nWolves were sometimes seen, and the woods were dense and\\ndark, without any natural openings or meadows. My grand-\\nfather on the mother s side came up from Plymouth county, in\\nMassachusetts, when a young man, in the year 1773, and chose\\na farm on a commanding site overlooking an extensive prospect,\\ncut down the trees on a part of it, and built a house of square\\nlogs, with a chimney as large as some kitchens, within which I\\nremember to have sat on a bench in my childhood. About\\nten years afterwards he purchased, of an original settler, the\\ncontiguous farm, now called the Bryant Homestead, and hav-\\ning built beside a little brook, not very far from a spring\\nfrom which water was to be drawn in pipes, the house which is\\nnow mine, he removed to it with his family. The soil of this\\nregion was then exceedingly fertile all the settlers prospered,\\nand my grandfather among the rest. My father, a physician\\nand surgeon, married his daughter, and after awhile came to\\nlive with him on the homestead. He made some enlargements\\nof the house, in one part of which he had his office, and in this,\\nduring my boyhood, were generally two or three students of\\nmedicine, who sometimes accompanied my father in his visits to\\nhis patients, always on horseback, which was the mode of\\ntraveling at that time. To this place my father brought me in\\nmy early childhood, and I have scarce any early recollection\\nwhich does not relate to it.\\nOn the farm beside the little brook, and at a short distance", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "EAELY HOME 7\\nfrom the house, stood the district schoolhouse, of which nothing\\nnow remains but a little hollow where was once a cellar. Here\\nI received my earliest lessons in learning, except such as were\\ngiven me by my mother, and here, when ten years old, I de-\\nclaimed a copy of verses composed by me as a description of a\\ndistrict school. The little brook which runs by the house, on\\nthe site of the old district schoolhouse, was in after years made\\nthe subject of a little poem, entitled The Rivulet. 1 To the\\nsouth of the house is a wood of tall trees, clothing a declivity,\\nand touching with its outermost boughs the grass of a moist\\nmeadow at the foot of the hill, which suggested the poem en-\\ntitled An Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood.\\nIn the year 1835 the place passed out of the family and at\\nthe end of thirty years I purchased it, and made various repairs\\nof the house and additions to its size. A part of the building\\nwhich my father had added, and which contained his office, had,\\nin the meantime, been detached from it, and moved off down a\\nsteep hill to the side of the Westfield river. I supplied its place\\nwith a new wing, with the same external form, though of less\\nsize, in which is now my library.\\nThe site of the house is uncommonly beautiful. Before it, to\\nthe east, the ground descends, first gradually, and then rapidly,\\nto the Westfield river, flowing in a deep and narrow valley,\\nfrom which is heard, after a copious rain, the roar of its swollen\\ncurrent, itself unseen. In the springtime, when the frost-bound\\nwaters are loosened by a warm rain, the roar and crash are re-\\nmarkably loud, as the icy crust of the stream is broken, and the\\nmasses of ice are swept along by the flood over the stones with\\nwhich the bed of the river is paved. Beyond the narrow valley\\nof the Westfield, the surface of the country rises again gradually,\\ncarrying the eye over a region of vast extent, interspersed with\\nfarmhouses, pasture lands, and wooded heights, where, on a\\nshowery day, you sometimes see two or three different showers,\\neach watering its separate district; and in winter time, two\\nor three different snowstorms moving dimly from place to\\nplace.", "height": "3317", "width": "1956", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "8 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nThe house is a spacious and rambling mansion of\\ntwo stories and a half, with a curb roof, antique dormer\\nwindows and broad porches. Bryant s boyhood home,\\nof which the foregoing is a delightful description, was\\nin the beautiful hill country of western Massachusetts.\\nIt is a farming and grazing district. The slopes of the\\nhills are dotted with weil-tilled farms, and the waters\\nof the mountain streams are used to turn the mills of\\nvarious industries, r et much of the country is as nature\\nmade it, and as the boy early learned to love it. The\\nhills are still covered with thick woods, and the moun-\\ntain streams still rush down to the beautiful valleys\\nbetween the hills. In later life, when worn out with\\nhis professional cares, Bryant would revisit the home\\nof his childhood, taking great pleasure in it, as the fol-\\nlowing lines show,\\nI stand upon my native hills again,\\nBroad, round, and green, that in the summer sky,\\nWith garniture of waving grass and grain,\\nOrchards, and beeehen forests, basking lie,\\nWhile deep the sunless glens are scooped between,\\nWhere brawl o er shallow beds the streams unseen.\\nHere, have I scaped the city s stifling heat,\\nIts horrid sounds, and its polluted air,\\nAnd, where the season s milder fervor beat,\\nAnd gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear\\nThe song of bird and sound of running stream,\\nAm come awhile to wander and to dream.\\nLine* on Revisiting the Country.\\nIt was here that the boy s mind was fed, and his\\nheart filled with that deep love for nature that is", "height": "3441", "width": "2105", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3441", "width": "2105", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "10 WILLIAM CULLEN BEYANT\\nshown in all his poems. He loved the outdoor life af-\\nforded him by the wild and beautiful country surround-\\ning his early home, and its freedom was doubtless one\\nreason for the physical strength and mental vigor that\\nhe displayed until his death. That he enjoyed such free-\\ndom, and learned to love the hills and dales, the woods\\nand streams, the birds and flowers, of his Hampshire\\nhome, is shown in the many allusions to the scenes of\\nhis childhood in his poems. The Rivulet, one of his\\nfirst poems, is a charming picture of his early life at\\nCummington.\\nThis little rill, that from the springs\\nOf yonder grove its current brings,\\nPlays on the slope awhile, and then\\nGoes prattling into groves again,\\nOft to its warbling waters drew\\nMy little feet, when life was new.\\nWhen woods in early green were dressed,\\nAnd from the chambers of the west\\nThe warmer breezes, traveling out,\\nBreathed the new scent of* flowers about,\\nMy truant steps from home would stray,\\nUpon its grassy side to. play,\\nList the brown thrasher s vernal hymn,\\nAnd crop the violet on its brim,\\nWith blooming cheek and open brow,\\nAs young and gay, sweet rill, as thou.\\nAnd when the days of boyhood came,\\nAnd I had grown in love with fame,\\nDuly I sought thy banks, and tried\\nMy first rude numbers by thy side.\\nWords cannot tell how bright and gay\\nThe scenes of life before me lay.\\nThen glorious hopes, that now to sj)eak\\nWould bring the blood into my cheek,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "ANCESTORS .11\\nPassed o er me and I wrote, on high,\\nA name I deemed should never die.\\nYears change thee not. Upon yon hill\\nThe tall old maples, verdant still,\\nYet tell, in grandeur of decay,\\nHow swift the years have passed away,\\nSince first, a child, and half afraid,\\nI wandered in the forest shade.\\nThou, ever-joyous rivulet,\\nDost dimple, leap, and prattle yet;\\nAnd sporting with the sands that pave\\nThe windings of thy silver wave,\\nAnd dancing to thy own wild chime,\\nThou laughest at the lapse of time.\\nThe same sweet sounds are in my ear\\nMy early childhood loved to hear\\nAs pure thy limpid waters run\\nAs bright they sparkle to the sun\\nAs fresh and thick the bending ranks\\nOf herbs that line thy oozy banks\\nThe violet there, in soft May dew,\\nComes up, as modest and as blue\\nAs green amid thy current s stress,\\nFloats the scarce-rooted water cress\\nAnd the brown ground-bird, in thy glen,\\nStill chirps as merrily as then.\\nThe Rivulet.\\nThe first of the poet s ancestors of his name that\\ncame to this country was Stephen Bryant. He came\\nfrom England about twelve years after the arrival of\\nthe Mayflower, and settled at Plymouth, Massachusetts.\\nHe married Abigail Shaw in 1650, and their eldest son,\\nPhilip, studied medicine. Dr. Philip Bryant settled at\\nNorth Bridgewater, marrying the daughter of the phy-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "12 WILLIAM CULLEN JJEVANT\\nsician, Dr. Abiel Howard, with whom he studied medi-\\ncine. Of their nine children, their son, Peter, father of\\nthe poet, studied his father s profession and succeeded\\nto his practice.\\nIn Bridgewater, there was a stern and austere veteran\\nof the Revolution, Ebenezer Snell, whom all the small\\nboys in the town feared. He had a very pretty daugh-\\nter, Sarah, with whom Peter Bryant fell in love. When\\nMr. Snell moved to Cummington, Dr. Bryant followed,\\nestablishing himself there as physician and surgeon; and\\nin 1792, Dr. Bryant and Sarah Snell were married.\\nSarah Snell was a direct descendant of John Alden\\nand Priscilla Mullins, whose story has been made fa-\\nmiliar to all by Longfellow s poem, The Courtship of\\nMiles Standish. She was a woman of great force of\\ncharacter. Her dignity, firmness, honesty and energy,\\nshowed the stock from which she had come.\\nHer son says of her She was a person of quick\\nand sensitive moral judgment, and had no patience with\\nany form of deceit or duplicity, and he adds, if, in\\nthe discussion of public questions, I have in my riper\\nage endeavored to keep in view the great rule of right\\nwithout much regard to persons, it has been owing in\\ngreat degree to the force of her example, which taught\\nme never to. countenance a wrong because others did.\\nHer school education was slight, including only the\\nordinary English branches, but she was a great reader,\\nby which means she supplied the lack of her early edu-\\ncation.\\nDr. Bryant was an unusually well-educated man, his\\nliterary and scientific knowledge being extensive. As", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "BOYHOOD 13\\na member of the Massachusetts Legislature, and an at-\\ntendant at the meetings of a Medical Society which met\\nin Boston, he had frequent occasion to go to the city.\\nIn this way, his manners and costume became those of\\nan accomplished city-bred gentleman rather than of a\\nfarmer or country physician. Though he enjoyed\\nsociety, he was a man of very reserved nature.\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant was the second son in a fam-\\nily of seven children, five sons and two daughters.\\nHe was named William Cullen, after a prominent physi-\\ncian, Dr. Cullen, whom his father greatly admired.\\nDr. Bryant was one of the third generation to practice\\nmedicine, and as he was very proud of his profession,\\nhis ambition was that William should become a physi-\\ncian. Neither William nor any of the boys, however,\\nwere so inclined.\\nMrs. Bryant taught her little son Watis s hymns when\\nhe was scarcely three years old, and in his poem, A Life-\\ntime, Bryant tells of standing by his mother s knee\\nreading the Scriptures. At four years of age he read\\nwell, and was an almost faultless speller.\\nhi The Boys of My Boyhood, Bryant has told the\\nstory of his childhood, his pleasures and amusements,\\nhis early education, the severe discipline of his home\\nlife, and the great fear he had of his grandfather, with\\nwhom the Bryants lived.\\nThe boys of the generation to which I belonged that is to\\nsay, who were born in the last years of the last century or the\\nearliest of this were brought up under a system of discipline\\nwhich put a far greater distance between parents and their chil-\\ndren than now exists. The parents seemed to think this neces-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "14 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nsary, in order to secure obedience. They were believers in the old\\nmaxim that familiarity breeds contempt. My own parents lived\\nin the house with my grandfather and grandmother on the\\nmother s side. My grandfather was a disciplinarian of the\\nstricter sort, and I can hardly find words to express the awe in\\nwhich I stood of him an awe so great as almost to prevent any-\\nthing like affection on my part, although he was in the main\\nkind, and.certainly never thought of being severe, beyond what\\nwas necessary to maintain a proper degree of order in the\\nfamily.\\nThe other boys in that part of the country, my schoolmates\\nand playfellows, were educated on the same system. Yet there\\nwere at this time some indications that this very severe discipline\\nwas beginning to relax. With my father and mother I was on\\nmuch easier terms than with my grandfather. If a favor was\\nto be asked of my grandfather it was asked with fear and trem-\\nbling the request was postponed to the last moment, and then\\nmade with hesitation and blushes and a confused utterance.\\nOne of the means of keeping the boys of that generation in\\norder was. a little bundle of birchen rods, bound together by a\\nsmall cord, and generally suspended on a nail against the wall\\nin the kitchen. This was esteemed as much a part of the neces-\\nsary furniture as the crane that hung in the kitchen fireplace, or\\nthe shovel and tongs. It sometimes happened that the boy suf-\\nfered a fate similar to that of the eagle in the fable, wounded by\\nan arrow Hedged with feathers from his ow n wing in other\\nwords, the boy was made to gather the twigs intended for his\\nown castigation. The Boys of My Boyhood.\\nBryant early showed a liking for reading and stndy.\\nHis father, who was much interested in the education\\nof his children, guided his son in his study, and directed\\nhis reading to the poets he himself liked, Pope, Gray\\nand Goldsmith. Not merely in his study but in his\\nrambles over fields and country roads, Bryant s thoughts\\nwere directed by his father, whose knowledge of botany", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "FIRST POEMS 15\\nwas extensive. He gave his son his first instruction in\\nthe study that afterward developed into that wide\\nknowledge of the whole field of nature. Early recog-\\nnizing the poetic ability of his son, Dr. Bryant wisely\\naided in its development, correcting but encouraging\\nthe boy s first attempts at verse. In his poem, Hymn\\nto Death, he alludes to this early training by his father.\\nAlas I little thought that the stern power,\\nWhose fearful praise I sang, would try me thus\\nBefore the strain was ended. It must cease\\nFor he is in his grave who taught my youth\\nThe art of verse, and in the bud of life\\nOffered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off\\nUntimely when thy reason in its strength,\\nRipened by years of toil and studious research,\\nAnd watch of Nature s silent lessons, taught\\nThy hand to practice best the lenient art\\nTo which thou gavest thy laborious days,\\nAnd, last, thy life.\\nHymn to Death.\\nWhen he was eight years old, Bryant wrote poems.\\nOne of his first efforts was putting into verse the first\\nchapter of Job, and another, a poetical address before\\nthe school. His first publication was a school exercise\\nin verse that was printed in The Hampshire Gazette of\\nNorthampton. In his thirteenth year, he wrote a polit-\\nical poem of over five hundred lines, entitled The Em-\\nbargo or, Sketches of the Times. A Satire. By a Youth\\nof Thirteen. The poem attracted general attention,\\nand was praised for its literary worth even by those\\nwho opposed the political opinions expressed in it. A\\nsecond edition of the poem was published in 1809, and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "1(3 WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT\\nas some doubts were expressed as to its authorship, the\\nprinter offered to give the names of those who would\\nvouch that the poem was written by a boy of thirteen.\\nIn this second edition appeared several other of his\\npoems.\\nBefore he was sixteen Bryant had written more than\\nforty pieces, in the forms of translations, odes, songs,\\nelegies or satires. Though these early efforts were to\\nsome extent echoes of book learning, or his father s\\nopinions, and though they gave no indications of his\\nlove for nature, which so marked his later verse, still\\nthere was nothing forced or immature about his lines.\\nFor years the boy continued to study and write. Oc-\\ncasionally, to test his progress, he would send poems to\\npapers or magazines, without signature, or under names\\nnot likely to betray him.\\nWhen fourteen years old, he began the study of Latin\\nwith his uncle, the Rev. Dr. Thomas Sneli, living with\\nhim for a year. At fifteen, he studied Greek with the\\nRev. Moses Hallock, who prepared him for college and\\nit is said that in two months study he knew the Greek\\nTestament as well as if it had been in English.\\nBryant is described as being, at this time, a small,\\ndelicate, handsome boy, shy and reserved. He was a\\ngreat reader, and a natural scholar like his father. At\\nfifteen, he was not only well advanced in all his studies,\\nbut was remarkably well informed in every way.\\nThough a student, he enjoyed outdoor sports. He was\\nan excellent runner, and on his visits home would take\\npart in various games with the other boys.\\nIn October, 1810, when in his sixteenth year, he", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "18 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nentered the sophomore class of Williams College. He\\nremained here only seven months, as Dr. Bryant had\\nnot the means to pay for his further education. The\\nhope had been that, in due time, he would be able to\\nsend his son back to Williams, or to Yale, but it did\\nnot become possible. During his short stay in college,\\nBryant made an excellent record, his associates and\\nprofessors becoming greatly attached to him. The\\nseven months at Williams College ended his college\\neducation, but the college in 1819 conferred upon him\\nthe degree of Master of Arts, and, later, made him a\\nmember of the Alumni.\\nBryant so disliked the publicity of class duties that\\nhe was very glad to renew his studies alone. For a\\nyear after he left college, he studied the classics and\\nmathematics, hoping to enter Yale. During that time\\nhe did not neglect his poetry, for he continued to write\\npatriotic poems. It was during this period that he was\\nplanning or thinking about his wonderful poem -on\\ndeath. Thanatopsis, the first great and lasting poem\\nin American literature, shows a power and grandeur\\nthat none of his previous efforts indicated. Bryant\\nsays that this poem was written either during his\\neighteenth or nineteenth year, he is not quite sure\\nwhich, but it was after he left college, and before he\\nbegan his law studies in 1813. For some reason, he\\ndid not send this poem to The Hampshire Gazette, as\\nhe had his other verses. He put it away, probably\\nwith the purpose of re-writing it, and seems to have\\nforgotten it. This first rough draft was written in\\nabout a week.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "THANATOPSIS 19\\nOne day, after Bryant had left home to study law,\\nhis father, in turning over a drawer full of old manu-\\nscripts of his son s, came upon Thanatopsis. He was\\nso impressed with its power and beauty, that, unknown\\nto his son, he sent it with two other poems to The\\nNorth American Revietv. It was published in Septem-\\nber, 1817. The poem was then in the form that it is\\nnow, Bryant adding the introductory and closing lines\\nin 1821, and making a slight change in the part allud-\\ning to the ocean. In its first publication, through a\\nblunder, four verses on death, which were quite inferior\\nin quality, were prefixed as an introduction to the\\npoem. Of the poem, George William Curtis says\\nIt was the first adequate poetic voice of the solemn New\\nEngland spirit and in the grandeur of the hills, in the heroic\\nPuritan tradition of sacrifice and endurance, in the daily life,\\nsaddened by imperious and awful theologic dogma, in the hard\\ncircumstances of the pioneer household, the contest with the\\nwilderness, the grim legends of Indians and the war have we\\nnot some outward clue to the strain of Thanatopsis the\\ndepthless and entrancing sadness, as of inexorable fate, that\\nmurmurs, like the autumn wind through the forest, in the mel-\\nancholy cadences of this hymn to Death Moreover, it was\\nwithout a harbinger in our literature, and without a trace of the\\nEnglish masters of the hour.\\nTHANATOPSIS\\nTo him who in the love of Nature holds\\nCommunion with her visible forms, she speaks\\nA various language for his gayer hours\\nShe has a voice of gladness, and a smile\\nAnd eloquence di beauty, and she glides\\nInto his darker musings, with a mild\\nAnd healing sympathy, that steals away", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "20 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nTheir sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts\\nOf the last bitter hour come like a blight\\nOver thy spirit, and sad images\\nOf the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,\\nAnd breathless darkness, and the narrow house,\\nMake thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart\\nGo forth, under the open sky, and list\\nTo Nature s teachings, while from all around\\nEarth and her waters, and the depths of air\\nComes a still voice Yet a few days, and thee\\nThe all-beholding sun shall see no more\\nIn all his course nor yet in the cold ground,\\nWhere thy pale form was laid, with many tears,\\nNor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist\\nThy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim\\nThy growth, to be resolved to earth again,\\nAnd, lost each human trace, surrendering up\\nThine individual being, shalt thou o-o\\nTo mix for ever with the elements,\\nTo be a brother to the insensible rock\\nAnd to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain\\nTurns with his share, and treads upon. The oak\\nShall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.\\nYet not to thine eternal resting-place\\nShalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish\\nCouch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down\\nW T ith patriarchs .of the infant world with kings,\\nThe powerful of the earth the wise, the good,\\nFair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,\\nAll in one mighty sepulchre. The hills\\nRock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, the vales\\nStretching in pensive quietness between\\nThe venerable woods rivers that move\\nIn majesty, and the complaining brooks\\nThat make the meadows green and, poured round all,\\nOld Ocean s gray and melancholy waste,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "THANATOPSLS 21\\nAre but the solemn decorations all\\nOf the great tomb of man. The golden sun,\\nThe planets, all the infinite host of heaven,\\nAre shining on the sad abodes of death,\\nThrough the still lapse of ages. All that tread\\nThe globe are but a handful to the tribes\\nThat slumber in its bosom. Take the wino-s\\nOf morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,\\nOr lose thyself in the continuous woods\\nWhere rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,\\nSave his own dashings yet the dead are there\\nAnd millions in those solitudes, since first\\nThe flight of years began, have laid them down\\nIn their last sleep the dead reign there alone.\\nSo shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw\\nIn silence from the living, and no friend\\nTake note of thy departure All that breathe\\nWill share thy destiny. The gay will laugh\\nWhen thou art gone, the solemn brood of care\\nPlod on, and each one as before will chase\\nHis favorite phantom yet all these shall leave\\nTheir mirth and their employments, and shall come\\nAnd make their bed with thee. As the long train\\nOf ages glides away, the sons of men,\\nThe youth in life s green spring, and he who goes\\nIn the full strength of years, matron and maid,\\nThe speechless babe, and the graj -headed man\\nShall one by one be gathered to thy side,\\nBy those, who in their turn shall follow them.\\nSo live, that when thy summons comes to join\\nThe innumerable caravan, which moves\\nTo that mysterious realm, where each shall take\\nHis chamber in the silent halls of death,\\nThou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,\\nScourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed\\nBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "22 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nLike one who wraps the drapery of his couch\\nAbout him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.\\nWith Thanatopsis, Dr. Bryant also sent Inscription\\nfor the Entrance to a Wood, written in 1813, and pub-\\nlished at the same time with Thanatopsis. South of the\\nold homestead at Cummington, beyond a meadow, is\\nthe wood for which the poet wrote the inscription.\\nThese shades\\nAre still the abodes of gladness the thick roof\\nOf green and stirring branches is alive\\nAnd musical with birds, that sing and sport\\nIn wantonness of spirit while below\\nThe squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,\\nChirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade\\nTry their thin wings and dance in the warm beam\\nThat waked them into life. Even the green trees\\nPartake the deep contentment as they bend\\nTo the soft winds, the sun from the blue ky\\nLooks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.\\nScarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy\\nExistence, than the winged plunderer\\nThat sucks its- sweets. The mossy rocks themselves,\\nAnd the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees\\nThat lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude,\\nOr bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,\\nWith all their earth upon them, twisting high,\\nBreathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet\\nSends forth glad sounds, and tripping o er its bed\\nOf pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,\\nSeems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice\\nIn its own being. Softly tread the marge,\\nLest from her midway perch thou scare the wren\\nThat dips her bill in water. The cool wind,\\nThat stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "TO A WATERFOWL 23\\nLike one that loves thee nor will let thee pass\\nUngreeted, and shall give its light embrace.\\nInscription for the Entrance to a Wood.\\nIn 1813, Bryant began the study of law with Judge\\nSamuel Howe of Worthington, near Cummington. He\\nremained here for nearly two years. He completed his\\nlaw studies with the Hon. William Baylies of Bridge-\\nwater, and in 1815, at the age of twenty-one, he was\\nadmitted to the bar at Plymouth.\\nIn 1815, during his residence at Cummington, he\\nwrote his exquisite poem, To a Waterfowl. It shows a\\nkeen observation of nature and a deep trust in God s\\nloving care. It is expressed in a manner that suggests\\na sweet and simple melody. The poem was prompted by\\nthe flight of a wild duck, which he saw while on his way\\nto Plainfield. His son-in-law, Parke Godwin, gives the\\nfollowing account of the writing of the poem:\\n44 He says in a letter that he felt, as he walked up the hills,\\nvery forlorn and desolate indeed, not knowing what was to be-\\ncome of him in the big world, which grew bigger as he ascended,\\nand yet darker with the coming on of night. The sun had\\nalready set, leaving behind it one of those brilliant seas of\\nchrysolite and opal which often flood the New England skies\\nand, while he. was looking upon the rosy splendor with wrapt\\nadmiration, a solitary bird made wing along the illuminated\\nhorizon, lie watched the lone wanderer until it was lost in the\\ndistance, asking himself whither it had come and to what far\\nhome it was flying. When he went to the house where he was\\nto stop for the night, his mind was still full of what he had seen\\nand felt, and he wrote those lines, as imperishable as our lan-\\nguage, The Waterfowl r\\nThe poem was published six months after Thanatopsis.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "24 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nTO A WATERFOWL\\nWhither, midst falling dew,\\nWhile glow the heavens with the last steps of day,\\nFar, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue\\nThy solitary way\\nVainly the fowler s eye\\nMight mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,\\nAs, darkly painted on the crimson sky,\\nThy figure floats along.\\nSeek st thou the plashy brink\\nOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide,\\nOr where the rocking billows rise and sink\\nOn the chafed ocean-side?\\nThere is a Power whose care\\nTeaches thy w T ay along that pathless coast\\nThe desert and illimitable air\\nLone wandering, but not lost.\\nAll day thy wings have fanned,\\nAt that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,\\nYet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,\\nThough the dark night is near.\\nAnd soon that toil shall end\\nSoon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,\\nAnd scream among thy fellows reeds shall bend,\\nSoon, o er thy sheltered nest,\\nThou 1 rt gone, the abyss of heaven\\nMath swallowed up thy form yet, on my heart\\nDeeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast, given,\\nAnd shall not soon depart.\\nlie who, from zone to zone,\\nGuides through the boundless sky thy certain flight.\\nIn the long way that I must tread alone,\\nWill lead my steps aright.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "RESIDENCE IN GREAT BARRINGTON 25\\nBryant began the practice of law at Plainfield, but\\nhe removed the following year to Great Barrington.\\nHe remained there for nine years, writing during this\\nperiod some of his most popular poems.\\nGreat Barrington and Williamstown, the seat of\\nWilliams College, are situated in the beautiful moun-\\ntain region of the Berkshires. The valley formed by\\nthe mountains is irregularly circular in shape, broad,\\ndeep and fertile, with other valleys opening into it, and\\ntraversed by the Housatonic$ with its tributary, the Green\\nriver. Bryant had early formed the habit of taking\\nlong, solitary rambles over the fields and through the\\nwoods, a habit he always continued as a release from\\nstudy or work. Of this love of solitude, he says, in an\\nunfinished poem written in his old age,\\nEver apart from the resorts of men\\nHe roamed the pathless woods, and hearkened long\\nTo winds that brought into their silent depths\\nThe murmurs of the mountain waterfalls.\\nThe Berkshire region afforded him ample opportunity\\nto get away from the haunts of men, and to enjoy the\\nfull beauty of waterfall, river, mountain, plain or\\nwoods. It is quite certain that during his nine years\\nat Great Barrington, his happiest hours were spent in\\nthe study of nature and in voicing her beauties in his\\npoems, for the practice of law from the first was\\ndecidedly uncongenial to him.\\nOf the many poets that Bryant studied, Wordsworth\\nmade the deepest and most lasting impression. In 1810,\\nhe came upon a volume of his Lyrical Ballads. Of it\\nhe said that upon opening the book a thousand springs", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "26 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nseemed to gush up at once in his heart, and the face of\\nnature, of a sudden, to change into a strange freshness\\nand life. Under the influence of this poet, he seemed\\nto get closer still to the truth, beauty and goodness of\\nuniversal nature, from which he drew the inspiration\\nof his best poems.\\nIn 1817, while at Great Barrington, Bryant wrote\\nG-reen River. In addition to its being a beautifully\\ndescriptive poem, it expresses his dissatisfaction with\\nhis profession and his longing to be wholly free.\\nGREEN RIVER\\nWhen breezes are soft and skies are fair,\\nI steal an hour from study and care,\\nAnd hie me away to the woodland scene,\\nWhere wanders the stream with waters of green,\\nAs if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink\\nHad given their stain to the wave they drink\\nAnd they, whose meadows it murmurs through,\\nHave named the stream from its own fair hue.\\nYet pure its waters its shallows are bright\\nWith colored pebbles and sparkles of light,\\nAnd clear the depths where its eddies play,\\nAnd dimples deepen and whirl away,\\nAnd the plane-tree s speckled arms o ershoot\\nThe swifter current that mines its root,\\nThrough whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill,\\nThe quivering glimmer of sun and rill\\nWith a sudden flash on the eye is thrown,\\nLike the ray that streams from the diamond-stone.\\nOh, loveliest there the spring days come,\\nWith blossoms, and birds, and wild-bees 1 hum;\\nThe flowers of summer are fairest there,\\nAnd freshest the breath of the summer air", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "28 WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT\\nAnd sweetest the golden autumn day\\nIn silenee and sunshine glides away.\\nYet, fair as thou art, thou slimmest to glide,\\nBeautiful stream by the village side\\nBut windest away from haunts of men,\\nTo quiet valley and shaded glen\\nAnd forest, and meadow, and slope of hill,\\nAround thee, are lonely, lovely, and still,\\nLonely save when, by thy rippling tides,\\nFrom thieket to thicket the angler glides\\nOr the simpler comes, with basket and book,\\nFor herbs of power on thy banks to look\\nOr haply, some idle dreamer, like me,\\nTo wander, and muse, and gaze on thee,\\nStill save the chirp of birds that feed\\nOn the river cherry and seedy reed,\\nAnd thy own wild music gushing out\\nWith mellow murmur of fairy shout,\\nFrom dawn to the blush of another day,\\nLike traveler singing along his way.\\nThat fairy music I never hear,\\nNor gaze on those waters so green and clear,\\nAnd mark them winding away from sight,\\nDarkened with shade or flashing with light,\\nWhile o er them the vine to its thicket clings,\\nAnd the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings,\\nBut I wish that fate had left me free\\nTo wander these quiet haunts with thee,\\nTill the eating cares of earth should depart,\\nAnd the peace of the scene pass into my heart;\\nAnd I envy thy stream, as it glides along\\nThrough its beautiful banks in a trance of song.\\nThough forced to drudge for the dregs of men,\\nAnd scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE AGES 29\\nAnd mingle among the jostling crowd,\\nWhere the sons of strife are subtle and loud,\\nI often come to this quiet place,\\nTo breathe the airs that ruffle thy face,\\nAnd gaze upon thee in silent dream,\\nFor in thy lonely and lovely stream\\nAn image of that calm life appears\\nThat won my heart in my greener years.\\nAt Great Barrington, Bryant met Miss Frances Fair-\\nchild, whom he married in January, 1821. Song and\\nOh Fairest of the Rural Maids are two poems in which\\nhe expresses his love for her. Mrs. Bryant was a\\nwoman of a gentle, sympathetic and deeply religious\\nnature. She was her husband s only intimate friend,\\nand when she died he had no other. Bryant s domestic\\nlife, covering a period of forty-six years, was unusually\\nhappy. Many of the poet s verses show his devotion\\nand reverence for her sweet and pure character.\\nIn the same year, the summer of 1821, he was in-\\nvited by the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, to\\nwrite a poem for them. In response to this invitation,\\nhe wrote The Ages, his longest and most elaborate poem.\\nIt is a thoughtful .presentation of the history of man-\\nkind from the earliest period. It is considered the best\\ncollege poem ever written.\\nLook on this beautiful world, and read the truth\\nIn her fair page see, every season brings\\nNew change, to her, of everlasting youth\\nStill the green soil, with joyous living things,\\nSwarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings,\\nAnd myriads, still, are happy in the sleep\\nOf ocean s azure gulfs, and where he flings", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "30 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nThe restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep,\\nIn his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep.\\nLate, from this Western shore, that morning chased\\nThe deep and ancient night, which threw its shroud\\nO er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste,\\nNurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud\\nSky-mingling mountains that o erlook the cloud.\\nErewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear,\\nTrees waved, and the brown hunter s shouts were loud\\nAmid the forest and the bounding deer\\nFled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near.\\nBut thou, my country, thou shalt never fall\\nSave with thy children thy maternal care,\\nThy. lavish love, thy blessings showered on all\\nThese are thy fetters seas and stormy air\\nAre the wide barrier of thy borders, where,\\nAmong thy gallant sons who guard thee well,\\nThou laugh st at enemies who shall then declare\\nThe date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell\\nHow happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell\\nThe Ages.\\nDuring this year, upon the urgent advice of friends,\\nBryant was induced to publish his first volume of\\npoems, a little book of about forty pages. It con-\\ntained The Ages, To a Waterfowl, Translation of a\\nFragment of Simonides, Inscription for the Entrance to\\na Wood, The Yellow Violet, Gcreen River, Song and\\nThanatopsis. The book was everywhere well received,\\nand it firmly established his reputation as a poet.\\nShortly after appeared his Hymn to Death, in which is\\nhis tender tribute to his father.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "CAREER AS EDITOR 31\\nDuring the next four years, Bryant wrote about thirty\\npoems. Some of the most familiar of these poems are\\nThe Rivulet, Monument Mountain, Autumn Woods, Hymn\\nto the North Star, The Forest Hymn and The Old Man s\\nFuneral. These are among his finest poems. Monu-\\nment Mountain is a pathetic and tragic love story of\\nan Indian girl of the Stockbridge tribe. The poem\\nis named after Monument Mountain, near Great Bar-\\nrington.\\nIn 1824, Bryant visited New York for the first time,\\nmeeting, while there, the best literary men of the city.\\nThe practice of law having always been uncongenial to\\nhim, when his friends in New York wrote, in the win-\\nter of 1824-1825, that an editorship had been obtained\\nfor him, he joyfully gave up law and left Great Bar-\\nrington for New York early in 1825. One of the last\\nof the Berkshire poems was June, published the year\\nafter he left Great Barring ton.\\nBryant began his journalistic career as co-editor\\nof TheNeiv York Review and Athencemn in 1825. This\\nposition gave little promise of success, so in the follow-\\ning year he became the assistant editor of The Evening\\nPost, and, three years later, in 1829, the editor-in-\\nchief. He was associated with this paper for the\\nremainder of his life. His best energies were now\\ndevoted to a daily paper, and poetry, of necessity,\\nbecame the occupation of his leisure hours and not his\\nlife work.\\nAmong the poems contributed to The New York Re-\\nview was The Death of the Flowers, in which he speaks\\nmost tenderly of his sister s death", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "32 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nThe melancholy clays are come, the saddest of the year,\\nOf wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and\\nsere.\\nHeaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves He dead\\nThey rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit s tread.\\nThe robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,\\nAnd from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.\\nWhere are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang\\nand stood\\nIn brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?\\nAlas they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers\\nAre lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.\\nThe rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain\\nCalls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.\\nAnd then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,\\nThe fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side\\nIn the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,\\nAnd we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief\\nYet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,\\nSo gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.\\nThe Death of the Flowers.\\nAs assistant editor, Bryant gained an insight into the\\nrequirements of a newspaper, and, seeing the many\\nfaults of the journals of the day, he determined to cor-\\nrect them, and to raise the moral and literary tone of\\njournalism. He felt that such was his mission, and\\nthe history of his career as editor of The Evening Post\\nshows how well he fulfilled it. Looking upon a news-\\npaper as a moral force that could mold and elevate\\npublic opinion, he used it as such during the fifty years\\ndevoted to the work.\\nAs a newspaper editor, he was thorough, industrious\\nand successful. During a period of fierce political\\nstruggle and bitter personal enmities, Bryant showed", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "POLITICAL PRINCIPLES 3-3\\nhow wrongs might be righted and the right maintained\\nwithout intruding upon the private life of the wrong-\\ndoer. He neither criticised nor condemned any person\\nit was the wrong act, not the person, that brought forth\\nhis censure. The keynote of his newspaper career is\\nbest expressed in his famous lines\\nTruth crushed to earth shall rise again;\\nThe eternal years of God are hers\\nBut Error, wounded, writhes with j3ain\\nAnd dies among his worshippers. 1\\nBryant was not a close follower of any political\\nparty. He remained with a party as long as it repre-\\nsented principles in which he believed. He has, there-\\nfore, been called Federalist, Democrat and Republican,\\nwhereas he was, in fact, each and all of them in so far\\nas they served the cause for which the Republic stood,\\nfreedom and humanity. During his editorship, he\\nhad opportunity to criticise the administrations of Presi-\\ndents Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, T}der, Polk, Tay-\\nlor, Fillmore, Prerce, Buchanan, Lincoln, Grant and\\nHayes.\\nDuring the great slavery contest from 1820 to 1861,\\nBryant stood for the freedom of the slave, a course\\nprompted by his conscience, and his love of justice and\\nliberty. He had hoped for freedom without bloodshed,\\nbut when the storm burst, his poem, Our Country s Call,\\nwas a patriotic appeal that aroused thousands to arms.\\nLay down the ax fling by the spade\\nLeave in its track the toiling plow\\nThe rifle and the bayonet-blade\\nFor arms like yours were fitter now", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "M WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nAnd let the hands that ply the pen\\nQuit the light task, and learn to wield\\nThe horseman s crooked brand, and rein\\nThe charger on the battlefield.\\nFew, few are those whose swords of old\\nWon the fair land in which we dwell\\nBut we are many, we who hold\\nThe grim resolve to guard it well.\\nStrike, for that broad and goodly land,\\nBlow after blow, till men shall see\\nThat Might and Right move hand in hand,\\nAnd glorious must their triumph be\\nOur Country s Call.\\nIn 1865, appeared his beautiful poem,\\nTHE DEATH OF LINCOLN.\\nOh, slow to smite and swift to spare,\\nGentle and merciful and just\\nWho, in the fear of God, didst bear\\nThe sword of power, a nation s trust\\nIn sorrow by thy bier we stand,\\nAmid the awe that hushes all,\\nAnd speak the anguish of a land\\nThat shook with horror at thy fall.\\nThy task is done the bond are free\\nWe bear thee to an honored grave,\\nWhose proudest monument shall be\\nThe broken fetters of the slave.\\nPure was thy life its bloody close\\nHath placed thee with the sons of light,\\nAmong the noble host of those\\nWho perished in the cause of Right.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "STUDIES AND TRAVELS 35\\nWhen slavery was finally abolished, he wrote a re-\\nmarkably fine poem of triumph, entitled The Death of\\nSlavery.\\nBryant s prose was in every way as excellent as his\\nverse, and doubtless he would have gained a reputa-\\ntion for that alone had not the music of his poems\\nalready charmed the public ear.\\nIn 1832, Bryant collected all his poems written pre-\\nvious to that date, and published them in book form.\\nThrough the influence of Washington Irving, who was\\nthen Secretary of the American Legation at London,\\nan edition was published in England. The poems were\\neverywhere well received, and his reputation became as\\nwell established in Europe as in America.\\nHe was a student not only of English literature, but\\nhe also translated poems from the Greek, Latin, Span-\\nish, German and Portuguese. He was over seventy\\nyears old when he undertook the difficult task of trans-\\nlating Homer. He occupied his leisure hours with it,\\ncompleting the Iliad in three years, and the Odyssey in\\ntwo years. The Iliad was published in 1870, and the\\nOdyssey in 1871. His work compares most favorably\\nwith the translations of other eminent scholars.\\nBryant became a great traveler, visiting Europe six\\ntimes, and traveling extensively in the United States\\nHis first trip abroad was in 1834. He remained two\\nyears. His last visit was in 1867. The result of\\nthese extensive travels was his Letters of a Traveler\\nand Letters from the East. During his second trip\\nabroad, he seemed much impressed by the parks of\\nLondon. A letter written to the Post about them and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "36 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nthe necessity of having one in New York, was the means\\nof establishing Central Park.\\nIn 1842, appeared the volume entitled The Fountain\\nand other Poems. It contained the poems written dur-\\ning the previous seventeen years, among them being The\\nWoods, The Gireen Mountain Boys, The Death of Schil-\\nler, Life, A Presentiment, The Future Life and An\\nEveyiing Reverie. The Future Life was written to his\\nwife about twenty years after their marriage, and is a\\ncharming expression of their mutual love.\\nHow shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps\\nThe disembodied spirits of the dead,\\nWhen all of thee that time could wither sleeps\\nAnd perishes among the dust we tread\\nFor I shall feel the sting- of ceaseless pain\\nIf there I meet thy gentle presence not\\nNor hear the voice I love, nor read again\\nIn thy serenest eyes the tender thought.\\nWill not thy own meek heart demand me there\\nThat heart whose fondest throbs to me were given\\nMy name on earth was ever in thy prayer,\\nAnd must thou never utter it in heaven\\nYet, though thou wear st the glory of the sky,\\nWilt thou not keep the same beloved name,\\nThe same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,\\nLovelier in heaven s sweet climate, yet the same\\nShalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,\\nThe wisdom that I learned so ill in this\\nThe wisdom which is love till I become\\nThy tit companion in that land of bliss i 3\\nThe Future Life.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "38 WILLIAM CULLEN BUY ANT\\nThe White-footed Deer and other Poems was published\\nin 1844. In 1845, Bryant purchased an estate near\\nRoslyn, Long Island, New York, which he named Cedar-\\nmere. The house was built in 1787. It was situated\\non the top of the hills, surrounded by trees, green fields\\nand streams, and commanded a fine view of the bay.\\nHe had the old house repaired and improved, and the\\ngrounds made ideally beautiful. He devoted much of\\nhis time to tree planting and pruning. The rooms\\nwere filled with many beautiful and curious objects that\\nhe had collected on his various travels. His excellent\\nlibrary of several thousand volumes he kept at Cedar-\\nmere. Here also he wrote his later poems.\\nWhile in Europe in 1858, Mrs. Bryant became dan-\\ngerously ill. Upon her recovery, her husband wrote\\nthe joyous poem, The Life that Is.\\nAfter Bryant s return from his second trip to Europe,\\nEdgar Allan Poe wrote the following description of\\nhim:\\nHe is now fifty -two years of age. In height he is, perhaps,\\nfive feet nine. Bis frame is rather robust. His features are\\nlarge, but thin. His countenance is sallow, nearly bloodless.\\nHis eyes are piercing gray, deep set, with large projecting eye-\\nbrows. His mouth is wide and massive; the expression of the\\nsmile hard, cold, even sardonic. The forehead is broad, with\\nprominent organs of ideality a good deal bald the hair thin\\nand grayish; as are also the whiskers, which he wears in a\\nsimple style. His bearing is quite distinguished, full of the\\naristocracy of intellect. In general, he looks in better health\\nthan before his last visit to England. He seems active physi-\\ncally and morally energetic. His dress is plain to the extreme\\nof simplicity, although of late there is a certain degree of\\nAnglicism about it.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF MRS. BRYANT 39\\nIn character no man stands more lofty than Bryant. The\\npeculiar melancholy expression of his countenance has caused\\nhim to be accused of harshness, or coldness of heart. Never\\nwas there a greater mistake. His soul is charity itself in all\\nrespects generous and noble. His manners are undoubtedly\\nreserved. 1\\nIn 1861, The Third of November was published, a\\npoem in which he speaks of himself and his great love\\nfor nature.\\nA volume entitled Thirty Poems, which were then\\nhis latest, appeared in 1863.\\nOn July 27, 1866, Mrs. Bryant died. She was\\nburied in the Roslyn cemetery, which is about half a\\nmile from Cedarmere. Her death was the one great\\nsorrow of Bryant s life. He has made sacred her mem-\\nory in many of his poems. Oh Fairest of the Mural\\nMaids, Song, The Future Life, The Life that Ls, A\\nLifetime, May Evening, and the exquisite poem, The\\nMay Sun Sheds an Amber Light, all contain allusions\\nto her.\\nUpon the woodland s morning airs\\nThe small birds mingled notes are flung;\\nBut she, whose voice, more sweet than theirs\\nOnce bade me listen while they sung,\\nIs in her grave,\\nLow in her grave.\\nThat music of the early year\\nBrings tears of anguish to my eyes\\nMy heart aches when the flowers appear\\nFor then I think of her who lies\\nWithin her grave,\\nLow in her grave.\\nThe May Sun Sheds an Amber Light.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "40 WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT\\nIii 1874, the citizens of New York, the press and\\nthe friends and admirers of Bryant, met to devise some\\nway in which to honor his eightieth birthday. The re-\\nsult was the decision that a silver vase, representing in\\nits design the life and writings of the poet, be pre-\\nsented to him, but placed eventually in the Metropoli-\\ntan Museum of Art. Nearly two years elapsed before\\nthe vase was finished. The presentation took place at\\nChickering Hall, New York, June 20, 1876. The vase\\nwas exhibited at the Centennial Exhibition at Phila-\\ndelphia in 1876. It is now at the Metropolitan Museum.\\nIt cost five thousand dollars, and is most exquisite in\\ndesign and workmanship. Encircling the neck, in the\\nform of an ornamental border, is his famous line, Truth\\ncrushed to earth shall rise again.\\nAn illustrated edition of Bryant s poems, containing\\nall that he thought worth preserving, was published in\\n1876. Among his later poems that became great favor-\\nites are Planting the Apple Tree, Among the Trees, The\\nSong of the Sower, The Wind and the Stream, To the\\nFringed Gentian, The Path, Pag Preams, The Land of\\nPreams, and the two fairy pieces, Sella and The Little\\nPeople of the Snow. The last poem is the story of a\\nlittle girl, Eva, who is enticed away by a fairy. She\\ntravels far over the glistening snow, and reaches a\\nfrost palace, through the ice windows of which she may\\nlook and watch the revels of the fairies, but into whose\\npalace she may not enter, because she is a mortal child.\\nAnd in that hall a joyous multitude\\nOf these by whom its glistening walls were reared,\\nWhirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "SUMMER WIND 41\\nThat rang from cymbals of transparent ice,\\nAnd ice-cups, quivering to the skillful touch\\nOf little lingers. Round and round they flew,\\nAs when, in spring, about a chimney-top,\\nA cloud of twittering swallows, just returned,\\nWheel round and round, and turn and wheel a rain,\\nUnwinding their swift track. So rapidly\\nFlowed the meandering stream of that fair dance\\nBeneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked\\nFrom lily- brows, and gauzy scarfs\\nSparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun,\\nShot by the window in their mazy whirl.\\nThe Little People of the Snow.\\nBryant gives in A Winter Piece, Summer Wind,\\nInnocent Child and Snoiv-ivhite Floiver and To the\\nFringed Grentian exquisite pictures of nature.\\nSUMMER WIND\\nIt is a sultry day the sun has drunk\\nThe dew that lay upon the morning grass\\nThere is no rustling in the lofty elm\\nThat canopies my dwelling, and its shade\\nScarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint\\nAnd interrupted murmur of the bee,\\nSettling on the sick flowers, and then again\\nInstantly on the wing. The plants around\\nFeel the too potent fervors the tall maize\\nRolls up its long green leaves the clover droops\\nIts tender foliage, and declines its blooms.\\nBut far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,\\nW T ith all their growth of woods, silent and stern,\\nAs if the scorching heat and dazzling light\\nWere but an element they loved. Bright clouds,\\nMotionless pillars of the brazen heaven\\nTheir bases on the mountains their white tops", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "42 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nShining in the far ether fire the air\\nWith a reflected radiance, and make turn\\nThe gazer s eyes away. For me, I lie\\nLanguidly in the shade, where the thick turf,\\nYet virgin from the kisses of the sun,\\nRetains some freshness, and I woo the wind\\nThat still delays his coming. Why so slow,\\nGentle and voluble spirit of the air?\\nOh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth\\nCoolness and life. Is it that in his caves\\nHe hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,\\nThe pine is bending his proud top, and now\\nAmong the nearer groves, chestnut and oak\\nAre tossing their green boughs about. He comes\\nLo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves\\nThe deep distressful silence of the scene\\nBreaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds\\nAnd universal motion. He is come,\\nShaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,\\nAnd bearing on their fragrance and he brings\\nMusic of birds, and rustling of young boughs,\\nAnd sound of swaying branches, and the voice\\nOf distant waterfalls. All the green herbs\\nAre stirring in his breath a thousand flowers,\\nBy the road-side and the borders of the brook,\\nNod gayly to each other glossy leaves\\nAre twinkling in the sun, as if the dew\\nWere on them yet, and silver waters break\\nInto small waves and sparkle as he comes.\\nRobert of Lincoln is a poem full of bird music. It is\\nthe best example of Bryant s humor.\\nROBERT OF LINCOLN\\nMerrily swinging on brier and weed,\\nNear to the nest of his little dame,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "ROBERT OF LINCOLN 43\\nOver the moimtain-side or mead,\\nRobert of Lincoln is telling his name\\nBob-o -link, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink\\nSnug and safe is that nest of ours,\\nHidden among the summer flowers.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nRobert of Lincoln is gayly drest,\\nWearing a bright black wedding-coat\\nWhite are his shoulders and white his crest,\\nHear him call in his merry note\\nBob-o -link, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink\\nLook, what a nice new coat is mine,\\nSure there was never a bird so line.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nRobert of Lincoln s Quaker wife,\\nPretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,\\nPassing at home a patient life,\\nBroods in the grass while her husband sings\\nBob-o -link, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink;\\nBrood, kind creature you need not fear\\nThieves and robbers while I am here.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nModest and shy as a nun is she\\nOne weak chirp is her only note.\\nBraggart and prince of braggarts is he,\\nPouring boasts from his little throat\\nBob-o -link, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink\\nNever was I afraid of man\\nCatch me, cowardly knaves, if you can I\\nChee, chee, chee", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "44 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nSix white eggs on a bed of hay,\\nFleeked with purple, a pretty sight\\nThere as the mother sits all day,\\nRobert is singing with all his might\\nBob-o -link, bob-o 1 -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink;\\nNice good wife, that never goes out,\\nKeeping house while I frolic about.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nSoon as the little ones chip the shell,\\nSix little mouths are open for food\\nRobert of Lincoln bestirs him well,\\nGathering seeds for the hungry brood.\\nBob-o -link, bob-oMink,\\nSpink, spank, spink;\\nThis new life is likely to be\\nHard for a gay young fellow like me.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nRobert of Lincoln at length is made\\nSober with work, and silent with care\\nOff is his holiday garment laid,\\nHalf forgotten that merry air\\nBob-o -link, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink\\nNobody knows but my mate and I\\nWhere our nest and our nestlings lie.\\nChee, chee, chee.\\nSummer wanes the children are grown\\nFun and frolic no more he knows\\nRobert of Lincoln s a humdrum crone\\nOff he flies, and we sing as he goes\\nBob-oUink, bob-o -link,\\nSpink, spank, spink\\nWhen you can pipe that merry old strain,\\nRobert of Lincoln, come back again.\\nChee, chee, chee.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "DEATH 45\\nThe Flood of Years was the last long poem that Bry-\\nant wrote. It is religious in tone, and in nature is sug-\\ngestive of Thanatopsis, The Ages, Hymn to Death, and\\nAmong the Trees. The closing lines of this poem are an\\nexpression of the poet s religious faith.\\nBryant was frequently called upon to deliver ora-\\ntions and addresses upon any occasion of public note\\nor importance. While performing this office, May 29,\\n1878, at the unveiling of the Mazzini bust at Central\\nPark, he was overcome by the heat. He did not ap-\\nparently feel the effects of the exposure to the sun\\nuntil after the exercises were over and he had reached\\nthe house of a friend, where he fell unconscious. He\\nrallied sufficiently to be taken to his own home, but\\nparalysis set in, and after an illness of thirteen days, he\\ndied June 12, 1878. He was placed in his last resting-\\nplace at Roslyn, during, as he had once expressed his\\nwish, the month of June, while overhead the birds\\nsweetly sang and the breezes swept softly through the\\ntree-tops.\\nI gazed upon the glorious sky\\nAnd the green mountains round,\\nAnd thought that when I came to lie\\nAt rest within the ground,\\nTwere pleasant, that in flowery June,\\nWhen brooks send up a cheerful tune,\\nAnd groves a joyous sound,\\nThe sexton s hand, my grave to make,\\nThe rich, green mountain turf should break.\\nThere through the long, long summer hours,\\nThe o-olden light should lie,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "46 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nAnd thick young herbs and groups of flowers\\nStand in their beauty by.\\nThe oriole should build and tell\\nHis love-tale close beside my cell\\nThe idle butterfly\\nShould rest him there, and there be heard\\nThe housewife bee and humming-bird.\\nJune.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\n1803-1882", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "And such I knew, a forest seer,\\nA minstrel of the natural year,\\nForeteller of the vernal ides,\\nWise harbinger of spheres and tides,\\nA lover true, who knew by heart\\nEach joy the mountain dales impart\\nIt seemed that Nature could not raise\\nA plant in any secret place,\\nIn quaking bog, on snowy hill,\\nBeneath the grass that shades the rill,\\nUnder the snow, between the rocks,\\nIn damp fields known to bird and fox,\\nBut he would come in the very hour\\nIt opened in its virgin bower,\\nAs if a sunbeam showed the place,\\nAnd tell its long-descended race.\\nIt seemed as if the breezes brought him\\nIt seemed as if the sparrows taught him\\nAs if by some secret sight he knew\\nWhere, in far fields, the orchis grew.\\nMany haps fall in the field\\nSeldom seen by wistful eyes\\nBut all her shows did Nature yield,\\nTo please and win this pilgrim wise.\\nHe saw the partridge drum in the woods\\nHe heard the woodcock s evening hymn\\nHe found the tawny thrushes broods\\nAnd the shy hawk did wait for him\\nWhat others did at distance hear,\\nAnd guessed within the thicket s gloom,\\nWas shown to this philosopher,\\nAnd at his bidding seemed to come.\\nWoodnotes,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nHast thou named all the birds without a gun\\nLoved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?\\nAt rich men s tables eaten bread and pulse?\\nUnarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust\\nAnd loved so well a high behavior,\\nIn man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,\\nNobility more nobly to repay\\nO, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!\\nForbearance.\\nThe position that Emerson holds in American litera-\\nture, as a writer of prose and poetry, is singularly dif-\\nferent from that of all the writers that preceded him,\\nand even of those of his own period. A close study of\\nhis ancestors and of the surroundings of his early life\\nis necessary in order fully to understand the influences\\nthat shaped his life and molded his genius. The dis-\\ntinctive quality of his writings is the spirit that breathes\\nthrough them. It is patient, hopeful and serene, show-\\ning a firm belief in happiness, and seeing the virtue of it.\\nHe has great faith in the individual, and inspires one\\nwith hope, courage, self-reliance. All his lines ring with\\nthe truth of what he says. His style of writing is\\noften abrupt, with sudden changes, but the sentences are\\nfreighted with thought. One must think in order to\\ngrasp and understand his message. The new thought,\\n51", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "52 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nthe inspiration to right living, which one often gets, is\\nwell worth the effort required.\\nRalph Waldo Emerson, son of William Emerson,\\nminister to the First Church of Boston, was born in\\nBoston, May 25, 1803. He was the fourth child and\\nthird son.\\nThe old parish house, which was his birthplace, was\\na gambrel-roofed, wooden building, standing in the\\nmiddle of grounds about three acres in extent, at the\\ncorner of Summer and Chauncy streets. During his\\nchildhood, this wooden house was replaced by a brick\\none. It set well back from the street, having a larger\\norchard and a garden.\\nThe southern part of Boston, where the house and\\nchurch stood, was then quite rural. Where the busy\\nthoroughfares and great warehouses of the city now\\nare, in the days of Emerson s childhood were green\\nfields and pastures, and line estates with orchards and\\ngardens. The neighborhood was just the right place\\nfor boys, as there were plenty of open grounds with\\nsheds, woodhouses, and an occasional deserted barn.\\nNear at hand was a pond where in winter the boys\\nlearned to skate. Not far distant was the salt water\\nwith long wharves extending into it, from which the\\nboys indulged in fishing. There was also the Common,\\nthen a playground from end to end.\\nWilliam Emerson, father of Ralph Waldo, was de-\\nscended from a long line of preachers, dating back to\\nthe earliest days of the colonies. One ancestor, the\\nRev. Peter Bulkeley, left England in 1634, and, with\\nothers, settled Concord, Massachusetts, spending most", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "ANCESTORS 53\\nof his fortune in pioneer work. His granddaughter\\nmarried the Rev. Joseph Emerson, the pioneer minister\\nof Menden. When this village was destroyed by the\\nIndians, the Emersons went to Concord. Their son\\nEdward married Rebecca Waldo, whence came the name\\nof Waldo into the family. The son of this couple, a\\nsecond Rev. Joseph Emerson, married Mary Moody,\\nwhose father was also a minister. He was a very earn-\\nest, almost fanatical student. He kept his son William,\\nthe grandfather of Ralph Waldo, constantly at his\\nbooks. The only change or rest from study was farm\\nwork, and even the little time given to this he grudged.\\nThis William Emerson was the patriot minister of Con-\\ncord. He married Phoebe Bliss, daughter of another\\nminister. He built the parsonage at Concord, cele-\\nbrated by Hawthorne in his Mosses from an Old\\nManse. At the breaking out of the Revolution, he\\npreached to the minute-men of Concord. In 1776, he\\nbecame chaplain of the army at Ticonderoga, dying in\\na few months from camp fever, at the early age of\\nthirty-three years.\\nWilliam Emerson left a widow and four children,\\none son and three daughters. His widow married again,\\nand another set of children growing up, his son Wil-\\nliam was left dependent upon his own efforts. He and\\nhis sister, Mary Moody, inherited from their father a\\ndeep love for learning, and a keen enjoyment of literary\\nsociety. William s education was frequently inter-\\nrupted by school teaching, by which means he would\\nacquire money for still more schooling. Eventually, he\\nwas graduated from the Cambridge divinity school.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "54 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nWhen twenty-three years old, William Emerson be-\\ncame the minister in the town of Harvard. In 1796,\\nhe married Ruth Haskins. They were very poor, the\\ncalling at Harvard bringing but a small income but\\nMr. Emerson had a very buoyant, cheerful disposi-\\ntion, and he and his wife struggled bravely on. Mr.\\nEmerson taught school, took boarders and worked on\\nthe farm. At last something in the form of a release\\nfrom such poverty came in 1799, when he was called to\\npreach in the First Church of Boston. Although the\\nsalary attached to this position was not large, still it\\nwas much better than that received at Harvard.\\nThe Rev. Charles Lowell, father of the poet, speaks\\nof William Emerson as being a handsome man, tall and\\nfair, easy and graceful in movement, with gracious\\nmanners. He was a social man, enjoying society very\\nmuch, and entertaining considerably for those days.\\nHe was interested in literature and literary societies.\\nHe also established several libraries, one at Harvard,\\none at the Boston Athenaeum, and a theological library\\nconnected with his church. William Emerson died in\\n1811, leaving his widow six children to support.\\nMrs. Emerson, the mother of Ralph Waldo, was\\nspoken of in the highest terms by all who knew her.\\nShe displayed under all circumstances a remarkable\\nfirmness and dignity of character, and a very sweet,\\npatient, serene temper. Her manners were gentle and\\ngraceful, and her speech both kindly and sensible.\\nThe burden that fell upon Mrs. Emerson at the death\\nof her husband was a heavy one. She had no means of\\nsupport for herself and six children. The First Church", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "EARLY LIFE 35\\ndid all they could for her. They continued her hus-\\nband s salary for six months, gave her an allowance of\\nfive hundred dollars for seven years, and the use of the\\nparish house for a year and a half. She remained there,\\nhowever, for three years.\\nA less expensive place to live in than Boston would\\nhave been preferred, but Mrs. Emerson wished the\\nchildren to be well educated. With that end in view,\\nshe kept within reach of the Latin School and Harvard\\nCollege. In order to carry out her plans for her chil-\\ndren s education, they all had to make many sacri-\\nfices and endure many privations.\\nMrs. Emerson took boarders, and the boys did much\\nof the housework. Ralph and Edward had but one\\novercoat between them, and they took turns in wearing\\nit. Many of the school children used to annoy and\\ntorment them by calling out, Whose turn is it to\\nwear the coat to-day The children had little oppor-\\ntunity for play. What spare time they had was devoted\\nto study or to reading good literature.\\nIn Domestic Life, Emerson speaks of the pleasures of\\nthose early days, which were very unlike those of most\\nboys. The eager boys would hasten through their\\nchores, and hurry into the sitting room to prepare the\\nnext day s lessons. Often they would steal time to\\nread a chapter from some novel they had smuggled\\ninto the room, though they knew the punishment for\\nthis forbidden pleasure would surely be extra pages of\\ntranslations or more pages to memorize. Frequently\\nthey would meet in the school yard, or at some old\\nbarn or shed, and entertain each other with songs, bits", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "56 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nof poetry and orations, or with imitations of some ora-\\ntor. There would also be the criticism of the previous\\nSunday s sermon. Another pleasure was the school\\nrecitation of pieces, learned faithfully at home, and re-\\nhearsed again and again, sometimes to the entertain-\\nment, more often to the weariness, of the household.\\nThere were also the joy and the pride of the first\\nliterary efforts, the completed translation or composi-\\ntion. Theater-going was one of the forbidden pleasures\\nin those days, but it was with ke,en delight that the ad-\\nvertisements of the arrival of the great actors, Macready,\\nBooth or Kemble, were studied and compared. Then,\\ntoo, there was the happiness of reunion after their sepa-\\nration for school or business. Each arrival was a new\\ndelight, and the boys found great pleasure in relating\\nand comparing their various experiences and their bits\\nof newly acquired knowledge.\\nThe tie that held these boys so closely together was,\\nEmerson says, the iron band of poverty, of necessity,\\nof austerity, which directed their activity in safe\\nand right channels, and made them, despite themselves,\\nreverers of the grand, the beautiful, and the good.\\nThe angels that dwelt with them were Toil and Want,\\nand Truth and Mutual Faith.\\nEmerson w T as a serious-minded child, not at all inter-\\nested in boyish amusements. Though the neighborhood\\nin which he lived afforded many opportunities for all\\nsorts of outdoor sports, he had little time or inclination\\nfor play. He never owned a sled, and would have been\\ntoo timid to use one, as his mother had often warned\\nhim against the rough boys that came to play in the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "MARY MOODY EMERSON 57\\nneighborhood. He was different from other boys of his\\nown age, and when very young was quite literary in\\nhis tastes and enjoyments. This seriousness and a\\nnaturally haughty way of carrying his head a family\\ntrait separated him from his youthful companions,\\nmany of whom disliked him. His elders thought highly\\nof him, and those who knew him best considered him a\\nspiritual- looking boy, with a sweet, lovable disposition.\\nBeside Mrs. Emerson and the six children, there was\\nin the home circle, their aunt, Mary Moody Emerson.\\nEmerson always felt for this aunt the deepest reverence\\nwhich he shows in his sketch of her life and character.\\nHis poem, The Nun s Aspiration, refers to her. She was\\na woman of very singular character, which had a strong\\ninfluence upon the boys, and placed a still greater strain\\nupon their already over-taxed minds and bodies.\\nMary Moody Emerson was born shortly before the\\nRevolution. Her father, just before the Concord fight,\\ncarried her to his mother at Maiden. Miss Emerson\\nremained with her grandparents, living a very lonely\\nlife, performing many tasks that were beyond her\\nstrength, having no young companions, and rarely see-\\ning her brother and sister from Concord. While still\\na girl, her burden was increased by the care of an\\ninsane aunt. She inherited from her father a keen\\nappetite for learning, but had little opportunity in the\\nearly days to gratify it. She was a quick, irritable,\\nkeen-witted woman, using her wit to sting rather than\\nto amuse. Her peculiarities drove from her many\\nwhose love she would have treasured. All these traits\\nwere the result of her sad and lonely life, and of a", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "58 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nmorbidly religious character which she inherited from\\nher ancestors. She accepted, as God s will, the position\\nin which her strange character placed her.\\nAs a young woman, she was frequently called upon,\\nin times of sickness and need, by her brothers and\\nsisters, in whose families she became much interested.\\nShe was passionately attached to some of her nephews\\nand nieces.\\nWhen her brother William died, she made her home\\nwith his widow, ready to render what aid she could.\\nEmerson highly valued the virtues of this aunt, her\\nlofty principles and high aspirations. He felt that to\\nhave lived within the reach of her influence during his\\nchildhood was an education that could not be too highly\\nvalued, and that her peculiar and often irritable dispo-\\nsition was far outshone by the high character she re-\\nvealed. This aunt was one of the strongest influences\\nthat helped to shape Emerson s mind and character.\\nThe austerity of those early days, the absence of all\\nplay, of association with companions of his own age,\\ndrove the boy and, later, the man to himself, and made\\nit most difficult for him at any time to meet others in\\nthe ordinary, familiar way. Only the interchange of\\nhigh thoughts and spiritual ideals appealed to him.\\nIt was not a gloomy household, however, for the\\nboys inherited buoyant dispositions and keen wit. The\\nnatural joyousness of youth too often verged, their\\naunt Mary thought, upon silliness and folly. A cousin\\nspeaks of the home as being very hospitable and cheer-\\nful, and the boys as bright, intelligent, good talkers, and\\nmost gracious in their manners.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "EARLY EDUCATION 59\\nEmerson went to school when he was three years old,\\nwhich was not nnusnal at that time. What was ex-\\npected of children may be somewhat understood, when,\\ntwo months after he went to school, his father writes\\nthat Ralph does not read very well yet This\\nschool was on Summer street, near the parsonage.\\nLater he went to a school kept by a Mr. Lawson Lyon,\\na severe teacher who believed in the free use of both\\nrule and cowhide.\\nIn 1813, Emerson entered the Latin School. As the\\nschool-house was being rebuilt at the time, the school\\nwandered from place to place. At one time, it was held\\nat the Mill Pond, then stretches of flat lands. At\\nanother time, it was held in an attic on Pemberton Hill.\\nThe head master, Mr. Benjamin Apthorp Gould, was\\nconsidered an excellent teacher, and was held in high\\nesteem by his pupils.\\nEmerson was looked upon as a studious but not an\\nespecially brilliant pupil. His compositions were always\\ncorrect, and he early began to be critical in expression.\\nHe was liked by his companions for his fairness and\\nsweet temper, but he was never a favorite, for he rarely\\ntook part in the athletic sports or boyish fun.\\nAt about this time, Emerson began to write verses.\\nThe naval victories of the War of 1812 awakened his\\nadmiration, and were often the subjects of his verse.\\nOne long poem, called Fortus, illustrated by his school\\nfellow, W. H. Furness, is still in existence. During\\nthe last year at school, he was often called upon to\\nrecite original poems on exhibition days. His\\nbrothers were rather proud of this ability to make", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "60 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nverses or rhymes, and his letters to them often con-\\ntained some poem or bit of verse.\\nIn 1814, the cost of living in Boston became so ex-\\npensive that the Emersons were forced to leave the\\ncity. They went to Concord, where they remained for\\na year. Emerson s fondness for rhyming was soon dis-\\ncovered by his associates at the school in Concord, and\\nwhen he was about to leave they put him on a barrel,\\nand made him recite a farewell ode. He took great\\ndelight, years after, in recalling bits of this ode for the\\namusement of his children. The lines referring to his\\nyounger brother, Charles, who was attending the same\\nschool, greatly disgusted that young gentleman, to the\\nintense amusement of the poet and orator of the\\noccasion.\\nOn their return to Boston, they occupied a house on\\nBeacon street, near the present site of the Boston\\nAthenaeum. In the back yard they kept a cow which\\nthey had brought from Concord, and which Emerson\\nused to drive around the Common to some pasture land\\nbelonging to his mother. He describes this new home\\nin some amusing verses to his brother, Edward, who\\nwas at boarding-school.\\nIn August, 1817, Emerson entered Harvard College.\\nIt was thought at first that he would have to defer his\\ncollege education, as his family had not then the means\\nto meet the expense, but through Mr. Gould, his former\\nteacher, he received the appointment of President s\\nfreshman, which gave him, without charge, lodgings in\\nthe President s house. He was also made waiter at\\nCommons, which relieved him of three fourths of the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "COLLEGE LIFE 61\\nexpense of his board. He received money from one\\nof the scholarship funds, and from a fund for needy-\\nscholars connected with the First Church. In this way,\\nhis expenses were met. During the first year in col-\\nlege, he did some private teaching, thus making a little\\nmore money.\\nThe college studies never received from Emerson the\\nattention which he should have given them, and which\\nthe college authorities expected. He was industrious,\\nbut in his own way. He read a great deal, and his\\nnote books were filled with quotations, favorite expres-\\nsions, and copies of parts of his aunt Mary s letters,\\nwhose style he greatly admired and closely imitated.\\nHis interest in literature increased, and he worked\\nearnestly on composition. During his junior year, he\\nwon three prizes, two for composition, and one for\\ndeclamation. This last prize was thirty dollars, which\\nhe took home with expectations of great happiness,\\nhoping it would buy his mother a much needed shawl.\\nHe was keenly disappointed when he learned that it\\nwas used to pay the baker s bill.\\nAside from his literary efforts, Emerson passed\\nthrough the college course without distinction, stand-\\ning at the close at about the middle in a class of fifty-\\nnine. He was made poet on Class Day, and received\\none of the twenty-nine commencement parts. He was\\ngraduated in 1821.\\nEmerson is described as being, at that time, a deli-\\ncate, slender youth, younger than most of his class-\\nmates, with a sensitive, retiring nature. Although his\\nbrother William was in the senior class, and introduced", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "62 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nhim to his associates and to college life, and though his\\nduties as President s freshman brought him in contact\\nwith almost every member of the college, still he became\\nacquainted very slowly. The noisy ways of his com-\\npanions were distasteful to him, and equally so to them\\nwas the nearness of his room to the President s. Gradu-\\nally the more thoughtful boys sought him, rinding that\\nif he knew less than they about college text-books, he\\nknew more about general literature. Moreover, he\\ncould write poetry, and he was frequently called upon\\nto do so for the various college occasions. Although\\nhis quiet nature kept him from joining the college\\nsocieties, still he was genial and mirthful, though never\\nboisterous, and was fond of telling and hearing a good\\nstory. He was well liked by classmates and professors.\\nThe class of 1821 held its annual reunions at Cam-\\nbridge for fifty years. As Emerson always lived near,\\nhe regularly attended these meetings. He looked after\\nthe more unfortunate members of the class, helping\\nthem when he could, or getting others to assist them.\\nEmerson s plan was to teach school after leaving\\ncollege, and to study for the ministry at the same time,\\nthough his real ambition was to be a college professor\\nof rhetoric and oratory. No such position was ever\\noffered to him. He so disliked the school teaching\\nthat it became a source of great unhappiness to him.\\nHe was doing what his father and grandfather had\\ndone before him, but in a very different spirit. He\\ntook so dismal a view of his work, that it crushed all\\nhis hope. The different periods of his teaching were\\nthe gloomiest ones of his life.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "TEACHING 63\\nEmerson did some teaching while in college. After\\ngraduation, he renewed this much disliked occupation,\\nbut under more favorable circumstances. His brother\\nWilliam had established a school for young ladies in\\nhis mother s house in Boston, and he became William s\\nassistant for two years, and for one year had full\\ncharge, his brother going abroad to study for the min-\\nistry. The income derived from his teaching during\\nthese three years was a very good one for those days.\\nBy means of it, he was enabled to aid his mother and\\nbrothers, and to urge William to prolong his stay in\\nEurope.\\nEmerson s other teaching was taking one or two\\npupils in his home, teaching a public school for a few\\nmonths, and taking charge of his brother Edward s\\nschool, he having been compelled by ill health to give\\nup his law studies, and to take a sea voyage. He also\\nhad a school of his own in Boston for a short time.\\nThis last ended his distasteful work.\\nThough teaching was so uncongenial to him, yet\\nEmerson s pupils and their parents were well satisfied.\\nHis sweet nature attracted his pupils, he had a strong\\nmoral influence upon them, and he took a great interest\\nin them and their lives aside from their school work.\\nAs a man, Emerson was as retiring and exclusive as\\nwhen a boy. He shunned society, finding his greatest\\nhappiness in companionship with his brothers, especially\\nEdward and Charles. He also enjoyed corresponding\\nwith his classmates.\\nThe tie between the five brothers was very close.\\nTheir hard struggle with poverty during childhood and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "64 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nyouth, their noble ambitions and their brave efforts to\\nrealize them, brought them into such close sympathy\\nthat no one else could possibly take their place in one\\nanother s life. Unfortunately, their physical strength\\nwas not equal to the tasks they laid upon it. An in-\\nherited luug disease showed itself in Waldo, Edward\\nand Charles when each was about thirty years old, from\\nwhich Edward and Charles died. Their only sister,\\nMary, had died in 1814. Bulkeley* whose mind had\\nnever developed, though he was a boy of fine character,\\nleft the home circle in 1825, being placed in the care\\nof others. Edward was a more brilliant man than\\nWaldo. He was remarkably handsome, eloquent and\\ntalented, and was a great favorite in society. His am-\\nbitions and his hard work to gratify them, were too\\nmuch for his strength, and his health completely broke\\nin 1828. He was forced to give up all study, and to\\nmake his home in Porto Rico, where he died in 1834.\\nOf his death Emerson wrote I am bereaved of a\\npart of myself.\\nCharles seems to have been the closest friend, the\\nmost dearly loved of all the much loved brothers. He\\ndied in 1836. His death left a void in Emerson s life\\nthat none other could fill. In Peter s Field and the\\nDirge, he writes most tenderly of them all.\\nFive rosy boys with morning light\\nHad leaped from one fair mother s arms,\\nFronted the sun with hope as bright,\\nAnd greeted God with childhood s psalms.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "STUDYING FOR THE MINISTRY 65\\nBut the j are gone, the holy ones\\nWho trod with me this lovely vale\\nThe strong, star-bright companions\\nAre silent, low and pale.\\nMy good, my noble, in their prime,\\nWho made this world the feast it was,\\nWho learned with me the lore of time,\\nWho loved this dwelling-place\\nDirge.\\nEmerson dearly loved the country because it brought\\nhim so near to nature. He enjoyed any sojourn, how-\\never short, away from the city. In 1823, the Emer-\\nsons lived for awhile just out of the city of Boston,\\nin a woodland district of rocks, hills and woods,\\nmuch to Emerson s delight. Here he wrote his poem\\nGcood-Bye. In it he bids farewell to the world, and\\npromises to go home to nature, to the hills and the\\nrocks and the pines, to the blackbird s song, to a\\nclose communion with self and God. In Woodnotes\\nand in My Garden, he expresses most delightfully his\\nlove for nature, and the knowledge and help he obtains\\nin his close study of her. In this woodland retreat\\nthey remained until February, 1825. Emerson then\\nwent to Cambridge, entering the Divinity School.\\nHe began his preparation for the ministry in a very\\nearnest spirit, seeking advice and aid from those whose\\nopinion he valued, and whose position and experience\\nseemed to fit them to give the help needed. He was\\nnot troubled by doubts about his religious belief, but\\nhis desire was, if he were to teach others, to be able\\nto give them reasons that justified his faith.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "66 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nHis health began to fail him about this time, and his\\nstudying, and afterward his preaching, were often inter-\\nrupted by illness. In October, 1826, he was quali-\\nfied to preach, and a few days after, he preached his\\nfirst sermon at Waltham. His ill health, however,\\nforced him to take a trip South, from which he returned\\nin June, 1827, joining his mother who was staying at\\nthe Concord Manse. Later he again established him-\\nself at Divinity Hall, Cambridge.\\nWhile on his trip South, Emerson did some preaching\\nin the Unitarian churches in the different cities he\\nvisited. On his return, he frequently acted as a sub-\\nstitute, but his health did not permit regular work.\\nSince he was not equal to preaching every Sunday, he\\nthought of giving up the ministry, and returning to\\nteaching. Not having the courage to do this, he decided\\nto remain in Cambridge, do what he could in the way of\\npreaching and attending lectures, and wait for better\\nhealth and better days. He remained there a year,\\ngaining in health slowly, and gradually doing more con-\\ntinuous work.\\nIn March, 1829, Emerson was ordained minister of\\nthe Second (Unitarian) Church of Boston. As a min-\\nister, he won many admirers, especially among the\\nyoung. His great charm was the simple style of his\\nsermons, and his ability to make his hearers feel that^\\nreligion was something very real and a part of their\\nevery day life.\\nOnly two of Emerson s sermons are published, one\\nbeing the sermon on the Lord s Supper, which he deliv-\\nered when he resigned his charge of the Second Church", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "HIS FIRST WIFE 67\\nin the summer of 1832. The resignation was due to a\\ndifference of opinion between himself and the church,\\nconcerning the rites of the Lord s Supper. The church\\nwas anxious to retain him, but he felt that he could\\nnot administer a form of worship in which he had no\\nfaith. This ended his regular work as a minister,\\nthough he continued to preach at various times for\\nmany years after.\\nEmerson s sermons were frequently criticised by those\\nnot accustomed to such startling and broad applications\\nof divine truths, as having a tendency to unsettle the\\nChristian faith. Nothing was farther from his thoughts.\\nHis faith in the Christian religion was absolute. He\\nsimply made a broader, more generous application of its\\ntruths, feeling that they did not belong to any partic-\\nular sect or creed.\\nWhile preaching at Concord, New Hampshire, in\\n1827, Emerson met Miss Ellen Tucker, who afterward\\nbecame his wife. Miss Tucker was very frail, but her\\nbrave and cheerful disposition easily misled others,\\neven those who knew her best, concerning her health.\\nShe was considered by all to be a very attractive char-\\nacter. To Ellen is a dainty poem, in which the spring\\nat the North bids her return from the South.\\nThe green grass is bowing,\\nThe morning wind is in it\\nT is a time worth thy knowing,\\nThough it change every minute.\\nHark to the winning somid\\nThey summon thee, dearest,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "68 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nSaying, We have dressed for thee the ground,\\nNor yet thou appearest.\\nO come, then, quickly come\\nWe are budding, we are blowing;\\nAnd the wind that we perfume\\nSings a tune that s worth the knowing.\\nTo Ellen.\\nThe death of his wife early in 1831, was a sorrow\\nfrom which he could not seem to rally. His health\\nbroke down under the strain, and, at the suggestion of\\nhis friends, he sailed for Europe, December 25, 1832,\\nhoping the sea voyage would restore his health.\\nWhile abroad, he met General Lafayette, and visited\\nthe poets Coleridge and Wordsworth. He also went to\\nScotland to see Carlyle, between whom and himself was\\nformed a life-long friendship. During this year spent\\nabroad, his health steadily improved. A brief account\\nof this visit is given in English Traits, published in\\n1856. The general topics are Land, Race, Ability, Man-\\nners. His thoughts are fresh and original, and show\\nkeen observation. He is full of admiration for the Eng-\\nlish, but is not blind to their faults or shortcomings.\\nUpon his return from Europe, Emerson lived for\\nabout a year with his mother at Newton, indulging\\nagain in long, solitary rambles in the woods. They\\nleft Newton in 1831, again visiting the old Manse at\\nConcord. Here Emerson s wanderings came to an end,\\nfor, becoming engaged to Miss Lydia Jackson of Plym-\\nouth, in the winter of 1835, he determined to make\\nConcord his home.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "70 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nConcord was peculiarly attractive to Emerson. Here\\nhis forefathers had their home, and here, during child-\\nhood, he and his brothers had often visited the Manse,\\nand taken long tramps through the Waiden woods, over\\nDr. Ripley s hill and Peter s field. His poem, Peter s\\nField, describes the memories and associations which a\\nwalk over this field by the Concord river recalls.\\nThe old Manse, made famous by Hawthorne, is an\\nold-fashioned gambrel-roofed house, standing close to the\\nscene of the Concord fight, near the river. In one of\\nthe rooms, Emerson wrote his book on Nature, and in\\nthe same room some years later, Hawthorne wrote\\nMosses from an Old Manse, in which is an excellent de-\\nscription of this old parsonage of the Emerson family.\\nConcord is a beautiful New England town. In the\\nneighborhood are fine woods, beautiful ponds, and\\nthrough the meadows flow quiet streams, which later\\njoin the Merrimac. At a distance can be seen the sum-\\nmits of Monadnock and Wachusett. Woodnotes, Mo-\\nnadnock, Musketaquid (the latter the Indian name of\\none of the streams), My Garden and Waiden, all voice\\nthe pleasure and inspiration Emerson drew from the\\nbeauties of nature which surrounded his Concord home.\\nBecause of his contemplated marriage, Emerson de-\\ntermined to leave the Manse and build a home of his\\nown. Instead, he purchased the Coolidge house, a\\nplain, square, wooden building, large and hospitable-\\nlooking. A long hall divides it in the middle. On the\\nright was Emerson s library, a large, square room,\\nplainly furnished, but made pleasant by pictures and\\nsunshine. His study was a room up stairs. The house", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "MY GARDEN 71\\nis on the outskirts of the village, with plenty of open\\nground sloping to the meadow through which a brook\\nflowed. There is also a distant view of the Lincoln\\nhills. He owned a wood lot on the west shores of\\nWalden Pond. These woods were a source of great\\npleasure to Emerson, and are the subject of both Wal-\\nden and My Garden.\\nIf I could put my woods in song\\nAnd tell what s there enjoyed,\\nAH men would to my gardens throng,\\nAnd leave the cities void.\\nIn my plot no tulips blow,\\nSnow-loving pines and oaks instead\\nAnd rank the savage maples grow\\nFrom Spring s faint blush to Autumn red.\\nMy garden is a forest ledge\\nWhich older forests bound\\nThe banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,\\nThen plunge to depths profound.\\nKeen ears can catch a syllable,\\nAs if one spake to another,\\nIn the hemlocks tall, untamable,\\nAnd what the whispering grasses smother.\\nCanst thou copy in verse one chime\\nOf the wood-beirs peal and cry,\\nWrite in a book the morning s prime,\\nOr match with words that tender sky\\nWandering voices in the air\\nAnd murmurs in the wold\\nSpeak what I cannot declare,\\nYet cannot all withhold.\\nMy .Garden.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "72 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nIn September, 1835, Emerson married Miss Lydia\\nJackson, and brought her to his Concord home. Here\\nhe lived an orderly, methodical life, using his mornings\\nfor his writing, taking long walks in the afternoons,\\nand devoting himself to his family in the evenings.\\nIn the autumn of 1836, his first child, a beautiful\\nboy, was born. Waldo became his father s constant\\ncompanion, staying for hours in the study, playing with\\nsome little toy and never interrupting his father s work.\\nHe died when he was five years old. In Threnody, Em-\\nerson expresses but in part his love for this child, and\\nhis great grief over his loss.\\nI see my empty house,\\nI see my trees repair their boughs\\nAnd he, the wondrous child,\\nWhose silver warble wild\\nOutvalued every pulsing sound\\nWithin the air s cerulean round,\\nThe hyacinthine boy, for whom\\nMorn might well break and April bloom,\\nThe gracious boy, who did adorn\\nThe world whereinto he was born,\\nAnd by his countenance repay\\nThe favor of the loving Day,\\nHas disappeared from the Day s eye\\nFar and wide she cannot find him\\nMy hopes pursue, they cannot bind him.\\nReturned this day, the south wind searches,\\nAnd finds young pines and budding birches\\nBut finds not the budding man\\nNature, who lost, cannot remake him\\nFate let him fall, Fate can t retake him\\nNature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "HIS CHILDREN 73\\nAh, vainly do these eyes recall\\nThe school-march, each day s festival,\\nWhen every morn my bosom glowed\\nTo watch the convoy on the road\\nThe babe in willow wagon closed,\\nWith rolling eyes and face composed;\\nWith children forward and behind,\\nLike Cupids studiously inclined\\nAnd he, the chieftain, paced beside,\\nThe center of the troop allied,\\nWith sunny face of sweet repose,\\nTo guard the babe from fancied foes.\\nNow Love and Pride, alas in vain,\\nUp and down their glances strain.\\nThe painted sled stands where it stood\\nThe kennel by the corded wood\\nHis gathered sticks to stanch the wall\\nOf the snow-tower, when snow should fall\\nThe ominous hole he dug in the sand,\\nAnd childhood s castles built or planned\\nHis daily haunts I well discern,\\nThe poultry -yard, the shed, the barn,\\nAnd every inch of garden ground\\nPaced by the blessed feet around,\\nFrom the roadside to the brook\\nWhereinto he loved to look.\\nStep the meek fowls where erst they ranged\\nThe wintry garden lies unchanged\\nThe brook into the stream runs on\\nBut the deep -eyed boy is gone.\\nThrenody.\\nEmerson devoted much of his time to his children,\\nfrom their earliest infancy. He showed a deep interest\\nin their pleasures and their sorrows, in their school life", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "74 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nand their associates, and they, in turn, treated him with\\nthe same frankness as if he were one of their own age.\\nHe early taught them to be self-reliant. On Sun-\\nday afternoons, he would take them on long tramps,\\nshowing them pretty places, or flowers, or revealing to\\nthem some secret of the woods that he had discovered\\nin his rambles during the week. His ways with chil-\\ndren were very sweet and winning.\\nShortly after his return from Europe, during the\\nwinter of 1833-1834, Emerson began to lecture. His\\nfirst lectures were upon subjects connected with natu-\\nral science, and upon his trip to Europe. During the\\nnext winter, he delivered in Boston ten lectures upon\\nEnglish literature. He at once became a favorite. As\\nEmerson became accustomed to lecturing, he chose sub-\\njects more to his tastes and habit of thought. His first\\nlectures were not published.\\nIt is as lecturer and essayist that Emerson first\\nattracted general attention, and is best known and\\nremembered. His subjects are always treated in his\\noriginal manner, and, however old, presented in a new\\nlight, with added beauty and strength. What w T as\\npurest, noblest, best in human nature interested and\\noccupied his thoughts. Truth and beauty and virtue\\nwere one to him, and nature was the expression and\\nindication of it. He was like his Humble-Bee,\\nSeeing only what is fair,\\nSipping only what is sweet,\\nThon dost mock at fate and care,\\nLeave the chaff, and take the wheat.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "76 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nWhat Emerson said of another, He was not a citi-\\nzen of any country, he belonged to the human race,\\nmay well be said of him. His purpose was to raise the\\nidea of man, and he inspired others, making life purer,\\nsweeter, nobler and brighter. His deep and sweet\\nhumanity won him love everywhere.\\nIn giving up the ministry for a doubt, Emerson sac-\\nrificed a life of comparative ease, his position, and his\\nintimates, and began a life of hard, trying work, with\\nalways uncertain and poor pay. For forty years he\\nlectured and published lectures. He spoke in great\\ncities and gathered about him the most cultivated audi-\\nences. He spoke in small towns and villages, and\\nthough his hearers lacked much in the way of educa-\\ntion, he made himself understood. Wherever he ap-\\npeared, he fascinated the people with his charm of\\nvoice and manner. He early won the admiration of\\nthe ablest thinkers and scholars of Europe.\\nEmerson s lectures later developed into essays, unfor-\\ntunately retaining many of the faults of form due to\\nthe demands of a lecture room. When the best of\\none s thoughts is to be crowded into an hour s talk, and\\npresented in a vivid, attractive manner, short sen-\\ntences, abrupt changes, and unfinished thoughts will\\nappear. His choice of subjects was very large, reach-\\ning from the highest spiritual truths down to the most\\nordinary affairs of life.\\nNature, a book of about one hundred pages, which\\nwas published in 1836, was the first real indication of\\nEmerson s genius. The book did not obtain many\\nreaders, for it took twelve years to sell five hundred", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "ESSAYS 77\\ncopies. It is a very beautiful essay, in which Emerson\\nexpresses, for the first time, the feelings which the vari-\\nous aspects of nature awakened in him. It is noble\\nand inspiring, full of elevated thought, and showing\\nboth spiritual and poetic beauty.\\nThe American Scholar is another remarkable essay,\\nwhich was delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society,\\niii Cambridge, August, 1837. This oration was listened\\nto with the deepest interest. In it are expressed all of\\nEmerson s leading ideas. In fact, in these two dis-\\ncourses will be found all the principles of his moral\\nteachings. He believed in culture, in self-reliance, in\\nthe divine in man and nature, and in the need of high\\nideals.\\nEmerson s first volume of collected essays appeared\\nin 1841, and his second collection in 1844.\\nHaving been invited to lecture in England, Emerson\\nmade his second visit to Europe in October, 1847. A\\nnumber of these lectures were published in 1850, under\\nthe title of Representative Men. Conduct of Life ap-\\npeared in 1860, and Society and Solitude in 1870.\\nEmerson was from the beginning in sympathy with\\nthe anti-slavery movement. As early as 1837, he deliv-\\nered an address upon slavery, in which he advocated\\nfree speech in church and lecture room. He found\\ngreat difficulty in getting a place to deliver this lecture,\\nbut finally the Second Church in Boston permitted him\\nto use the vestry room. In 1850, he gave lectures for\\nthe anti-slavery parties of both Boston and New York.\\nHe was never in the front rank of the anti-slavery\\nparty, for at the beginning of the movement, his idea", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "78 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nof freeing the slave was quite different from that of the\\nabolitionist. His address upon the Emancipation Proc-\\nlamation, delivered in 1862, is noble and inspiring. In\\nthe volume of Miscellanies, there are several essays\\nupon war and slavery. Though never indulging in\\npersonal criticism, his censure of Webster s false leader-\\nship was most severe. His address delivered in Con-\\ncord, April, 1865, in memory of Abraham Lincoln, is a\\nnoble tribute to, and a remarkably fine portrait of, the\\nPresident. The Boston Hymn and Voluntaries, both\\npublished in 1863, rank among the best poems on the\\nsubject of slavery.\\nMuch of Emerson s prose is poetical in thought and\\nspirit, and in his poems we frequently find, in merely\\nthe poetic form, the same feeling or thought that we\\nhave already enjoyed in his prose. Emerson had no ear\\nfor music, and though a born poet, he was not a born\\nsinger, for his verses show a lack of the nice harmonies\\nof words and the music of rhyme and rhythm. His best\\nlines flow with a careless ease, but with the strength\\nand rush at times of a mountain torrent.\\nEmerson wrote his poems solely for the pleasure it\\nafforded him, and many were not published until sev-\\neral years after they were written. He wrote in a let-\\nter to a friend, that, judging from his old manuscripts,\\nhe had an annual desire to write poetry. The Humble-\\nBee was published in 1838, The Rhodora and Good-Bye\\nin 1839. The latter was written sixteen years before.\\nEach and All, The Snow- Storm and The Humble-Bee\\nare among his first poems, and are exquisite outbursts\\nof song.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "EARLIER POEMS 79\\nBurly, dozing humble-bee,\\nWhere thou art is clime for me.\\nLet them sail for Porto Bique,\\nFar-off heats through seas to seek;\\nI will follow thee alone,\\nThou animated torrid zone\\nZigzag steerer, desert cheerer,\\nLet me chase thy waving lines\\nKeep me nearer, me thy hearer,\\nSinging over shrubs and vines.\\nHot midsummer s petted crone,\\nSweet to me thy drowsy tone\\nTells of countless sunny hours,\\nLong days, and solid banks of flowers\\nOf gulfs of sweetness without bound\\nIn Indian wildernesses found.\\nWiser far than human seer,\\nYellow-breeched philosopher\\nSeeing only what is fair,\\nSipping only what is sweet,\\nThou dost mock at fate and care,\\nLeave the chaff, and take the wheat.\\nThe Humble-Bee.\\nMany of Emerson s earlier poems appeared in The\\nDial, a magazine established in 1840, of which he was\\nfor a time the editor. Among these were The Prob-\\nlem and Woodnotes, two of his best and most familiar\\npoems.\\nWhen the pine tosses its cones\\nTo the song of its waterfall tones,\\nWho speeds to the woodland walks\\nTo the birds and trees who talks", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "80 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nCcesar of his leafy Rome,\\nThere the poet is at home.\\nHe goes to the river-side,\\nNot hook nor line hath he\\nHe stands in the meadows wide,\\nNor gun nor scythe to see.\\nSure some god his eye enchants\\nWhat he knows nobody wants.\\nIn the wood he travels glad,\\nWithout better fortune had,\\nMelancholy without bad.\\nKnowledge this man prizes best\\nSeems fantastic to the rest\\nPondering shadows, colors, clouds,\\nGrass-buds and caterpillar-shrouds,\\nBoughs on which the wild bees settle,\\nTints that spot the violet s petal,\\nWhy Nature loves the number five,\\nAnd why the star-form she repeats\\nLover of all things alive,\\nWonderer at all he meets,\\nWonderer chiefly at himself,\\nWho can tell him what he is\\nOr how meet in human elf\\nComing and past eternities?\\nCome learn with me the fatal song\\nWhich knits the world in music strong,\\nCome lift thine eyes to lofty rhymes,\\nOf things with things, of times with times,\\nPrimal chimes of sun and shade,\\nOf sound and echo, man and maid,\\nThe land reflected in the flood,\\nBody with shadow still pursued.\\nFor Nature beats in perfect tune,\\nAnd rounds with rhyme her every rune,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "THE PROBLEM 81\\nWhether she work in land or sea,\\nOr hide underground her alchemy.\\nThou canst not wave thy staff in air,\\nOr dip thy paddle in the lake,\\nBut it carves the bow of beauty there,\\nAnd the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake.\\nThe wood is wiser far than thou\\nThe wood and wave each other know\\nNot unrelated, unaffied,\\nBut to each thought and thing allied,\\nIs perfect Nature s every part,\\nRooted in the mighty Heart.\\nWoodnoies.\\nI like a church I like a cowl\\nI love a prophet of the soul\\nAnd on my heart monastic aisles\\nFall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles\\nYet not for all his faith can see\\nWould I that cowled churchman be.\\nWhy should the vest on him allure,\\nWhich I could not on me endure\\nNot from a vain or shallow thought\\nHis awful Jove young Phidias brought\\nNever from lips of cunning fell\\nThe thrilling Delphic oracle\\nOut from the heart of nature rolled\\nThe burdens of the Bible old\\nThe litanies of nations came,\\nLike the volcano s tongue of flame,\\nUp from the burning core below,\\nThe canticles of love and woe\\nThe hand that rounded Peter s dome\\nAnd groined the aisles of Christian Rome\\nWrought in a sad sincerity", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "82 RALPH AVALDO EMERSON\\nHimself from God lie eould not free\\nHe builded better than he knew\\nThe conscious stone to beauty grew.\\nKnow^st thou what wove yon woodbinVs nest\\nOf leaves, and feathers from her breast?\\nOr how the fish outbuilt her shell,\\nPainting with morn each annual cell\\nOr how the sacred pine tree adds\\nTo her old leaves new myriads\\nSuch and so grew these holy piles,\\nWhilst love and terror laid the tiles.\\nThe Problem.\\nA number of Emerson s poems were published in The\\nAtlantic Monthly. In 1846, appeared his first volume of\\npoems, several of which had been published long before.\\nThey were merely collected and put in book form.\\nA second volume was published in 1867, under the\\ntitle of May-Day and Other Poems.\\nMany of Emerson s poems are remarkable for the\\nbeauty of their descriptive portions. The Concord\\nHymn, written in 1836-, and sung at the unveiling of\\nthe Concord monument, erected in honor of the minute-\\nmen of the Revolution, is a poem that is almost fault-\\nless. It is compact, expressive, solemn, musical.\\nThrenody, written in memory of his first boy, compares\\nwell with the finest memorial poems in our language.\\nTerminus, published in 1867, was the first sign Em-\\nerson gave that he felt he was growing old.\\nParnassus was published in 1874. It was a collec-\\ntion of poems by British and American authors. This\\nwork was the result of a life habit of copying into a", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3400", "width": "2064", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "84 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nnote-book any poem that pleased him. Many of them\\nhad been used to illustrate his lectures.\\nEmerson has written, The great poets are judged\\nby the frame of mind they induce. If this be the test,\\nthen he is one of the great poets, for his poems lift the\\nreader into a higher region of thought and feeling.\\nThe greatest poet is not he who has done the best; it\\nis he who suggests the most; he, not all of whose\\nmeaning is at first obvious, and who leaves you much\\nto desire, to explain, to study much to complete in\\nyour turn.\\nIn July, 1872, the upper portion of Emerson s house\\nand many valuable papers were destroyed by tire. The\\nshock hastened the loss of his memory, which had\\nalready begun to fail him. After the fire, he again\\nworked for awhile in the old Manse.\\nIn October, Emerson made a third trip to Europe,\\ntaking with him his daughter Ellen. While he was\\nabsent, his loving friends in Concord rebuilt his house.\\nWhen the Ernersons returned in May, 1873, his friends\\nmet him and drove him to his restored home, much to\\nhis surprise and grateful pleasure.\\nThe decline of Emerson s faculties was gradual and\\ngentle. It was the twilight of a long bright day.\\nThe end of his working life was really in 1867, for after\\nthat much of his work was the collecting and arranging\\nof manuscripts, and preparing them for publication.\\nHis daughter Ellen was his ever faithful and watchful\\ncompanion. She assisted him in his work with his\\nmanuscripts, and aided the failing memory, supplying\\nthe word almost before its need was felt, beino- often", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "DEATH\\n85\\nthe echo before the voice. With her help and sup-\\nport, Emerson was able, in these last years, to occasion-\\nally read a paper before a small audience.\\nemerson s grave\\nIn April, 1882, Emerson took a severe cold, which\\ndeveloped into pneumonia. After a few days illness,\\nhe died, April 27, 1882. He lies at rest in the Sleepy\\nHollow Cemetery in Concord. A great pine stands at\\nthe head of the grave, and a huge, unhewn block of\\npink granite is his monument. Not far away lies Haw-\\nthorne, and near him, Thoreau.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "86 RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nAs sunbeams stream through liberal space\\nAnd nothing jostle or displace,\\nSo waved the pine tree through my thought\\nAnd fanned the dreams it never brought.\\nNature ever faithful is\\nTo such as trust her faithfulness.\\nWhen the forest shall mislead me,\\nWhen the night and morning lie,\\nWhen sea and land refuse to feed me,\\nT will be time enough to die;\\nThen will yet my mother yield\\nA pillow in her greenest field,\\nNor the June flowers scorn to cover\\nThe clay of their departed lover.\\nWbodnoles.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE\\n1809-1849", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "From childhood s hour I have not been\\nAs others were I have not seen\\nAs others saw I could not bring\\nMy passions from a common spring\\nFrom the same source I have not taken\\nMy sorrow I could not awaken\\nMy heart to joy at the same tone\\nAnd all I loved I loved alone.\\nAlone.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nKnow thou the secret of a spirit\\nBowed from its wild pride into shame.\\nyearning heart I did inherit\\nThy withering portion with the fame,\\nThe searing glory which hath shone\\nAmid the Jewels of my throne,\\nO craving heart, for the lost flowers\\nAnd sunshine of my summer hours\\nThe undying voice of that dead time,\\nWith its interminable chime,\\nRings, in the spirit of a spell,\\nUpon thy emptiness a knell.\\nTamerlane.\\nMost of our great poets have pictured, in the lan-\\nguage of verse, the beautiful scenes of nature, the\\ncharming visions of the imagination, and have ex-\\npressed the ennobling thoughts of the mind, the inspira-\\ntion of love and hope. No matter how hard their lot\\nI had been, how bitter their experience, they were able\\nto look beyond their daily suffering and see the beau-\\nties of life through the eyes of hope or, looking back-\\nward, draw from the memory of happier days and write\\nthe poems which have lightened the burdens of so\\nmany fellow sufferers the poems so full of hope, of\\nlove, of faith. Little of this, however, is to be found\\nin the works of Poe. True, hardly one of our other\\n91", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "92 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\npoets experienced such bitter and such constant unhap-\\npiness as he did. A nature so sensitive that the\\nslightest touch of sorrow or reverse caused him to\\nshrink like the sensitive plant, was bound to be bruised\\nand buffeted almost beyond bearing when brought in\\ncontact with the roughness of life. A proud spirit,\\ndriven by poverty to the seclusion of his own thoughts\\nand feelings, he had no intimate friends, and loved\\nonly two people in the world, his child-wife, Virginia,\\nand her mother, Mrs. Clemm. All his works, both\\nprose and poetry, with but few exceptions, are filled\\nwith the bitterness of his own life, made doubly un-\\nhappy by his morbid imagination which, under happier\\ncircumstances, might have shown him brighter things.\\nHis poems are fraught with melancholy and despair,\\nand his stories are filled with the gloom and horror of\\nhis distorted imagination.\\nEdgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, January 19,\\n1809. At the time his parents were members of a the-\\natrical company playing at the Federal Street Theatre.\\nHis grandfather, General David Poe, was born in Ireland,\\nand was a descendant of an ancient and highly-con-\\nnected family. He was brought to America at a very\\nearly age, and afterwards distinguished himself in the\\nRevolution as a patriotic American. His son, David,\\nthe father of the poet, studied law with his uncle\\nin Georgia, where he had gone for this purpose, but\\nseems to have been more interested in the theater, to\\nwhich he devoted much of the time that should have\\nbeen given to study.\\nIn 1802, in consequence of his frequent visits to the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "PARENTS 93\\ntheater, he met and fell in love with Elizabeth Arnold,\\na yonthful member of a company then playing in Bal-\\ntimore. The love, however, does not appear to have\\nbeen mutual, at least at this time, for Miss Arnold was\\nmarried, shortly afterward, to another member of the\\ncompany, C. D. Hopkins, a very popular comedian.\\nElizabeth Arnold was the daughter of an English\\nactress of considerable popularity, who first came to\\nAmerica in 1796 with her daughter, then a girl of\\nabout sixteen.\\nIn the fall of 1804, David Poe abandoned altogether\\nhis half-hearted efforts to become a lawyer and joined\\nthe same company to which Miss Arnold (or, as she\\nwas in private life, Mrs. Hopkins) belonged. He\\nnever became a popular actor, his love for the stage\\nbeing greater than his ability. In October, 1805, Mr.\\nHopkins died, and in January of the following year, his\\nwidow and David Poe, still a member of the company,\\nwere married. They remained in Virginia until May,\\nand during the next few months gradually journeyed\\nnorthward, playing in various cities on the way, and\\narrived in Boston in October.\\nHere they remained for three years, filling their pro-\\nfessional engagements. From newspaper criticisms, the\\nonly existing record of the Poes professional career,\\nit would appear that Mrs. Poe was by far the more tal-\\nented of the two. She was small and rather pretty, a\\nconscientious worker and a singer of considerable abil-\\nity. Her husband, on the contrary, never reached any\\neminence in his profession. Their first child, William\\nHenry Leonard, was born in 1807. In 1809, their", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "94 EDGAR ALLAK POE\\nsecond child, Edgar, was born in Boston. On the back\\nof a picture of Boston Harbour: Morning, 1808,\\npainted by his mother, are the words, For my little\\nson Edgar, who should ever love Boston, the place of\\nhis birth, and where his mother found her best and\\nmost sympathetic friends. The third child, Rosalie,\\nwas born in Richmond, Virginia, in 1811, some months\\nafter the death of David Poe from consumption.\\nThe family, which for some time had been in more or\\nless straitened circumstances, was now in a destitute\\ncondition. Mrs. Poe s own health was failing fast, and\\non Sunday, December 8, 1811, she died, leaving her\\nfatherless children alone in the world. William, the\\neldest, was cared for by his father s friends in Balti-\\nmore. Edgar was adopted by Mrs. Allan of Richmond,\\na young woman of twenty-five who had no children of\\nher own. Rosalie was adopted by a Scotch woman,\\nMrs. McKenzie, a friend of the Allans.\\nEdgar Poe was now, for some years, to be known as\\nEdgar Allan. It was with some reluctance that Mr.\\nAllan admitted the orphan son of the poor actors to his\\nhome, and then only to please his wife. But the natu-\\nrally affectionate nature of the little Edgar, and his\\nunusual brightness soon made him the pet of the house-\\nhold, and an object of pride, if not of very deep love,\\non the part of his foster father.\\nMr. Allan was a native of Ayrshire, Scotland, and\\nhad emigrated to the United States, and settled in\\nVirginia, where he made considerable money by the\\npurchase and export of tobacco. His adopted son en-\\njoyed all the luxuries that wealth could buy, and all", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "CHILDHOOD 95\\nthe love a childless wife could bestow. At the age of\\nsix, he could read, draw and dance, and could recite\\nmany fine passages of English poetry in a pleasing\\nmanner, an accomplishment very naturally inherited\\nfrom his mother and father. He was allowed to have\\nhis own way in almost everything, and to this indul-\\ngence was undoubtedly due much of his future unhap-\\npiness. He wrote in later years, I am the descendant\\nof a race whose imaginative and easily excitable tem-\\nperament has at all times rendered them remarkable\\nand in my earliest infancy I gave evidence of having\\nfully inherited the family character. As I advanced in\\nyears it was more strongly developed, becoming, for\\nmany reasons, a cause of serious disquietude to my\\nfriends, and of positive injury to myself. My\\nvoice was a household law, and at an age when few\\nchildren have abandoned their leading-strings, I was left\\nto the guidance of my own will, and became, in all but\\nname, the master of my own actions.\\nPoe received his early education at a private school\\nin Richmond. He spent the three summers following\\nhis mother s death with the Allans at the White Sul-\\nphur Springs, then the fashionable southern resort.\\nHere he rode his pony or romped with his dogs. He\\nwas a handsome boy, prettily dressed, who was indulged\\nin public as a general favorite and petted at home as\\nan only child.\\nIn June, 1815, Mr. Allan sailed for England, accom-\\npanied by his wife, her sister and Edgar, then six years\\nold. Shortly after their arrival he was placed in the\\nManor House School at Stoke-Newington, a suburb of", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "96 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nLondon. Sometimes he would go to the Allan s house\\nin London on Friday and stay till Monday morning,\\nwhen he would return to school. Here, during the\\nfive years of his stay, he was instructed in the rudi-\\nmentary branches of education, and studied French and\\nLatin, and became far better acquainted with history\\nand literature than many boys of a more advanced age,\\nwho had had greater advantages than he had.\\nHis life at Stoke-Ne wing ton made a very deep im-\\npression on his young mind. Not only the loneliness\\nand gloom of the house itself, but the many historic\\nassociations of the neighborhood, left a lasting image on\\nhis over-sensitive imagination. In his story of William\\nWilson, written in later T ears, which is largely autobio-\\ngraphic, he describes his surroundings and companions\\nduring these five years at school.\\nThe house was old and irregular. The grounds were ex-\\ntensive, and a high and solid brick wall, topped with a bed of\\nmortar and broken glass, encompassed the whole. This prison-\\nlike rampart formed the limit of our domain be} T ond it we saw\\nbut thrice a week once every Saturday afternoon, when,\\nattended by two ushers, we were permitted to take brief walks\\nin a body through some of the neighboring fields and twice\\nduring Sunday, when we were paraded in the same formal man-\\nner to the morning and evening service in the one church of the\\nvillage. Of this church the principal of our school was pastor.\\nWith how deep a spirit of wonder and perplexity was I wont to\\nregard him from our remote pew in the gallery, as, with step\\nsolemn and slow, he ascended the pulpit! This reverend man,\\nwith countenance so demurely benign, with robes so glossy and\\nso clerically flowing, with wig so minutely powdered, so rigid\\nand so vast, could this be lie who, of late, with sour visage,\\nand in snuffy habiliments, administered, ferule in hand, the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "STOKE-NEW1NGTON 97\\nDraconian laws of the academy? Oh, gigantic paradox, too\\nutterly monstrous for solution\\nAt an angle of the ponderous wall frowned a more ponder-\\nous gate. It was riveted and studded with iron bolts, and sur-\\nmounted with jagged iron spikes. What impressions of deep\\nawe did it inspire It was never opened save for the three peri-\\nodical egressions and ingressions already mentioned then, in\\nevery creak of its mighty hinges, we found a plentitude of mys-\\ntery a world of matter for solemn remark, or for more solemn\\nmeditation.\\nThe extensive enclosure was irregular in form, having\\nmany capacious recesses. Of these, three or four of the largest\\nconstituted the playground. It was level, and covered with line\\nhard gravel. I well remember it had no trees, nor benches,\\nnor anything similar within it. Of course it was in the rear of\\nthe house. In front lay a small parterre, planted with box and\\nother shrubs but through this sacred division we passed only\\nupon rare occasions indeed such as a first advent to school or\\nfinal departure thence; or perhaps, when a parent or friend\\nhaving called for us, we joyfully took our way home for Christ-\\nmas or Midsummer holidays.\\nBut the house! how quaint an old building was this!\\nto me how veritably a palace of enchantment There was\\nreally no end to its windings to its incomprehensible subdi-\\nvisions. It was difficult, at any given time, to say with certainty\\nupon which of its two stories one happened to be. From each\\nroom to every other there were sure to be found three or four\\nsteps either in ascent or descent. Then the lateral branches\\nwere innumerable inconceivable and so returning in upon\\nthemselves, that onr most exact ideas in regard to the whole\\nmansion were not very far different from those with which we\\npondered upon infinity. During the five years of my residence\\nhere, I was never able to ascertain, with precision, in what\\nremote locality lay the little sleeping apartment assigned to\\nmyself and some eighteen or twenty other scholars.\\nThe schoolroom was the largest in the house I could not\\nhelp thinking, in the world. It was very long, narrow, and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "98 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\ndismally low, with pointed Gothic windows and a ceiling of oak.\\nIn a remote and terror-inspiring angle was a square enclosure\\nof eight or ten feet, comprising the sanctum, during hours,\\nof our principal, the Reverend Dr. Bransby. It was a solid\\nstructure, with massy door, sooner than open which, in the\\nabsence of the Dominie, 1 we would all have willingly per-\\nished by the peine forte et dure. In other angles were two\\nother similar boxes, far less reverenced, indeed, but still greatly\\nmatters of awe. One of these was the pulpit of the classical 1\\nusher, one of the English and mathematical. 1 Interspersed\\nabout the room, crossing and recrossing in endless irregularity,\\nwere innumerable benches and desks, black, ancient, and time-\\nworn, piled desperately with much-be-thumbed books, and so\\nbeseamed with initial letters, names at full length, grotesque\\nfigures, and other multiplied efforts of the knife, as to have\\nentirely lost what little of original form might have been their\\nportion in days long departed. A huge bucket with water stood\\nat one extremity of the room, and a clock of stupendous dimen-\\nsions at the other. 11\\nAt this period of his life when, more than at any\\nother time perhaps, he should have been under the in-\\nfluence of a mother s love and a genial home life, Poe\\nwas left very largely to himself. This undoubtedly in-\\ncreased his natural reserve which helped to isolate him\\nfrom his fellow-men in after years.\\nIn June, 1820, he left the old school at Stoke-New-\\nington, and returned with the Allans to America, where\\nthey arrived on the second of August. The next few\\nmonths were spent in what he terms mere idleness,\\nbut during this time he wrote many verses and planned\\nfor future poems. In fact, much of the contents of his\\nfirst published volume was written during this period,\\nwhile he was not yet fifteen years old.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "BOYHOOD 99\\nThe second year after his return from England, Poe\\nwas sent to a preparatory academy in Richmond, Vir-\\nginia, kept by John Clarke, a fiery, pompous Irishman\\nfrom Trinity College, Dublin. At this academy Poe,\\nwho had now resumed his own name, and was known\\nas Edgar Allan Poe, continued the studies begun in\\nEngland. In many of these he stood first, although as a\\nscholar he was more brilliant than studious. Much of\\nhis learning was superficial, but his genius supplied any\\nshortcomings of an education which was never very\\nprofound. A good deal of his time, both in and out of\\nschool, was devoted to writing verses, some of which\\nwere afterward published either in their original form\\nor rewritten.\\nIn athletic sports, he easily took the lead. The fact,\\nhowever, that his parents had been actors prevented the\\nready acceptance by his aristocratic schoolmates of his\\nleadership, which, under other circumstances, would\\nhave been willingly granted. His companions, sons of\\nprominent Southern families, were inclined to look\\ndown upon an adopted son, dependent upon the gener-\\nosity of a foster father. This attitude of his school-\\nmates was the cause of most bitter, though proudly\\nsilent, resentment on the part of Poe, who was then\\nand always one whose\\nSoul will still\\nFind pride the ruler of its will. 1\\nSome reminiscences of his fellow students will be in-\\nteresting as showing the impression he made on those\\nabout him at this time\\nLofC.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "100 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nIn the simple school athletics of those days, when a gymna-\\nsium had not been heard of, he was facile princeps (easily first)\\nHe was a swift runner, a wonderful leaper, and what was more\\nrare, a boxer, with some slight training. I remember, too, that\\nhe would allow the strongest boy in the school to strike him with\\nfull force in the chest. He taught me the secret, and I imitated\\nhim, after my measure. It was to innate the lungs to the utter-\\nmost, and at the moment of receiving the blow to exhale the air.\\nIt looked surprising, and was, indeed, a little rough but with a\\ngood breast bone, and some resolution, it was not difficult to\\nstand it. For swimming he was noted, being in many of his\\nathletic proclivities surprisingly like Byron in his youth. There\\nwas no one among the schoolboys who would so dare in the\\nmidst of the rapids of the James River. 1\\nPoe, as I recall my impressions now, was self-willed, ca-\\npricious, inclined to be imperious, and though of generous im-\\npulses, not steadily kind, or even amiable; and so what he would\\nexact was refused to him. I add another thing which had its\\ninfluence, I am sure.\\nAt the time of which I speak, Richmond was one of the most\\naristocratic cities on this side the Atlantic. I hasten to say that\\nthis is not so now. Aristocracy has fallen into desuetude times\\nhaving changed, other things pay better. Richmond was cer-\\ntainly then very English, and very aristocratic. A school is, of its\\nnature, democratic but still boys will unconsciously bear about\\nthem the odor of their fathers notions, good or bad. Of Edgar\\nPoe it was known that his parents had been players, and that he\\nwas dependent upon the bounty that is bestowed upon an adopted\\nson. All this had the effect of making the boys decline his lead-\\nership and on looking back on it since, I fancy it gave him a\\nfierceness he would otherwise not have had. ,1\\nThe great English poet, Byron, was in his clay quite\\nan athlete and swimmer. He swam the Hellespont, an\\nexploit which became famous. Poe, like Byron, was a\\ngreat swimmer. Speaking of one of his own most fa-\\nmous feats he says,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "ATHLETIC TASTES 101\\nAny swimmer in the falls in my days would have swum\\nthe Hellespont, and thought nothing of the matter. I swam\\nfrom Ludlam s Wharf to Warwick (six miles), in a hot June\\nsun, against, one of the strongest tides ever known in the river.\\nIt would have been a feat comparatively easy to swim twenty\\nmiles in still water.\\nAccording to one of the eye witnesses, Poe did not\\nseem at all fatigued, and walked back to Richmond im-\\nmediately after the feat, although his face, neck and\\nback were considerably blistered.\\nAnother daring, if foolhardy, deed was performed in\\nmidwinter. Poe and a companion entered the almost\\nfrozen waters of the James river, and succeeded in\\nreaching the piles upon which a bridge was built.\\nNearly exhausted, they were anxious to climb up to\\nthe bridge above, and thus gain the shore, but upon\\nreaching the flooring of the bridge, they found to their\\ndismay that it extended so far beyond the foundation\\nthat it was impossible to climb further. Nothing re-\\nmained for them to do but to descend, and again enter\\nthe icy water and return as they had come. This they\\ndid, Poe reaching the shore in an exhausted condition.\\nHis companion, about to succumb, was rescued by\\nfriends in a boat. Both boys were ill for several weeks.\\nOne of his school fellows writes,\\nAt that time Poe was slight in person and figure, but well\\nmade, active, sinewy and graceful. In athletic exercises he\\nwas foremost. Especially, he was the best, the most daring,\\nand most enduring swimmer that I ever saw in the water.\\nHis disposition was amiable, and his manners pleasant and\\ncourteous.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "102 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nDuring this period of his life, Poe s boyish heart hun-\\ngered for affection, a hunger which does not appear to\\nhave been satisfied at home. Mr. Allan never seems to\\nhave had any very deep affection for his adopted son,\\nand, while Mrs. Allan was undoubtedly devoted to him,\\nhe could not, in consequence of his studies, spend much\\ntime at home. In the absence of human love, Poe often\\nlavished his affection upon dumb animals. Describ-\\ning a character in one of his later stories, The Black\\nCat, in words which are decidedly autobiographic, he\\nwrites,\\nFrom my infancy, I was noted for the docility and human-\\nity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so\\nconspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was\\nespecially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents\\nwith a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my\\ntime, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing\\nthem. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and\\nin my manhood I derived from it one of my principal sources of\\npleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faith-\\nful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of ex-\\nplaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus\\nderivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrifi-\\ncing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who\\nhas had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossa-\\nmer fidelity of mere man.\\nTo those, however, who appealed to his sensitive\\nnature through his affections, he gave a love almost\\nidolatrous. While at the Academy in Richmond, one\\nof his schoolmates invited Poe to his home, where he\\nmet his young friend s mother, Mrs. Stannard. This\\nlady, lovely, gentle and gracious, spoke to the lonely", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "TO HELEN 103\\nboy with some unusual tenderness which kindled within\\nhim, as he says the first purely ideal love of his soul.\\nThe tone, more than the words, affected him deeply,\\nalmost depriving him of the power of speech. He re-\\nturned home as one in a dream, his one desire being\\nto hear her voice again. This lady became the friend\\nand confidant of his youth, and it was one of the\\nmany misfortunes that followed fast and followed\\nfaster in the unhappy life of the poet, that she died\\nat the age of thirty-one, April 28, 1824. For a long-\\nwhile he haunted her grave by night, inconsolable for\\nthe loss of this friend and counselor. The influence\\nof her character was felt by him for many years after\\nher death. The beautiful poem, To Helen, written in\\nmanhood, was addressed to her.\\nAnd thou\\nDidst glide away. Only thine eyes remained.\\nThey would not go they never yet have gone.\\nLighting my lonely pathway home that night,\\nThey have not left me (as my hopes have) since.\\nThey follow me they lead me through the years.\\nThey are my ministers yet I their slave.\\nTheir office is to illumine and enkindle\\nMy duty, to be saved by their bright light,\\nAnd purified in their electric fire,\\nAnd sanctified in their elysian fire.\\nThey fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope),\\nAnd are far up in Heaven the stars I kneel to\\nIn the sad, silent watches of my night;\\nWhile even iu the meridian glare of day\\nI see them still two sweetly scintillant\\nVenuses, unextinguished by the sun\\nTo Helen.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "104 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nA Pcean, written shortly after her death, was also\\ndoubtless inspired by this sad event. This poem was\\nafterwards rewritten and greatly improved, and repub-\\nlished under the name Lenore.\\nHow shall the burial rite be read\\nThe solemn song be sung\\nThe requiem for the loveliest dead,\\nThat ever died so young\\nHer friends are gazing on her,\\nAnd on her gaudy bier,\\nAnd weep oh to dishonor\\nDead beauty with a tear\\nThou diedst in thy life s June\\nBut thou didst not die too fair\\nThou didst not die too soon,\\nNor with too calm an air.\\nFrom more than friends on earth,\\nThy life and love are riven,\\nTo join the untainted mirth\\nOf more than thrones in heaven.\\nTherefore, to thee this night\\nI will no requiem raise,\\nBut waft thee on thy flight,\\nWith a Paean of old days.\\nA Fee an.\\nPoe remained at the Academy in Richmond about\\nthree years, leaving in March, 1825. The master had\\nchanged during his attendance, William Burke taking\\ncharge of the Academy in the fall of 1823.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "COLLEGE LIFE 105\\nDuring the following year, Poe prepared for college\\nwith the aid of private instruction, and on February 14,\\n1826, entered the University of Virginia, which was\\nfounded by President Jefferson. Poe was now seven-\\nteen years of age, rather short and thick set, with the\\nrapid, jerky gait of an English boy. His natural shy-\\nness had become a fixed reserve, and his face, framed\\nby dark curly hair, was grave and melancholy, the re-\\nsult of reverie, rather than actual sadness. He writes\\nin A Dream within a Dream,\\nYou are not wrong, who deem\\nThat my life has been a dream.\\nAll that we see or seem\\nIs a dream within a dream.\\nHis life at the University differed little in daily de-\\ntail from that of his comrades, who divided their time\\nbetween the recitation room, the punch bowl, the card\\ntable, athletic sports and walking. He was a member\\npi the classes in Latin and Greek, French, Spanish and\\nItalian, but never acquired a thorough critical knowledge\\nof these languages. Judged by the standards of the\\ntime and place, Poe s habits gave occasion for no unfa-\\nvorable remarks. If he drank and gambled, he was not\\nalone, for it was the almost universal practice. During\\nthe term, Mr. Allan went to Charlottesville to inquire\\npersonally into the state of his son s affairs. He paid\\nall of his debts that he considered just, but refused to\\nhonor his losses at cards, amounting to about twenty-\\nfive hundred dollars. At the close of the session,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "FIRST VOLUME OF POEMS 107\\nDecember 15, 1826, Poe came home with the highest\\nhonors in Latin and French. Mr. Allan, however, did\\nnot allow him to return to the University, but placed\\nhim in his own counting-room. The drudgery of busi-\\nness life, however, Poe could not tolerate. He left Mr.\\nAllan s home to seek his fortune in the world.\\nHe made his way to Boston, taking with him the\\nmanuscripts of his early poems. He persuaded a young\\nBoston printer, just starting in business, to publish his\\nfirst volume of verses, which appeared in the spring of\\n1827. On the title page was the following inscription\\nTAMERLANE,\\nAND\\nOTHER POEMS.\\nBY A BOSTONIAN.\\nYoung heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm,\\nAnd make mistakes for manhood to reform. Cowper.\\nBOSTON CALVIN S. THOMAS.\\n1827.\\nThe greater part of these first poems, as Poe writes\\nin the preface to the volume, were written in the year\\n1821-22, when the author had not completed his four-\\nteenth year. But it is probable that they were much\\nimproved, and some of them rewritten, between this date\\nand their final publication, five years later. Tamerlane,\\nthe longest poem in the volume, contained many fine\\npassages, and among the nine shorter poems that fol-\\nlowed were some which, while by no means equal to\\nPoe s later work, show promise of his budding genius,\\nand have been retained in the later editions of his", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "108 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nworks. Tamerlane was afterward entirely rewritten,\\nand it is in this altered form that it now appears. The\\nfollowing passage, referring to the hero of the poem,\\nmay well apply to Poe s own feelings and hopes at that\\ntime:\\nI was ambitious. Have you known\\nThe passion, father? You have not?\\nA cottager, I mark d a throne\\nOf half the world as all my own,\\nAnd murmured at such lowly lot.\\nThe sale of this first volume was very small, and\\nadded nothing to Poe s income and little to his fame.\\nIn a few months he found himself without resources,\\nfriends or means of support. He could not expect\\nassistance from his foster father with whom he had\\nquarreled, even if his pride would allow him to ask for\\nit. In this extremity, he enlisted, May 26, 1827, in\\nthe United States Army as a private, under the name\\nof Edgar A. Perry.\\nHe was assigned to Battery H, of the First Artillery,\\nthen stationed at Fort Independence, Boston Harbor.\\nOn October 31, the battery was ordered, to Charleston,\\nSouth Carolina, and one year later transferred to Fort-\\nress Monroe, Virginia.\\nPoe performed his duties, as company clerk and\\nassistant in the commissariat department, to the satis-\\nfaction of his superior officers. On January 1, 1829,\\nhe was appointed Sergeant-Major, a promotion never\\nmade except for merit.\\nFor two years after leaving Richmond, Poe did not\\ncommunicate with the Allans, and it was not until", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "A WEST POINT CADET 109\\nsome time after reaching Fortress Monroe that he made\\nhis situation known to Mr. Allan, his purpose being to\\nsecure an appointment as caclet at West Point. It is\\nprobable that this was the result of the advice of his\\nofficers, who had become acquainted with his ability\\nand education, and who knew that the only way to fur-\\nther advancement in the army was through West Point.\\nIt was not, however, until after his wife s death, that\\nMr. Allan took any steps in the matter. Mrs. Allan\\ndied February 28, 1829, and it is likely that it was in\\nconsequence of a dying request that Poe was sent for\\nby Mr. Allan. He arrived in Richmond a few days\\nlater, too late, however, to see his foster mother.\\nI reached my home my home no more\\nFor all had flown who made it so.\\nI pass d from out its mossy door,\\nAnd, though my tread was soft and low,\\nA voice came from the threshold stone\\nOf one whom I had earlier known.\\nTamerlane.\\nMr. Allan secured Poe s discharge from the army\\nApril 15, 1829, by procuring a substitute, and began\\nimmediately to get a cadetship for Poe at West Point.\\nArmed with various letters of recommendation from\\nhis former officers in the army and from friends of Mr.\\nAllan, Poe journeyed to Washington to present, in\\nperson, his credentials to the Secretary of War. It\\nwas not, however, until one year later, that Poe finally\\nsecured his appointment.\\nIn the meantime, his pen had not been idle, neither\\nhad he entirely given up verse writing while in the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "110 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\narmy. As a result, lie had enough new material with\\nwhich, in addition to some of the poems published in\\nhis first volume, to make another volume of verse.\\nHe succeeded in rinding a publisher for this second\\nvolume of poems which appeared in the latter part of\\n1829. The longest of the new poems was Al Aaraaf,\\na tale of another world, Tamerlane, which had appeared\\nin his first volume, and several short poems, some new\\nand some which had been published in 1827. In a\\nletter relating to this volume published in a literary\\ngazette previous to the appearance, Poe says, I am\\nyoung not yet twenty am a poet if deep wor-\\nship of all beauty can make me one and wish to be\\nso in the more common meaning of the word. I would\\ngive the world to embody one half the ideas afloat in\\nmy imagination.\\nHe was now becoming uneasy about his appointment\\nto West Point, since he had reached and passed the age\\nof twenty-one, the legal limit within which he could be\\nappointed. But it was as easy to become two years\\nyounger as it had been to become two years older when\\nhe enlisted. Mr. Allan, who was preparing to marry\\nagain, seems also to have been anxious to settle his\\nadopted son, as he hoped, for life, and therefore re-\\nnewed efforts were made to secure him the cadetship.\\nThis was accomplished March 31, 1830, and Poe entered\\nthe Military Academy July 1. His age is recorded as\\nnineteen years and five months, although he was really\\nover twenty-one, and to the other cadets seemed even\\nolder. It was jokingly reported among them that he\\nhad procured a cadet s appointment for his son, and the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "LIFE AT WEST POINT 111\\nboy having died, the father had substituted himself in\\nhis place. One of his classmates records that he\\nwas,\\nof kindly spirit and simple style. He was very shy\\nand reserved in his intercourse with his fellow cadets his asso-\\nciates being confined almost exclusively to Virginians. He was\\nan accomplished French scholar, and had a wonderful aptitude\\nfor mathematics, so that he had no difficulty in preparing his\\nrecitations in his class, and in obtaining the highest marks in\\nthese departments. He was a devourer of books, but his great\\nfault was his neglect of, and apparent contempt for, military\\nduties. His wayward and capricious temper made him at times\\nutterly oblivious or indifferent to the ordinary routine of roll\\ncall, drills and guard duties. These habits subjected him often\\nto arrest and punishment, and effectually prevented his learning\\nor discharging the duties of a soldier. 1\\nMilitary routine became unbearably tiresome to Poe s\\npoetic and dreamy temperament, and doubtless seemed\\nworse by the previous year of freedom. At the end of\\nsix months, he determined to leave the Academy, and\\nendeavored to secure the consent of Mr. Allan, his legal\\nguardian, to his resignation. This was necessary before\\nhis resignation could be considered. Mr. Allan refused,\\nas he desired that Poe should remain at the Academy\\nand prepare for a future occupation into which he could\\nenter without further assistance from him. Poe, hav-\\ning abandoned all hope of being Mr. Allan s heir, had\\nhis own views as to what his future should be. He\\ntherefore took other means of securing his release from\\nWest Point.\\nOn January 5, 1831, a court martial was held at West\\nPoint to try offenders against discipline. After a short", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "112 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nsitting, it was adjourned until January 28. In the\\nmeantime, Poe neglected practically all his duties as a\\ncadet, and was consequently named to appear before the\\ncourt martial. Here he pleaded guilty to all charges\\nagainst him save one which could easily be proved, and\\nin this way, closed the door against himself to all offi-\\ncial mercy. The result was that in the report of the\\nproceedings appears the following\\nCadet Edgar A. Poe will be dismissed from the service of\\nthe United States, and cease to be considered a member of the\\nMilitary Academy after the 6th March, 1831.\\nPoe was again free, but penniless, once more his own\\nmaster, but the slave of poverty.\\nHe had secured a number of subscriptions from his\\nfellow cadets to a volume of poems, which he proposed\\nto have published in New York, whither he went.\\nBecause of these subscriptions, he was enabled to get a\\npublisher for this volume. The book was published a\\nfew months later, and caused considerable disappoint-\\nment among the subscribers, who had expected it would\\ncontain many of the squibs and satires, which had made\\nPoe famous at the Academy. Instead of these, it con-\\ntained much that had been published in 1829, with\\nsome new poems added.\\nFrom New York, Poe went to Baltimore, where he\\ndetermined to settle. He tried to secure a position on\\na paper. Failing to get this, he offered himself as\\nassistant teacher in a school recently opened by an ac-\\nquaintance. Here, again, he was disappointed, and\\nwas obliged to turn once more to literature for a liveli-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "EARLY STRUGGLES 113\\nhood. For eighteen months he struggled on, and, he-\\nside other work, wrote six short stories. But he could\\nfind no publisher for them. In the summer of 1833,\\nthe Baltimore Saturday Visitor, a newly established\\nweekly literary paper, offered two prizes one of one\\nhundred dollars for the best prose tale, and the other\\nof fifty dollars for the best short poem.\\nPoe immediately sent in the six stories which he had\\nready, and some fifty lines of blank verse from a drama\\nhe was writing. The judges in this contest, when they\\nreached Poe s tales, found them so interesting, that\\nthey read them all with great pleasure and pronounced\\nthem better than any others submitted. They immedi-\\nately awarded the first prize of one hundred dollars to\\ntheir author, and selected one, A Ms. Found in a Bottle,\\nas the prize story. They also decided that Poe s poem,\\nwhich he had called The Coliseum, was the best sent in\\nfor competition, but, since he had won the other prize,\\nthe prize for the best poem went to another competitor.\\nPoe s condition at this time was deplorable, although,\\nunfortunately, not an uncommon one during his life.\\nHe was in absolute want, and a letter to Mr. Kennedy,\\none of the three literary judges, who ever afterward be-\\ncame one of Poe s best friends, will give some idea of\\nhis condition.\\nYour invitation to dinner has wounded me to the quick, I\\ncannot come for reasons of the most humiliating nature my\\npersonal appearance. You may imagine my mortification in\\nmaking this disclosure to you, but it is necessary. 1\\nThe prize-money was consequently most welcome to\\nhim, and the encouragement hardly less so. The judges", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "114 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nhighly praised all six tales as characterized by singular\\nforce and beauty and distinguished by a wild, vigor-\\nous, and poetical imagination, a rich style, a fertile\\ninvention, and varied and curious learning.\\nTHE COLISEUM\\nType of the antique Rome Rich reliquary\\nOf lofty contemplation left to Time\\nBy buried centuries of pomp and power\\nAt length at length after so many days\\nOf weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,\\n(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)\\nI kneel, an altered and an humble man,\\nAmid thy shadows, and so drink within\\nMy very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory\\nVastness and Age and Memories of Eld\\nSilence and Desolation and dim Night\\nI feel ye now I feel ye in your strength\\nO spells more sure than e er Judaean king\\nTaught in the gardens of Gethsemane\\nO charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee\\nEver drew down from out the quiet stars\\nHere, where a hero fell, a column falls\\nHere, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,\\nA midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat\\nHere, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair\\nWaved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle\\nHere, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,\\nGlides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,\\nLit by the wan light of the horned moon,\\nThe swift and silent lizard of the stones", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "116 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nBut stay these walls these ivy-clad arcades\\nThese mouldering plinths these sad and blackened shafts\\nThese vague entablatures this crumbling frieze\\nThese shattered cornices this wreck this ruin\\nThese stones alas these gray stones are they all\\nAll of the famed, and the colossal left\\nBy the corrosive Hours to Fate and me\\nNot all the Echoes answer me Not all\\nProphetic sounds and loud, arise for ever\\nFrom us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,\\nAs melody from Memnon to the Sun.\\nWe rule the hearts of mightiest men we rule\\nWith a despotic sway all giant minds.\\nWe are not impotent we pallid stones.\\nNot all our power is gone not all our fame\\nNot all the magic of our high renown\\nNot all the wonder that encircles us\\nNot all the mysteries that in us lie\\nNot all the memories that hang upon\\nAnd cling around about us as a garment,\\nClothing us in a robe of more than glory.\\nPoe was able to get along for the next six months by\\ncontributing to the Saturday Visitor, and by doing\\nother literary work secured for him by Mr. Kennedy.\\nIt was during this summer that he went to live with\\nhis father s widowed sister, Mrs. Maria Clemm and her\\ndaughter Virginia, a girl of eleven, these three remain-\\ning together in Baltimore.\\nOn March 27, 1834, Mr. Allan died. In his will\\nPoe was not mentioned. He, who had been educated\\nto look upon this man as his father, and led to consider\\nhimself his heir, at least until the first Mrs. Allan s", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "BETROTHAL TO VIRGINIA CLEMM 117\\ndeath, was now left to depend absolutely upon his own\\nresources. He continued his literary work and, in the\\nearly part of 1835, on Mr. Kennedy s recommendation,\\nsent some stories to the Southern Literary Messenger,\\nrecently started in Richmond. He became a constant\\ncontributor to this paper, and began writing literary\\ncriticisms, a line of work in which he later became\\nfamous. In June, the editor, Mr. White, offered Poe a\\nposition on the paper. This was an opening such as\\nPoe had been hoping for, and, although the pay was\\nsmall, he was glad of the opportunity. This made it\\nnecessary for him to go to Richmond, and he looked\\nwith keen regret upon the parting from Mrs. Clemm\\nand Virginia.\\nMrs. Clemm, during the two years Poe had lived\\nwith her, had given him more motherly love and care\\nthan he had ever before known, and he and Virginia,\\nnow a girl of thirteen, had become greatly attached\\nto each other. To give up these two meant a return\\nto his former despondent solitude, and as Mrs. Clemm\\nhad become more or less dependent upon her nephew\\nfor support, Poe proposed that he and Virginia should\\nmarry. Mrs. Clemm gave her consent and with this\\nunderstanding, Poe went to Richmond in midsummer.\\nHe at once entered upon his duties as assistant editor\\nat a salary of ten dollars a week, which was a welcome\\nopening.\\nIn September, the news of the engagement between\\nPoe and his cousin having come to the ears of their\\nrelatives, objections were immediately advanced on the\\nscore of Virginia s youth, she being but thirteen years", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "118 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nof age. They attempted to persuade Mrs. Clemm to\\nwithdraw her consent until her daughter should have\\nreached the age of eighteen. The effect of this news\\nupon Poe was to almost prostrate him, for Virginia\\nand her mother were the only two beings in the world\\nfor whom he cared. He wrote an earnest appeal to\\nMrs. Clemm, and on September 22, arrived at Balti-\\nmore in person to plead his cause. The result was that\\nwith Mrs. Clemm s consent, he and his cousin were\\nprivately married, and Poe returned to Richmond and\\nresumed his duties. Within a few weeks, Mrs. Clemm\\nand Virginia also removed to Richmond.\\nPoe s devotion to his girl-wife, in fact their mutual\\nlove, was most complete and beautiful. In one of his\\nlater poems, Annabel Lee, he writes,\\nAnd this maiden she lived with no other thought\\nThan to love and be loved by me.\\nI was a child and she was a child,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea\\nBut we loved Math a love that was more than love\\nI and my Annabel Lee\\nWith a love that the winged seraphs of heaven\\nCoveted her and me.\\nBut our love it was stronger by far than the love\\nOf those who were older than we\\nOf many far wiser than we\\nAnd neither the angels in heaven above,\\nNor the demons down under the sea.\\nCan ever dissever my soul from the soul\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "criticism: 119\\nPoe worked with great earnestness on the magazine\\nand soon took entire charge of it. Beside the many\\nduties involved in mere editorial work, he contributed\\ntales, poems, reviews and many general articles. The\\nstories and poems thus contributed are the first impor-\\ntant fruits of Poe s ripening genius. It was as a critic\\nthat he made his most marked success and placed this\\nnew magazine with which he was connected on an\\nequal footing with many long established and foremost\\npublications. The circulation increased from seven\\nhundred to nearly five thousand during the first six\\nmonths of his editorship.\\nWhile his criticisms were severe, they were, in the\\nmain, just, but they made him many enemies among\\nwriters and publishers. It may be said that Poe s fear-\\nless reviews were one of the chief obstacles to his suc-\\ncess in literary life because of the enemies they made\\nhim.\\nOn May 16, 1836, Poe and his wife were publicly\\nmarried to avoid comment, since the first ceremony had\\nbeen so private. Everything was now most hopeful\\nfor a happy and successful future. His salary had\\nbeen raised to fifteen dollars and after November was\\nto be twenty dollars. During the winter, however, he\\nbecame restless. He had worked very hard to establish\\nthe paper on a profitable basis, and he succeeded be-\\ncause of his wonderful stories, beautiful poems and\\nbrilliant criticisms. He, therefore, felt that what he\\nwas receiving was out of all proportion to what he\\nhad accomplished. In January, 1837, therefore, he re-\\nsigned his post as editor of the Southern Literary", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "120 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nMessenger, though friendly relations continued to exist\\nbetween him and the proprietor.\\nIn a short time, he removed to New York, accom-\\npanied by his wife and Mrs. Clemm, who attempted to\\nestablish a boarding-house but was not altogether suc-\\ncessful. Poe could secure no regular literary work, and\\nthe condition of the little family grew worse and worse.\\nOne who lived with them at this time, a wealthy old\\nScotch gentleman, writing some years later, says of Poe\\nI must say that I never saw him the least affected with\\nliquor, nor even descend to any known vice, while he was one\\nof the most courteous, gentlemanly, and intelligent companions\\nI have met with during my journeyings and haltings through\\ndivers divisions of the globe besides, he had an extra induce-\\nment to be a good man as well as a good husband, for he had\\na wife of matchless beauty and loveliness with a temper and\\ndisposition of surpassing sweetness; besides, she seemed as\\nmuch devoted to him and his every interest as a young mother\\nis to her first-born. 11\\nMrs. Clemm, the guardian angel of these two, writing\\nof this period in after years, says\\nEddie was domestic in all his habits, seldom leaving home\\nfor an hour unless his darling Virginia, or myself, were with\\nhim. He was truly an affectionate, kind husband, and a de-\\nvoted son to me. He was impulsive, generous, affectionate\\nand noble. His tastes were very simple, and his admiration for\\nall that was good and beautiful, very great. We three\\nlived only for each other. 11\\nDuring the winter Poe worked principally on the\\nNarrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, a tale of adventure,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "EDITORIAL WORK 121\\nhorror, shipwreck and mutiny on an expedition to the\\nSouth Pole. This work was announced by the Harpers\\nin May, 1838, and published in July, but it had little\\nsuccess. In the summer, seeing no hope of better\\nthings, they moved to Philadelphia, where some en-\\ncouragement had been offered to Poe. He contributed\\nto several magazines, and, during the following winter,\\nprepared a school textbook on shells, The ConchologisC\\nFirst Text-Book. This was nothing more than a con-\\ndensation of a more extensive work published by the\\nHarpers. The author of this work, who sanctioned\\nPoe s compilation, said that his work proved too ex-\\npensive for the public, and as the Harpers refused to\\nbring it out in a cheaper form, it was decided to pub-\\nlish a new book which would be sufficiently different\\nfrom the former to escape any suit for the infringement\\nof copyright. This book was published in April, 1839.\\nPrevious to its appearance, Poe had established other\\nliterary connections, and was a contributor to several\\npublications.\\nIn July, 1839, he became associate editor of Burton s\\nGentleman Magazine, in which was published, among\\nother contributions of his, The Fall of the House of\\nUsher, one of the greatest achievements of his peculiar\\ngenius for describing terror and fear. Among the\\npoems contributed by him was The Haunted Palace,\\nwhich had previously appeared in The Museum. Apart\\nfrom its poetic beauty, this poem caused considerable\\ncontroversy, as Poe claimed that Longfellow s The\\nBeleaguered City, which was not published until Novem-\\nber, was a copy of his idea. This was hardly a just", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "122 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\naccusation in fact, both poems are very similar in idea\\nto Tennyson s The Deserted House, published in 1830.\\nTHE HAUNTED PALACE\\nIn the greenest of our valleys\\nBy good angels tenanted,\\nOnce a fair and stately palace\\nRadiant palace reared its head.\\nIn the monarch Thought s dominion\\nIt stood there\\nNever seraph spread a pinion\\nOver fabric half so fair!\\nBanners yellow, glorious, golden,\\nOn its roof did float and flow,\\n(This all this was in the olden\\nTime long ago,)\\nAnd every gentle air that dallied,\\nIn that sweet day,\\nAlong the ramparts plumed and pallid,\\nA winged odor went away.\\nWanderers in that happy valley,\\nThrough two luminous windows, saw\\nSpirits moving musically,\\nTo a lute s well-tuned law,\\nRound about a throne where, sitting\\n(Porphyrogene\\nIn state iiis glory well befitting,\\nThe ruler of the realm was seen.\\nAnd all with pearl and ruby glowing\\nWas the fair palace door,\\nThrough which came flowing, flowing, flowing\\nAnd sparkling evermore,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "LITERARY CAREER 123\\nA troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty\\nWas but to sing,\\nIn voices of surpassing beauty,\\nThe wit and wisdom of their king.\\nBut evil things, in robes of sorrow,\\nAssailed the monarch s high estate.\\n(Ah, let us mourn for never morrow\\nShall dawn upon him desolate\\nAnd round about his home the glory\\nThat blushed and bloomed,\\nIs but a dim-remembered story\\nOf the old time entombed.\\nAnd travelers, now, within that valley,\\nThrough the red-litten Avindows see\\nVast forms, that move fantastically\\nTo a discordant melody,\\nWhile, like a ghastly rapid river,\\nThrough the pale door\\nA hideous throng rush out forever\\nAnd laugh but smile no more.\\nIn December, an edition of Poe s stories in two vol-\\numes was published in Philadelphia under the title\\nTales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. This included\\nmost of the stories he had written up to this time.\\nThese were widely and favorably noticed by the press,\\nbut their sale was not large. Until June, 1840, Poe\\ncontinued to edit The Gentleman s Magazine, and then\\nhis engagement suddenly terminated.\\nHe accused Mr. Burton, the proprietor, of offering\\nprizes for contributions, which he never intended to\\npay. Mr. Burton, on the other hand, asserted that", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "124 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nPoe s irregular habits made it necessary for him to dis-\\npense with his services. Touching these charges, Poe\\nwrote in April, 1841, to a friend:\\nIn fine, I pledge yon, before God, the solemn\\nword of a gentleman, that I am temperate even to rigor. From\\nthe hour in which I first saw this basest of calumniators\\n(Burton) to the hour in which I retired from his office in\\nuncontrollable disgust at his chicanery, arrogance, ignorance\\nand brutality, nothing stronger than water ever passed my\\nlips.\\nIt is, however, due to candor that I inform you upon what\\nfoundation he has erected his slanders. At no period of my life\\nwas I what men call intemperate. I never was in the habit of\\nintoxication. I never drunk drams, etc. But, for a brief period,\\nwhile I resided in Richmond, and edited the Messenger, I cer-\\ntainly did give way, at long intervals, to the temptations held\\nout on all sides by the spirit of Southern conviviality. My sensi-\\ntive temperament could not stand an excitement which was an\\nevery day matter to my companions. In short, it sometimes\\nhappened that I was completely intoxicated. For some days\\nafter each excess I was invariably confined to bed. But it is\\nnow quite four years since I have abandoned every kind of alco-\\nholic drink four years with the exception of a single deviation\\nwhich occurred shortly after my leaving Burton, and when I was\\ninduced to resort to the occasional use of cider, with the hope of\\nrelieving a nervous attack.\\nOne great ambition of Poe s life was to publish a\\nmagazine of his own, and within two weeks of his break\\nwith Burton, he announced The Penn Magazine to\\nappear January 1, 1811. Lack of money and subscrib-\\ners, however, compelled him to abandon this plan of a\\nmagazine of his own for some time to come.\\nIn the meantime, The G entlemari s Magazine had been", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "Graham s magazine 125\\nsold to George R. Graham, editor of a not very success-\\nful periodical, The Casket. This gentleman combined\\nthe two publications under the name, soon to become\\nfamous, of G-raham s Magazine. In February, 1841,\\nPoe accepted the post of editor, and during the eighteen\\nmonths of his connection with this magazine, he con-\\ntributed many of his most famous stories and brilliant\\ncriticisms. Among the stories of this period may be\\nmentioned The Murders of the Rue Morgue, and The\\nDescent into the Maelstrom.\\nAnother subject to w T hich Poe devoted considerable\\ntime, time which we cannot but regret was not given to\\nmore serious literary work, was the study of cryptog-\\nraphy or ciphers and secret writings. In his story of\\nThe G-old Bug, he had written\\nCircumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me to\\ntake interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether\\nhuman ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which\\nhuman ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve.\\nIn G-raliams Magazine he publicly offered to solve\\nany cryptogram sent him. As a result, he received hun-\\ndreds of ciphers in English, French, German, Spanish,\\nItalian, Latin and Greek, all of which he deciphered\\nwith the exception of one which he proved an impos-\\nture. His was a mind peculiarly adapted to solve\\nsuch puzzles, being capable of the keenest and most\\nminute analysis. His ability to reconstruct the whole\\nfrom a part was marvelous. The first few chapters only\\nof Dickens s Barnaby Budge had been published, and in\\na review of them, Poe told, with mathematical exact-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "12(3 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nness, what should be the plot of the yet unwritten\\nstory. The correctness of his solution drew from\\nDickens a letter of admiring praise, in which he jok-\\ningly inquired if Poe had dealings with Satan.\\nPoe s connection with Graham s Magazine was the\\nbrightest period of his life. From five thousand sub-\\nscribers, the number had increased to fifty- two thousand,\\nand this success was mainly due to his own fascinating\\nstories and fearless criticisms. His fame as a writer\\nwas national and growing greater every day, and his\\nhome life was a dream of perfect domestic happi-\\nness.\\nBut unmerciful disaster still dogged his footsteps.\\nDuring the fall of 1841, his idolized wife ruptured a\\nblood vessel in singing. Her life was despaired of, and\\nPoe suffered all the agonies of her death as only such\\na loving, sensitive nature could. She, however, partly\\nrecovered, although lier health, never robust, was\\nhenceforth more delicate than ever. Poe never\\nfully recovered from the shock. Mr. Graham, in writ-\\ning of Poe in later years, says,\\nHis love for his wife was a sort of rapturous worship of the\\nspirit of beauty, which he felt was fading before his eyes. I\\nhave seen him hovering around her when she was ill, with all\\nthe fond fear and tender anxiety of a mother for her first-born\\nher slightest cough causing in him a shudder, a heart chill,\\nthat was visible. I rode out one summer evening with them,\\nand the remembrance of his watchful eyes, eagerly bent upon\\nthe slightest change of hue in that loved face, haunts me yet as\\nthe memory of a sad strain. It was this hourly anticipation of\\nher loss, that made him a sad and thoughtful man, and lent a\\nmournful melody to his undying song. 1", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE GOLD BUG 127\\nPoe, always of a restless disposition, became dissatis-\\nfied in his position. He felt that what he had accom-\\nplished for Graham s should have been more liberally\\nrewarded, as indeed it should. He still dreamed of a\\nmagazine of his own, and also endeavored to secure a\\ngovernment appointment at Washington, but without\\nsuccess. All these reasons, with the possible irregular-\\nities of his life and his wife s health, may explain\\nthe severance of his connection with Graham s in the\\nspring of 1842. The exact truth will probably never\\nbe known.\\nHis life from this time onward was one of almost\\nuninterrupted discouragement and disappointment.\\nDuring the year after his leaving Graham s, he again\\nattempted to establish a magazine to be called The\\nStylus. In the fall, his principal source of income was\\nfrom one of the less prominent magazines, Snowden s\\nLady s Companion., to which among other pieces, he\\ncontributed The Mystery of Marie Roget.\\nThe first letters of a correspondence with James\\nRussell Lowell were also written at this time, which re-\\nsulted in Poe s contributing several articles to The\\nPioneer, a magazine which Lowell was then editing.\\nThis publication lasted, however, only a few months.\\nIn June, 1843, Poe s story, The Gold Bug, now one\\nof his best known and most popular tales, won a prize\\nof one hundred dollars offered by The Dollar News-\\npaper. Of this incident, Poe wrote to a friend The\\nGold Bug was originally sent to Graham but he not\\nliking it, I got him to take some critical papers instead,\\nand sent it to The Dollar Newspaper, which had", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "128 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\noffered one hundred dollars for the best story. It ob-\\ntained frie premium, and made a great noise. The\\nfearful tale of The Black Cat was published in August.\\nA visitor to the poet s home at this time says\\nWhen once lie sent for me to visit him, during a period of\\nillness, caused by protracted and anxious watching at the bedside\\nof his sick wife, I was impressed by the singular neatness and\\nthe air of refinement in his home. It was in a small house, in\\none of the pleasant and silent neighborhoods far from the center\\nof the town, and, though slightly and cheaply furnished, every-\\nthing in it was so tasteful and so fitly disposed that it seemed\\naltogether suitable for a man of genius. For this and for most\\nof the comforts he enjoyed, in his brightest as in his darkest\\nyears, he was chiefly indebted to his mother-in-law, who loved\\nhim with more than maternal devotion and constancy.\\nMay ne Reid speaks of Mrs. Clemm as\\nthe guardian of the home, watching it against the silent but\\ncontinuous sap of necessity, that appeared every day to be ap-\\nproaching closer and nearer. She was the sole servant, keep-\\ning everything clean the sole messenger, doing the errands,\\nmaking pilgrimages between the poet and his publishers, fre-\\nquently bringing back such chilling responses as The article\\nnot accepted, or The check not to be given until such and such\\na day, often too late for his necessities. And she was also\\nthe messenger to the market from it bringing back not the\\ndelicacies of the season, but only such commodities as were\\ncalled for by the dire exigencies of hunger.\\nDuring the winter, Poe seems again to have assisted\\nGraham in the publication of his magazine, but not as\\nacknowledged editor. The following April, 1844, he\\ndetermined to leave Philadelphia and seek to better his\\nfortunes, which indeed were desperate, in New York.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "BALLOON HOAX 129\\nHis first appearance in print after reaching this city\\nwas in the New York Sun, which published his notorious\\nBalloon Hoax. Under the following startling head-\\nlines was given a detailed account of an imaginary\\npassage of a balloon from England to America in three\\ndays.\\nAstounding News by Express, via Norfolk\\nThe Atlantic Crossed in Three Days\\nSignal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason s Flying Machine\\nArrival at Sullivan s Island, near Charleston, S. C, of Mr.\\nMason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth,\\nand four others, in the Steering Balloon, Victoria, after a passage\\nof seventy -five hours from Land to Land! Full Particulars of the\\nVoyage\\nSo realistic and minute was the description of this\\njourney, that many persons were deceived and believed\\nit an actual occurrence.\\nDuring the same month, A Tale of the Magged Moun-\\ntains was published in Grodey s Lady s Book. Writ-\\ning to Lowell a little later, he says\\nMy life has been whim impulse passion\\na longing for solitude a scorn of all things present, in an\\nearnest desire for the future.\\nlam profoundly excited by music, and by some poems\\nthose of Tennyson especially whom, with Keats, Shelley,\\nColeridge (occasionally), and a few others of like thought and\\nexpression, I regard as the sole poets. Music is the perfection\\nof the soul, or idea, of poetry. The vagueness of exaltation\\naroused by a sweet air (which should be strictly indefinite and\\nnever too strongly suggestive) is precisely what we should aim\\nat in poetry. Affectation, within bounds, is thus no blemish. 11\\nAnd further on I think my best poems The Sleeper, 1 The\\nConqueror Worm, 1 The Haunted Palace, 1 Lenore, 1 Dream-\\nland, 1 and The Coliseum, 1 but all have been hurried and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "130 EDGAE ALLAN POE\\nunconsidered. 11 (This letter is dated July 2, 1844:, which was\\nbefore The Haven was written.) My best tales are Ligeia,\\nthe Gold Buji 1 the Murders in the Rue Morgue 1 The Fall of\\nthe House of Usher, 1 the Tell-Tale Heart, 1 the Black Cat, 1\\nWilliam AVilson, 1 and The Descent into the Maelstrom. 1 The\\nPurloined Letter, 1 forthcoming in the Gift, 1 is perhaps -the best\\nof my tales of ratiocination. I have lately written for Godey\\nThe Oblong Box, 1 and Thou Art the Man, 1 as r et unpub-\\nlished. 11\\nSoon after settling in New York, lie became a sub-\\neditor on The Evening Mirror, a daily paper with a\\nweekly issue in addition. Here his work was very\\nlimited. It was rather a step downward, after being\\nthe chief editor of several monthlies, as Poe had been,\\nto come into the office of a daily journal as a mechani-\\ncal paragraph is t. It assured, however, a steady, though\\nmeagre, income. In this paper, January 29, 1845, was\\nfirst published The Raven, the best known of all Poe s\\nwritings.\\nTHE RAVEN\\nOnce upon a midnight drear}^ while I ptondered, weak and.\\nweary,\\nOver many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore\\nWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,\\nAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.\\nTis some visitor, 11 I muttered, tapping at my chamber\\ndoor\\nOnly this and nothing more. 11\\nAh, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,\\nAnd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the\\nfloor.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "THE KAVEN 131\\nEagerly I wished the morrow vainly I had sought to borrow\\nFrom my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost\\nLenore\\nFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,\\nNameless here forevermore.\\nAnd the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain\\nThrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before\\nSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,\\nTis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door\\nSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door\\nThis it is and nothing more.\\nPresently my soul grew stronger hesitating then no longer,\\nSir, said I, or Madame, truly your forgiveness I implore\\nBut the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,\\nAnd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,\\nThat I scarce was sure I heard you here I opened wide the\\ndoor\\nDarkness there and nothing more.\\nDeep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,\\nfearing,\\nDoubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream\\nbefore\\nBut the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,\\nAnd the only word there spoken was the whispered word\\nLenore\\nThis T whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,\\nLenore\\nMerely this and nothing more.\\nBack into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,\\nSoon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.\\nSurely, 11 said I, surely that is something at my window\\nlattice", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "132 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nLet me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore\\nLet my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore\\nTis the wind and nothing more.\\nOpen here I flung- the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,\\nIn there stepped a stately Raven ot the saintly days of yore.\\nNot the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or\\nstayed he,\\nBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber\\ndoor\\nPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door\\nPerched, and sat, and nothing more.\\nThen this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,\\nBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,\\nThough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art sure\\nno craven.\\nGhastly, grim, and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly\\nshore\\nTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night s Plutonian\\nshore\\nQuoth the Raven, Nevermore.\\nMuch I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,\\nThough its answer little meaning little relevancy bore\\nFor we cannot help agreeing that no living human being\\nEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door\\nBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door\\nWith such name as Nevermore.\\nBut the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only\\nThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.\\nNotliing further then he uttered; not a feather then he flut-\\ntered\\nTill I scarcely more than muttered, Other friends have flown\\nbefore\\nOn the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown\\nbefore.\\nThen the bird said, Nevermore.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "THE RAVEN 133\\nStartled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,\\nDoubtless, said I, what it utters is its only stock and store,\\nCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster\\nFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden\\nbore\\nTill the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore\\nOf Never nevermore. 1\\nBut the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,\\nStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and\\ndoor\\nThen, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking\\nFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore\\nWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of\\nyore\\nMeant in croaking Nevermore. 11\\nThis I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing\\nTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom s core\\nThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining\\nOn the cushion s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o er,\\nBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o er\\nShe shall press, ah, nevermore!\\nThen, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an un-\\nseen censer\\nSwung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.\\nWretch, 11 I cried, thy God hath lent thee by these angels\\nhe hath sent thee\\nRespite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore\\nQuaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore\\nQuoth the Raven, Nevermore. 11\\n^Prophet! 11 said I, thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or\\ndevil\\nWhether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here\\nashore,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "134 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted\\nOn this home by Horror haunted tell me truly, I implore\\nIs there is there balm inGilead? tell me tell me, I im-\\nplore\\nQuoth the Raven, Nevermore.\\nProphet said I, thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or\\ndevil\\nBy that Heaven that bends above us by that God we bolh\\nadore\\nTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,\\nIt shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore\\nClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.\\nQuoth the Raven, Nevermore.\\nBe that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked,\\nupstarting\\nGet thee back into the tempest and the Night s Plutonian shore\\nLeave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath\\nspoken\\nLeave my loneliness unbroken quit the bust above my door\\nTake thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off\\nmy door\\nQuoth the Raven, Nevermore.\\nAnd the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting\\nOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;\\nAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon s that is dreaming,\\nAnd the lamp-light o er him streaming throws his shadow on the\\nfloor;\\nAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor\\nShall be lifted nevermore\\nThe success of this poem was instantaneous. It\\nfascinated every reader by its vague terror and the\\nmusic of its rhythm. It is truly a work of art and\\ngenius. For this masterpiece, Poe received ten dollars.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "PROPRIETOR OF THE BROADWAY JOURNAL 135\\nIn March, he became associate-editor of The Broad-\\nway Journal, a weekly which had been started the\\nprevious January, and to which he had contributed.\\nHe was now to receive one third of the profits. He\\nwrote some original matter for it, but reprinted a great\\nmany of his earlier stories with slight revision or change\\nof titles. During the summer, there was a disagree-\\nment among the three interested parties, and Poe be-\\ncame sole editor but still with one third interest. On\\nOctober 21, he became sole proprietor of The Broad-\\nivay Journal, and one dream of his life was realized,\\nonly to be shortly afterwards shattered. The Journal\\nshowed vigorous management; its advertisements had\\nbeen largely increased and its circulation doubled. Poe\\nhad not, however, sufficient capital to successfully carry\\non the publication. After a brave, but bitter struggle,\\nhe was obliged to give up the magazine, December,\\n1845.\\nAn amusing incident is told by Horace Greeley, who\\nindorsed a promissory note of Poe s for fifty dollars,\\nto help him carry on the Journal. This note Greeley\\nhimself had to pay. In referring to it in later years,\\nhe says\\nA gushing youth once wrote me to this effect\\nDear Sir, Among your literary treasures, you have doubt-\\nless preserved several autographs of our country s late lamented\\npoet, Edgar A. Poe. If so, and you can spare one, please en-\\nclose it to me, and receive the thanks of yours truly. 1\\nI promptly responded as follows\\nDear Sir Among my literary treasures, there happens to\\nbe exactly one autograph of our country s late lamented poet,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF HIS WIFE 137\\nEdgar A. Poe. It is his note of hand for fifty dollars, with my\\nindorsement across the back. It cost me exactly fifty dollars and\\nseventy-five cents (including- protest), and you may have it for\\nhalf that amount. Yours respectfully.\\nThat autograph, I regret to say, remains on my hands, and\\nis still for sale at first cost, despite the lapse of time and the\\ndepreciation of our currency.\\nFrom this time onward, the unfortunate condition of\\nthe little family grew worse and worse. Poe s own\\nhealth began to fail and his wife was slowly but surely\\ndying. He was in no condition, either of mind or\\nbody, to accomplish any work that would count. In\\nthe spring, they moved to a little cottage in Fordham,\\nabove what is now the upper part of New York city.\\nThe surrounding country was very beautiful, but the\\ncottage, standing on King s Bridge Road at the top of\\nFordham Hill, was very small and plain. Here, during\\nthe summer and following winter they struggled on,\\noften without the necessities of life.\\nOn January 30, 1847, his idolized wife, Virginia,\\ndied. Poe s love for his young and lovely girl-wife\\nwas the most beautiful thing in his life. It was a kind\\nof adoration. When she died, the last hope, the one\\nobject that made life worth living for him, passed\\naway. His beautiful poem, Annabel Lee, gives some\\nslight idea of the depth of his love.\\nANNABEL LEE\\nIt was many and many a year ago,\\nIn a kingdom by the sea,\\nThat a maiden there lived whom you may know\\nBy the name of Annabel Lee", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "138 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nAnd this maiden she lived with no other thought\\nThan to love and be loved by me.\\n/was a child and she was a child,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea\\nBut we loved with a love that was more than love\\nI and my Annabel Lee\\nWith a love that the winged seraphs of heaven\\nCoveted her and me.\\nAnd this was the reason that, long ago,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea,\\nA wind blew out of a cloud, chilling\\nMy beautiful Annabel Lee\\nSo that her high-born kinsmen came\\nAnd bore her away from me,\\nTo shut her up in a sepulcher\\nIn this kingdom by the sea.\\nThe angels, not half so happy in heaven,\\nWent envying her and me\\nYes that was the reason (as all men know,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea)\\nThat the wind came out of the cloud by night,\\nChilling and killing my Annabel Lee.\\nBut our love it was stronger by far than the love\\nOf those who were older than we\\nOf many far wiser than we\\nAnd neither the angels in heaven above,\\nNor the demons down under the sea,\\nCan ever dissever my soul from the soul\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee\\nFor the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee\\nAnd the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF HIS WIFE 139\\nAnd so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side\\nOf my darling my darling my life and my bride,\\nIn the sepulcher there by the sea,\\nIn her tomb by the sounding sea.\\nThe passage,\\nSo that her high-born kinsmen came\\nAnd bore her away from me,\\nTo shut her up in a sepulcher\\nIn this kingdom by the sea,\\nis a very beautiful expression of his feeling that his\\nchild-wife was kin to the angels who bore her away\\nfrom him.\\nAfter this sad event, Poe was dangerously ill, so ill,\\nindeed, that his life was despaired of. He recovered,\\nhowever, but was never the same man afterwards. He\\nyielded more and more to the habit of drink. On one\\nof his sensitive temperament, one glass of wine had the\\nsame effect as several glasses on an ordinary man. In\\na letter to a friend written a year after his wife s death,\\nhe writes\\nYou say, Can you hint to me what was the terrible evil\\nwhich caused the irregularities 1 so profoundly lamented? 1\\nYes, I can do more than hint. This evil was the greatest\\nwhich can befall a man. Six years ago, a wife, whom I loved\\nas no man ever loved before, ruptured a blood-vessel in singing.\\nHer life was despaired of. I took leave of her forever, and\\nunderwent all the agonies of her death. She recovered partially,\\nand I again hoped. At the end of a year, the vessel broke again.\\nI went through precisely the same scene. Then again\\nagain and even once again, at varying intervals. Each time\\nI felt all the agonies of her death and at each accession of the\\ndisorder I loved her more dearly and clung to her life with more", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "140 EDGAK ALLAN POE\\ndesperate pertinacity. But I am constitutionally sensitive\\nnervous in a very unusual degree. I became insane, with long\\nintervals of horrible sanity. During these fits of absolute un-\\nconsciousness, I drank God only knows how often or how\\nmuch. As a matter of course, my enemies referred the insanity\\nto the drink, rather than the drink to the insanity. I had, indeed,\\nnearly abandoned all hojje of a permanent cure, when I found\\none in the death of my wife. This I can and do endure as be-\\ncomes a man. It was the horrible never-ending oscillation\\nbetween hope and despair which I could not longer have endured,\\nwithout total loss of reason. In the death of what was my life,\\nthen, I receive a new, but Oh God! how melancholy an\\nexistence.\\nDuring the three years following his wife s death, he\\nlived almost as one in a dream. Mrs. Clemm was de-\\nvoted to him to the last. His poem To My Mother, is\\na touching expression of his love for her and his appre-\\nciation of her love and devotion for him.\\nTO MY MOTHER\\nBecause I feel that, in the Heavens above,\\nThe angels, whispering to one another,\\nCan find, among their burning terms of love,\\nNone so devotional as that of Mother,\\nTherefore by that clear name I long have called you\\nYou who are more than mother unto me,\\nAnd fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,\\nIn setting my Virginia s spirit free.\\nMy mother my own mother, who died early,\\nWas but the mother of myself but you\\nAre mother to the one I loved so dearly,\\nAnd thus are dearer, than the mother I knew\\nBy that infinity with which my wife\\nWas dearer to my soul than its soul-life.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "THE BELLS 141\\nPoe wrote more or less for the magazines, but nothing\\nof great importance. His best work had been clone.\\nHe also lectured several times on poetry with some\\nsuccess, for he had a good presence, a strong and sweet\\nvoice, and recited the poems that he used as illustra-\\ntions in an impressive and most effective manner.\\nAn interesting story is connected with the writing of\\nThe Bells, which was composed during this period. It\\nwas early in the summer that he called one day on a\\nfriend, Mrs. Shew, and complained that he had to write\\na poem, but felt no inspiration. She persuaded him to\\ndrink some tea in a conservatory whose open windows\\nadmitted the sound of church bells, and gave him some\\npaper, which he declined, saying, I so dislike the noise\\nof bells to-night, I cannot write. I have no subject\\nI am exhausted. Mrs. Shew then wrote, The Bells,\\nby E. A. Poe, and added, The Bells, the little silver\\nbells. On the poet s finishing the stanza thus sug-\\ngested, she again wrote, The heavy iron bells, and\\nthis idea also Poe elaborated, and then copying off the\\ntwo stanzas, headed it, By Mrs. M. L. Shew, and called\\nit her poem. This original draft of the poem was after-\\nwards much lengthened and revised.\\nTHE BELLS\\nHea.r the sledges with the bells\\nSilver bells\\nWhat a world of merriment their melody foretells\\nHow they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,\\nIn the icy air of night", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "142 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nWhile the stars that oversprinkle\\nAll. the heavens, seem to twinkle\\nWith a crystalline delight\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the tintinnabnlation that so musically wells\\nFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\\nFrom the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.\\nii.\\nHear the mellow wedding bells,\\nGolden bells\\nWhat a world of happiness their harmony foretells\\nThrough the balmy air of night\\nHow they ring out their delight\\nFrom the molten-golden notes,\\nAnd all in tune,\\nWhat a liquid ditty floats\\nTo the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats\\nOn the moon\\nOh, from out the sounding cells,\\nWhat a gusli of euphony voluminously wells\\nHow it swells\\nHow it dwells\\nOn the Future how it tells\\nOf the rapture that impels\\nTo the swinging and the ringing\\nOf the bells, bells, bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\\nTo the rhyming and the chiming of the bells\\nin.\\nHear the loud alarum bells\\nBrazen bells\\nWhat a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "THE BELLS 143\\nIn the startled ear of night\\nHow they scream out their affright I\\nToo much horrified to speak,\\nThey can only shriek, shriek,\\nOut of tune,\\nIn a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,\\nIn a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,\\nLeaping higher, higher, higher,\\nWith a desperate desire,\\nAnd a resolute endeavor\\nNow now to sit or never,\\nBy the side of the pale-faced mcon.\\nOh, the bells, bells, bells\\nWhat a tale their terror tells\\nOf Despair\\nHow they clang, and clash, and roar!\\nWhat a horror they outpour\\nOn the bosom of the palpitating air\\nYet the ear it fully knows,\\nBy the twanging,\\nAnd the clanging,\\nHow the danger ebbs and flows\\nYet the ear distinctly tells,\\nIn the jangling,\\nAnd the wrangling,\\nHow the danger sinks and swells,\\nBy the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells\\nOf the bells\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells\\nIn the clamor and the clangor of the bells\\nIV.\\nHear the tolling of the bells\\nIron bells\\nWhat a world of solemn thought their monody compels", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "144 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nIn the silence of the night,\\nHow we shiver with affright\\nAt the melancholy menace of their tone\\nFor every sound that floats\\nFrom the rust within their throats\\nIs a groan.\\nAnd the people ah, the people\\nThey that dwell up in the steeple,\\nAll alone.\\nAnd who tolling, tolling, tolling,\\nIn that muffled monotone,\\nFeel a glory in so rolling\\nOn the human heart a stone\\nThey are neither man nor woman\\nThey are neither brute nor human\\nThey are Ghouls\\nAnd their king it is who tolls\\nAnd he rolls, rolls, rolls,\\nRolls\\nA pa3an from the bells\\nAnd his merry bosom swells\\nWith the paean of the bells\\nAnd he dances, and he yells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the pasan of the bells\\nOf the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the throbbing of the bells\\nOf the bells, bells, bells\\nTo the sobbing of the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nAs he knells, knells, knells,\\nIn a happy Runic rhyme,\\nTo the rolling of the bells\\nOf the bells, bells, bells", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "DEATH 145\\nTo the tolling of the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, Dells, bells\\nBells, bells, bells\\nTo the moaning and the groaning of the bells.\\nIn 1848, he became engaged to be married, but this\\nengagement was broken off. In 1849, he again be-\\ncame engaged, and the wedding was to have taken\\nplace in October. His prospects were brightening and\\nhe had gone South to deliver a lecture. On his way\\nback to New York, whence he proposed to take Mrs.\\nClemm to Richmond, where he meant to live after his\\nmarriage, he stopped in Baltimore to visit friends.\\nThe true facts of the last few days will probably\\nnever be known. The most generally accepted belief\\nis that he was captured and drugged by politicians, who\\nkept him in a stupefied condition, and made him vote\\nat several places during election day. In the afternoon\\nof that day, he was found in one of the voting places\\nalmost unconscious. One of his friends was notified\\nand he was taken to the hospital, where he lingered\\na few days, passing away on Sunday, October 7, 1849.\\nThe skies they were ashen and sober\\nThe leaves they were crisped and sere\\nThe leaves they were withering and sere\\nIt was night in the lonesome October\\nOf my most immemorial year.\\nEulalume.\\nGeorge E. Woodbury thus speaks of the poet\\nOn the roll of our literature Poe s name is inscribed with\\nthe few foremost, and in the world at large his genius is estab-\\nlished as valid among all men. An artist primarily, whose", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "146 EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nskill, helped by the finest sensitive and perceptive powers in\\nhimself, was developed by thought, patience, and endless self-\\ncorrection into a subtle deftness of hand unsurpassed in its own\\nwork, he belonged to the men of culture instead of those of origi-\\nnally perfect power. Now and then gleams of light and stretches\\nof lovely landscape shine out, but for the most part his mastery\\nwas over dismal, superstitious, and waste places. In imagina-\\ntion, as in action, his was an evil genius; and in its realms of\\nrevery he dwelt alone. Except the wife who idolized him, and\\nthe mother who cared for him, no one touched his heart in the\\nyears of his manhood, and at no time was love so strong in him\\nas to rule his life.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\n1807-1882", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "He the sweetest of all singers.\\nBeautiful and childlike was he,\\nBrave as man is, soft as woman,\\nPliant as a wand of willow,\\nStately as a deer with antlers.\\nAll the many sounds of nature\\nBorrowed sweetness from his singing\\nAll the hearts of men were softened\\nBy the pathos of his music\\nFor he sang of peace and freedom,\\nSang of beauty, love, and longing\\nSang of death, and life undying\\nIn the land of the Hereafter.\\nFor his gentleness they loved him\\nAnd the magic of his singing.\\nThe Song of Hiawatha.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nCome, read to me some poem,\\nSome simple and heartfelt lay,\\nThat shall soothe this restless feeling-,\\nAnd banish the thoughts of day.\\nNot from the grand old masters,\\nNot from the bards sublime,\\nWhose distant footsteps echo\\nThrough the corridors of time.\\nRead from some humbler poet,\\nWhose songs gush from his heart,\\nAs showers from the clouds of summer,\\nOr tears from the eyelids start.\\nThe Day Is Done.\\nHenky Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Port-\\nland, Maine, February 27, 1807, in a great, square house\\nby the sea. From his father s side, he was a descend-\\nant of a New England family whose founder, William\\nLongfellow, came from England in the latter part of\\nthe seventeenth century, and settled at Newbury, Massa-\\nchusetts. His mother, Zilpah Wadsworth, was a\\ndaughter of General Wadsworth of Revolutionary fame,\\nwhose ancestors dated back to the landing of the May-\\nflower. From both sides, therefore, Longfellow was\\n151", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "152 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\na descendant from New England families whose his-\\ntories show that they were sturdy, upright, refined and\\nintelligent, and that they lost no opportunity to show\\ntheir patriotism. His father, Stephen Longfellow, was\\na well-educated man of genial disposition and attractive\\nsocial manners. He was a graduate of Harvard Col-\\nlege, establishing there a good record as a scholar.\\nAfter leaving college, he studied law and eventually\\nbecame a very successful lawyer. He was a trustee of\\nBowdoin College from 1817 to 1836. He received\\nfrom Bowdoin the degree of Doctor of Laws. From his\\nmother, Longfellow must have inherited the imagina-\\ntive and poetic side of his character, for she was a great\\nlover of nature and was fond of poetry and music.\\nThe great, square house by the sea, where Henry\\nWadsworth Longfellow was born, belonged to his uncle,\\nCaptain Samuel Stephenson, the husband of Abigail\\nLongfellow. As Mr. Stephenson was away from home\\non account of business, the Longfellows spent the win-\\nter of 1806-7 with Mrs. Stephenson. The house is a\\nwooden building, on Front and Hancock Streets, front-\\ning the beach, and at that time, commanding a view of\\nCasco Bay with its many islands, which were the Hes-\\nperides of Longfellow s boyish dreams. In the early\\nspring of 1808, when Henry was little more than a\\nyear old, the Longfellows moved into the Wadsworth\\nhouse, now called the Longfellow mansion, on Congress\\nstreet. It was built by General Wadsworth, Long-\\nfellow s grandfather, during the years 1784-6. It was\\nan unusual -looking house for that period, differing\\nfrom the rest of the houses in the town in its architec-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "1", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "154 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nture, and in being made entirely of brick. The\\nWadsworth house when originally finished had a high\\npitched roof of two equal sides, and four chimneys.\\nThe store adjoined the house at the southeast, with an\\nentrance door from the house, and was of two stories.\\nHere the General sold all kinds of goods needed in the\\ntown and country trade. When General Wads worth\\nleft Portland, and the Longfellows moved into the\\nWads worth house, the store was removed and a brick\\nvestibule built in its stead. A third story was after-\\nward added to the house, and as thus altered, it now\\nstands.\\nLongfellow was named after his uncle, Henry Wads-\\nworth, who was a lieutenant in the American navy.\\nHe died in his country s service when a young man of\\nnineteen. Preferring death to slavery, he perished in\\nthe fire-ship Intrepid, which was blown up before Trip-\\noli, to save it from falling into the enemy s hands,\\nSeptember, 1804.\\nIn My Lost Youth Longfellow describes the town of\\nPortland as it was in the days of his childhood.\\nMY LOST YOUTH\\nOften I think of the beautiful town\\nThat is seated by the sea\\nOften in thought go up and down\\nThe pleasant streets of that dear old town,\\nAnd my youth conies back to me.\\nAnd a verse of a Lapland song\\nIs haunting my memory still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "MY LOST YOUTH 155\\nI can see the shadowy lines of its trees,\\nAnd catch, in sudden gleams,\\nThe sheen of the far- surrounding seas,\\nAnd islands that were the Ilesperides\\nOf all my boyish dreams.\\nAnd the burden of that old song,\\nIt murmurs and whispers still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11\\nI remember the black wharves and the slips,\\nAnd the sea tides tossing free\\nAnd the Spanish sailors with bearded lips,\\nAnd the beauty and mystery of the ships,\\nAnd the magic of the sea.\\nAnd the voice of that wayward song-\\nIs singing and saying still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11\\nI remember the bulwarks by the shore,\\nAnd the fort upon the hill\\nThe sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,\\nThe drumbeat repeated o er and o er,\\nAnd the bugle wild and shrill.\\nAnd the music of that old song\\nThrobs in ray memory still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.\\nI remember the sea-fight far away,\\nHow it thundered o er the tide\\nAnd the dead captains, as they lay\\nIn their graves, o erlooking the tranquil bay,\\nWhere they in battle died.\\nAnd the sound of that mournful song\\nGoes through me with a thrill\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "156 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nI can see the breezy dome of groves,\\nThe shadows of Deering s Woods\\nAnd the friendships old and the early loves\\nCome back with a sabbath sound, as of doves,\\nIn quiet neighborhoods.\\nAnd the verse of that sweet old song,\\nIt nutters and murmurs still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11\\nI remember the gleams and glooms that dart\\nAcross the schoolboy s brain\\nThe song and the silence in the heart,\\nThat in part are prophecies, and in part\\nAre longings wild and vain.\\nAnd the voice of that fitful song\\nSings on, and is never still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11\\nThere are things of which I may not speak;\\nThere are dreams that cannot die\\nThere are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,\\nAnd bring a pallor into the cheek,\\nAnd a mist before the eye.\\nAnd the words of that fatal song\\nCome over me like a chill\\nA boy s will is the wind 1 s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11\\nStrange to me now are the forms I meet\\nWhen I visit the dear old town\\nBut the native air is pure and sweet,\\nAnd the trees that o ershadow each well-known street,\\nAs they balance up and down,\\nAre singing the beautiful song,\\nAre sighing and whispering still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 11", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "158 HENIIY WADSWOKTH LONGFELLOW\\nAnd Deering s Woods are fresh and fair,\\nAnd with joy that is almost pain\\nMy heart goes back to wander there,\\nAnd among the dreams of the days that were,\\nI find my lost youth again.\\nAnd the strange and beautiful song,\\nThe groves are repeating it still\\nA boy s will is the wind s will,\\nAnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.\\nThe Spanish sailors, the bulwarks, the fort, the sun\\nrise gun and the dead captains, all refer to the war\\nof 1812, the incidents of which seem to have made a\\nlasting impression on the boy s mind. The pottery and\\nthe rope walks also keenly interested him, as the fol-\\nlowing poems show\\nTurn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and. round\\nWithout a pause, without a sound\\nSo spins the flying world away\\nThis clay, well mixed with marl and sand,\\nFollows the motion of my hand\\nFor some must follow, and some command,\\nThough all are made of clay\\nThus sang the Potter at his task\\nBeneath the blossoming haw thorn -tree,\\nWhile o er his features, like a mask,\\nThe quilted sunshine and leaf -shade\\nMoved, as the boughs above him swayed,\\nAnd clothed him, till he seemed to be\\nA figure woven in tapestry,\\nSo sumptuously was he arrayed\\nIn that magnificent attire\\nOf sable tissue flaked with fire.\\nLike a magician he appeared,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "KEKAMOS 159\\nA conjurer without book or beard\\nAnd while he plied his magic art\\nFor it was magical to me\\nI stood in silence and apart,\\nAnd wondered more and more to see\\nThat shapeless, lifeless mass of clay\\nRise up to meet the master s hand,\\nAnd now contract and now expand,\\nAnd even his slightest touch obey\\nWhile ever in a thoughtful mood\\nHe sang his ditty, and at times\\nWhistled a tune between the rhymes,\\nAs a melodious interlude.\\nTurn, turn, my wheel! All things must change\\nTo something new, to something strange\\nNothing that is can pause or stay\\nThe moon will wax, the moon will wane,\\nThe mist and cloud will turn to rain,\\nThe rain to mist and cloud again,\\nTo-morrow be to-day.\\nWhat land is this Yon pretty town\\nIs Delft, with all its wares displayed\\nThe pride, the market-place, the crown\\nAnd center of the Potter s trade.\\nSee every house and room is bright\\nWith glimmers of reflected light\\nFrom plates that on the dresser shine\\nFlagons to foam with Flemish beer,\\nOr sparkle with the Rhenish wine,\\nAnd pilgrim flasks with fleurs-de-lis,\\nAnd ships upon a rolling sea,\\nAnd tankards pewter topped, and queer\\nWith comic mask and musketeer\\nKeramos.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "160 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nTHE ROPEWALK\\nIn that building, long and low,\\nWith its windows all a-rovv,\\nLike the portholes of a hulk,\\nHuman spiders spin and spin,\\nBackward down their threads so thin\\nDropping, each a hempen bulk.\\nAt the end, an open door\\nSquares of sunshine on the floor\\nLight the long and dusky lane\\nAnd the whirring of a wheel,\\nDull and drowsy, makes me feel\\nAll its spokes are in my brain.\\nAs the spinners to the end\\nDownward go and reascend,\\nGleam the long threads in the sun\\nWhile within this brain of mine\\nCobwebs brighter and more fine\\nBy the busy wheel are spun.\\nTwo fair maidens in a swing,\\nLike white doves upon the wing,\\nFirst before my vision pass\\nLaughing, as their gentle hands\\nClosely clasp the twisted strands,\\nAt their shadow on the grass.\\nThen a booth of mountebanks,\\nWith its smell of tan and planks,\\nAnd a girl poised high in air\\nOn a cord, in spangled dress,\\nWith a faded loveliness,\\nAnd a weary look of care.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "THE ROPE WALK 161\\nThen a homestead among- farms,\\nAnd a woman with bare arms\\nDrawing water from a well\\nAs the bucket mounts apace,\\nWith it mounts her own fair face,\\nAs at some magician s spell.\\nThen an old man in a tower,\\nRinging loud the noontide hour,\\nWhile the rope coils round and round\\nLike a serpent at his feet,\\nAnd again, in swift retreat,\\nNearly lifts him from the ground.\\nThen within a prison-yard,\\nFaces fixed, and stern, and hard,\\nLaughter and indecent mirth\\nAh it is the gallows tree\\nBreath of Christian charity,\\nBlow, and sw r eep it from the earth\\nThen a schoolboy, with his kite\\nGleaming in a sky of light,\\nAnd an eager, upward look\\nSteeds pursued through lane and field\\nFowlers with their snares concealed\\nAnd an angler by a brook.\\nShips rejoicing in the breeze,\\nWrecks that float o er unknown seas,\\nAnchors dragged through faithless sand\\nSea fog drifting overhead,\\nAnd, with lessening line and lead,\\nSailors feeling for the land.\\nAll these scenes do I behold,\\nThese, and many left untold,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "162 HENKY WADSWOB-TH LONGFELLOW\\nIn that building long and low\\nWhile the wheel goes round and round,\\nAVith a drowsy, dreamy sound,\\nAnd the spinners backward go.\\nLongfellow had every opportunity to become well\\neducated. In his home there was an excellent library\\nto which he had access from his earliest childhood.\\nBeside this home library, there were the Portland\\nLibrary and a Mr. Johnson s bookstore, places which he\\nfrequently visited. He made good use of his oppor-\\ntunities, for he was always a studious child. Of this\\nearly reading, in his remarks upon Washington Irving,\\nhe says,\\nEvery reader has his first book; I mean to say, one book\\namong all others which in early youth first fascinates his ima-\\ngination, and at once excites and satisfies the desires of his\\nmind. To me, this first book was the Sketch Book of Washing-\\nton Irving. I was a schoolboy when it was published, and read\\neach succeeding number with ever increasing wonder and de-\\ncs o\\nlight, spellbound by its pleasant humor, its melancholy tender-\\nness, its atmosphere of revery, nay, even by its gray-bound\\ncovers, the shaded letters of its titles, and the fair, clear type,\\nwhich seemed an outward symbol of its style. How many\\ndelightful books the same author has given us. Yet still\\nthe charm of the Sketch Book remains unbroken the old fascina-\\ntion remains about it and whenever I open its pages, I open\\nalso that mysterious door which leads back into the haunted\\nchambers of youth.\\nOf his childish impressions, he wrote in later years\\nOut of my childhood rises in my memory the recollection of\\nmany things rather as poetic impressions than as prosaic facts.\\nSuch are the damp mornings of early spring, with the loud", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "164 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\ncrowing of cocks and cooing of pigeons on roofs of barns. Very\\ndistinct in connection with these are the indefinite lono;ino;s Inci-\\nte O\\ndent to childhood feelings of wonder and loneliness which I\\ncould not interpret and scarcely took cognizance of. But they\\nhave remained in my mind. 1\\nWhen about three years old, Longfellow went to a\\nMrs. Fellow s school. My recollection of my first\\nteacher, said the poet, many years after, are not\\nvivid but I recall that she was bent on giving me a\\nright start in life that she thought that even very\\nyoung children should be made to know the difference\\nbetween right and wrong and that severity of manner\\nwas more practical than gentleness of persuasion. She\\ninspired me with one trait, that is, a genuine respect\\nfor my elders. Longfellow remained at this school\\nonly a short time. He then went to the town school,\\nwhich he attended only two weeks. After leaving the\\ntown school, he went to a private school in charge of\\nNathaniel H. Carter. When Mr. Carter became a\\nteacher in the Portland Academy, many of his pupils\\nwent with him, and among them was Longfellow.\\nHere he was prepared for college. In later years, he\\nrelates the following incident about one of his teachers\\nI remember the schoolmaster at the Academy, and\\nthe mingled odor that hovered about him of tobacco,\\nIndia rubber and lead pencil. A nervous, excitable\\nman. When we left school, I went with a schoolmate to\\ntake leave of him and thank him for his patience with\\nus. He thought we were in jest and gave me a stern\\nlecture on good behavior and the trials of a teacher s\\nlife.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "THE BATTLE OF LOVELL S POND 165\\nDuring his vacations from school, Longfellow occa-\\nsionally would visit his grandfather Wadsworth s home\\nat Hiram. Not far from Hiram was a small lake called\\nLovewell s or Lovell s Pond. This spot was made\\nfamous by an event in New England history called\\nLovewell s Fight with the Indians. The scene and\\nincident must have made a deep impression upon his\\nboyish mind, for it was the subject of his first poem,\\nwritten when he was thirteen years old. It was printed\\nin The Portland Gazette in November, 1820.\\nTHE BATTLE OF LOVELL S POND\\nCold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast\\nThat sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast,\\nAs it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear,\\nSighs a requiem sad o er the warrior s bier.\\nThe war whoop is stilled, and the savage s yell\\nHas sunk into silence along the wild dell\\nThe din of the battle, the tumult, is o er\\nAnd the war-clarion s voice is now heard no more.\\nThe warriors that fought for their country and bled,\\nHave sunk to their rest the damjo earth is their bed\\nNo stone tells the jzdace where their ashes repose,\\nNor points out the spot from the graves of their foes.\\nThey died in their glory, surrounded by fame,\\nAnd Victory s loud trump their death did proclaim\\nThey are dead but they live in each patriot s breast,\\nAnd their names are engraven on honor s bright crest.\\nHenry.\\nWith many misgivings, the boy dropped his manu-\\nscript into the letter box of The Portland Gfazette.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "166 HENKY WADSWOJRTH LOKGFELLOW\\nThe evening before the issue of the paper, which was a\\nsemi-weekly, he went again to the office and stood\\nshivering in the November air, looking in, but not\\nhaving the courage to enter. The next morning, most\\neagerly he and his sister, the only sharer of his secret,\\nwaited for the paper. Impatiently they watched the j\\ndamp sheet as it was unfolded, dried, and read by their\\nfather. When at last they had it in their hands, the\\nyouthful poet saw his verses in print, and read and re-\\nread them with increasing satisfaction. In the evening,\\nhe visited the home of Judge Mellen, his father s friend.\\nThe conversation turned upon poetry, and the Judge J\\nremarked: Did you see the piece in to-day s paper?\\nVery stiff, remarkably stiff moreover, it is all borrowed,\\nevery word of it. This was his first, though not his\\nlast, encounter with the critic.\\nLongfellow entered Bowdoin College in September,\\n1821. His sunny and genial disposition won the love\\nand esteem of his classmates and his professors. Ac-\\ncording to the opinion of many of his associates, he was\\nquiet, retiring, well-bred, and was a model to all in char-\\nacter and manners. His rank in class was high, though\\nhe had to compete with those who, afterward, became\\nas brilliant and prominent as he in their various profes-\\nsions. Among this group of men was Nathaniel Haw-\\nthorne, who became a very close friend of his in later\\nyears. Both of them while in college were noted for]\\ntheir excellence of composition. Longfellow gave an\\nearnest and sincere attention to all departments oflj\\nstudy, but his compositions, translations, and contribu-ij\\ntions to the press, early indicated his literary ability.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "EARLY POEMS 167\\nLongfellow was graduated from Bowdoin College in\\n1825. He had the first claim to class poet, but as his\\nrank in class was so high, it was deemed best to give\\nhim an oration as the highest mark of honor. Chatter-\\nton, the boy poet of England, had made so deep an\\nimpression upon his mind that he chose his life and\\nwritings as his subject, but at his father s suggestion\\nchanged his plans and took in its stead Native Writers.\\nDuring his four years in college, Longfellow wrote\\nseveral prose sketches and quite a number of poems,\\nseventeen of which were published in The United\\nStates Literary Gazette. Some of these are his most\\nattractive poems. Of them he says,\\nThese poems were written, for the most part, during my\\ncollege life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. Some\\nhave found their way into schools, and seem to be successful\\nothers lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the corners\\nof newspapers, or have changed their names, and run away to\\nseek their fortunes beyond the sea. I say, with the Bishop of\\nAvranches on a similar occasion, I cannot be displeased to see\\nthese children of mine, which I have neglected, and almost ex-\\nposed, brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, and\\nsafely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together in a\\nmore decorous garb.\\nIn the authorized editions of his works, only a few\\nof the early poems have been retained. These are\\nfound under the heading of Earlier Poems. The two\\nfollowing poems, The Indian Hunter and The Sea-Diver,\\nare among those that have been retained. They are\\nconsidered the best of the earlier poems, and give some\\nindication of the nature and quality of his later verse.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "168 HENRY AY ADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nTHE INDIAN HUNTER\\nWhen the summer harvest was gathered in,\\nAnd the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,\\nAnd the plowshare was in its furrow left,\\nWhere the stubble land had been lately cleft,\\nAn Indian hunter, with unstrung bow,\\nLooked down where the valley lay stretched below.\\nHe was a stranger there, and all that clay\\nHad been out on the hills, a perilous way\\nBut the foot of the deer was far and fleet,\\nAnd the wolf kept aloof from the hunter s feet\\nAnd bitter feelings passed o er him then,\\nAs he stood by the populous haunts of men.\\nThe winds of autumn came over the woods,\\nAs the sun stole out from their solitudes\\nThe moss was white on the maple s trunk,\\nAnd dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk\\nAnd ripened the mellow fruit hung, and red\\nWhere the tree s withered leaves around it shed.\\nThe foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn,\\nAnd the sickle cut down the yellow corn\\nThe mower sung loud by the meadow-side,\\nWhere the mists of evening were spreading wide\\nAnd the voice of the herdsman came up the lea,\\nAnd the dance went round by the greenwood tree.\\nThen the hunter turned away from that scene,\\nAVhere the home of his fathers once had been,\\nAnd heard, by the distant and measured stroke,\\nThat the woodman hewed down the giant oak\\nAnd burning thoughts flashed over his mind\\nOf the white man s faith, and love unkind.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "THE SEA DIVER 169\\nThe moon of the harvest grew high and bright,\\nAs her golden horn pierced the cloud of white\\nA footstep was heard in the rustling brake,\\nWhere the beach overshadowed the misty lake,\\nAnd a mourning voice, and a plunge from shore,\\nAnd the hunter was seen on the hills no more.\\nWhen years had passed on, by that still lakeside,\\nThe fisher looked through the silver tide\\nAnd there, on the smooth yellow sand displayed,\\nA skeleton wasted and white was laid\\nAnd twas seen, as the waters moved deep and slow,\\nThat the hand was still grasping a hunter s bow.\\nTHE SEA-DIVER\\nMy way is on the bright blue sea,\\nMy sleep upon its rocking tide\\nAnd many an eye has followed me\\nWhere billows clasp the worn seaside.\\nMy plumage bears the crimson blush,\\nWhen ocean by the sea is kissed,\\nWhen fades the evening s purple flush,\\nMy dark wing cleaves the silver mist.\\nFull many a fathom down beneath\\nThe bright arch of the splendid deep,\\nMy ear lias heard the sea-shell breathe\\nO er living myriads in their sleep.\\nThey rested by the coral throne,\\nAnd by the pearly diadem\\nWhere the pale sea-grape had o ergrown\\nThe glorious dwellings made by them.\\nAt night, upon my storm-drenched wing,\\nI poised above a helmless bark\\nAnd soon I saw the shattered thing\\nHad passed away, and left no mark.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "170 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nAnd, when the wind and storm were done,\\nA ship, that had rode out the gale,\\nSunk down without a signal-gun\\nAnd none was left to tell the tale.\\nI saw the pomp of day depart,\\nThe cloud resign its golden crown,\\nWhen to the ocean s beating heart\\nThe sailor s wasted corse went down.\\nPeace be to those whose graves are made\\nBeneath the bright and silver sea\\nPeace that their relics there were laid\\nWith no vain pride and pageantry.\\nThat the nature of his future profession was a matter\\nwhich caused him some anxious thought while he was\\nstill in college, is shown by the following extracts from\\nletters to his father during his last years there\\nI feel very glad that I am not to be a physician, that there\\nare quite enough in the world without me. And now, as some-\\nhow or other this subject has been introduced, I am curious to\\nknow what you do intend to make of me, whether I am to study\\na profession or not; and if so, what profession. I hope your\\nideas upon this subject will agree with mine, for I have a par-\\nticular and strong prejudice for one course of life, to which you,\\nI fear, will not agree. It will not be worth while for me to\\nmention what this is, until I become more acquainted with your\\nown wishes. 1\\nI take this early opportunity to write to you, because I wish\\nto know fully your inclination in regard to the profession I am\\nto pursue when I leave college.\\nFor my part, I have already hinted to you what would best\\nplease me. I want to spend one year at Cambridge for the pur-\\npose of reading history, and of becoming familiar with the best", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "LITERARY AMBITION 171\\nauthors in polite literature whilst at the same time I. can be\\nacquiring a knowledge of the Italian language, without an ac-\\nquaintance with which I shall be shut out from one of the most\\nbeautiful departments of letters. The French I mean to under-\\nstand pretty thoroughly before I leave college. After leaving\\nCambridge, I would attach myself to some literary periodical\\npublication, by which I could maintain myself and still enjoy\\nthe advantages of reading. Now, I do not think that there is\\nanything visionary or chimerical in my plan thus far. The fact\\nis and I will not disguise it in the least, for I think I ought\\nnot the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in\\nliterature my whole soul burns most ardently for it, and every\\nearthly thought centers in it. There may be something visionary\\nin this, but I natter myself that I have prudence enough to keep\\nmy enthusiasm from defeating its own object by too great haste.\\nSurely, there never was a better opportunity offered for the\\nexertion of literary talent in our own country than is now offered.\\nTo be sure, most of our literary men thus far have not been pro-\\nfessedly so, until they have studied and entered the practice of\\nTheology, Law or Medicine. But this is evidently lost time.\\nI do believe that we ought to pay more attention to the opinion\\nof philosophers, that nothing but Nature can qualify a man for\\nknowledge. 1\\n4 Whether Nature has given me any capacity for knowledge\\nor not, she has at any rate given me a very strong predilection\\nfor literary pursuits, and I am almost confident in believing,\\nthat, if I can ever rise in the world, it must be by the exercise\\nof my talent in the wide field of literature. With such a belief,\\nI must say that I am unwilling to engage in the study of law.\\n4t Here, then, seems to be the starting point; and I think it\\nbest for me to float out into the world upon that tide and in that\\nchannel which will the soonest bring me to my destined port,\\nand not to struggle against both wind and tide, and by attempt-\\ning what is impossible lose everything.\\nFrom the general tenor of your last letter it seems to be\\nyour fixed desire that I should choose the profession ol law for", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "172 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nthe business of my life. I am very much rejoiced that you accede\\nso readily to my proposition of studying general literature for\\none year at Cambridge. My grand object in doing this will be\\nto gain as perfect a knowledge of the French and Italian lan-\\nguages as can be gained without traveling in France and Italy,\\nthough, to tell the truth, I intend to visit both before I die.\\nBut you must acknowledge the usefulness of aiming high,\\nat something which it is impossible to overshoot perhaps to\\nreach. The fact is, I have a most voracious appetite for knowl-\\nedge. To its acquisition I will sacrifice everything.\\nNothing delights me more than reading and writing. And\\nnothing could induce me to relinquish the pleasures of literature,\\nlittle as I have yet tasted them. Of the three professions I\\nshould much prefer the law. I am far from being a fluent\\nspeaker, but practice must serve as a talisman where talent is\\nwanting. I can be a lawyer. This will support my real exist-\\nence, literature an ideal one. 11\\nIt will be seen from these letters that Longfellow s\\nplans were to spend a year at Harvard College, Cam-\\nbridge. His hope was that it would open the way to\\nthe pursuit of a literary career, but if not, then the study\\nand practice of law would be followed. However, his\\nfuture profession was finally settled for him in 1825 by\\nthe appointment as professor of modern languages and\\nliterature at Bowdoin College. He was then but nine-\\nteen years old, and had been out of college only six\\nmonths. It is said that his appointment was the direct\\nresult of his very fine translation, while in college, of\\none of Horace s odes. When the chair was established\\nand they were considering a fit candidate, the transla-\\ntion was recalled by Mr. Benjamin Orr, a prominent\\nlawyer of Maine, who was a lover of Horace. This\\ngentleman was a member of the board of trustees, and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "PROFESSOR AT BOWDOIN 173\\nnominated Longfellow. The appointment was received\\nwith great delight by Longfellow, for it settled the\\nquestion. of his future profession.\\nBefore entering upon his duties, Longfellow spent\\nthree years in preparatory study in Europe, visiting\\nFrance, Italy, Spain and Germany, making himself\\nthoroughly familiar with the language of each country.\\nOutre Mer, which was not published, however, until\\n1835, is a very interesting account of his travels\\nthrough these countries.\\nLongfellow began his duties at Bowcloin College in\\nSeptember, 1829, remaining there for five years. As a\\nprofessor, he was much loved by his pupils and highly\\nesteemed by his associate professors. A member of the\\nclass of 1830 writes,\\nHis manner was invariably full of that charming courtesy\\nwhich it never lacked throughout his whole life. At the same\\ntime he never forgot his position. He was always on the alert,\\nquick to hear, ready to respond. AVe were fond of him from\\nthe start his speech charmed us his earnest and dignified\\ndemeanor inspired us. A better teacher, a more sympathetic\\nfriend, never addressed a class of young men. 1\\nLongfellow entered upon his professional duties with\\nso much earnestness and enthusiasm that during this\\nperiod he wrote comparatively very little. His princi-\\npal work was a translation of a book upon the French\\nlanguage. This translation was used as a text-book,\\nnot only in Bowdoin, but in many other colleges and\\nschools. It was used for fully twenty years after its\\nfirst publication. He also contributed several essays to", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "174 HENHY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nThe North American Review, principally upon the lan-\\nguages and literature of foreign countries. In July,\\n1831, the first installment of The Schoolmaster appeared\\nin The New England Magazine. This work appeared\\nm a series of sketches at irregular intervals until 1833.\\nThe subject matter of these sketches was embodied in\\nOutre Mer.\\nIn September, 1831, Longfellow married Miss Mary\\nStorrer Potter of Portland. She was gentle, refined\\nand highly educated, being a charming woman in man-\\nner and character. The first few years of their married\\nlife were spent in Brunswick, in a house which still\\nstands amidst its elms on Federal Street. The room\\non the right of the entrance was fitted up as a study.\\nLongfellow has given us a pretty picture of it\\nJune 23. I can almost fancy myself in Spain, the morning\\nis so soft and beautiful. The tesselated shadow of the honey-\\nsuckle lies motionless upon my study floor, as if it were a figure\\nin the carpet and through the open window comes the fragrance\\nof the wild brier and the mock orange. The birds are caroling\\nin the trees, and their shadows flit across the window as they\\ndart to. and fro in the sunshine while the murmur of the bee,\\nthe cooino- of the doves from the eves, and the whirring- of a\\nlittle humming bird that has its nest in the honeysuckle, send up\\na sound of joy to meet the rising sun. 1\\nLongfellow received an invitation in December, 1834,\\nto become professor of modern languages and literature\\nat Harvard College, Cambridge, permission being given\\nhim at the same time to spend a year. or more abroad,\\nif he thought it necessary. The choice was suggested\\nby Professor Ticknor, who wished to retire from the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 175\\nposition. The invitation was a great surprise to Long-\\nfellow. He gladly accepted it, as it gave hirn a larger\\nfield of work.\\nAccompanied by his wife, he departed for Europe in\\nthe spring of 1835. His purpose, as before, was to\\nthoroughly prepare himself for his new position. He\\nvisited England and the countries of northern Europe.\\nDuring their stay at Amsterdam in October, 1835, Mrs.\\nLongfellow became seriously ill. She recovered suffi-\\nciently to travel to Rotterdam, but again became ill in\\nthat city, where she died, November 29, 1835. He has\\nimmortalized her memory in Footstejjs of Angels.\\nWhen the hours of Day are numbered,\\nAnd the voices of the Night\\nWake the better soul that slumbered,\\nTo a holy, calm delight\\nEre the evening lamps are lighted,\\nAnd, like phantoms grim and tall,\\nShadows from the fitful firelight\\nDance upon the parlor wall\\nThen the forms of the departed\\nEnter at the open door\\nThe beloved, the true-hearted,\\nCome to visit me once more\\nAnd with them the Being Beauteous,\\nWho unto my youth was given,\\nMore than all things else to love me,\\nAnd is now a saint in heaven.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "176 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nWith a slow and noiseless footstep\\nComes that messenger divine,\\nTakes the vacant chair beside me,\\nLays her gentle hand in mine.\\nAnd she sits and gazes at me\\nWith those deep and tender eyes,\\nLike the stars, so still and saintlike,\\nLooking downward from the skies.\\nFootsteps of Angels.\\nIn November, 1836, Longfellow was formally ap-\\npointed Smith professor of French and Spanish lan-\\nguages and literature, and professor of belles-lettres at\\nHarvard College. He began his duties in December,\\nholding the professorship until 1854. He performed\\nhis tasks here, and they were many and trying, with\\nthe same faithful earnestness as at Bowdoin. His pu-\\npils and associates respected and loved him. His man-\\nner was gentle and dignified, and entirely devoid of any\\ndisplay of authority or knowledge. His work proved\\nof great advantage to the college, and it also benefited\\nhim, for it brought him in contact with the literary\\nmen of the day.\\nAmong the many happy incidents of Longfellow s\\nresidence in Cambridge, was the renewal of acquaint-\\nance with his classmate, Nathaniel Hawthorne. A deep\\nand sincere friendship was formed between them, and\\neach became an enthusiastic admirer of the other s\\nworks.\\nIn the summer of 1837, Longfellow made his home\\nwith Mrs. Craigie, at the famous Craigie House. This\\nhouse was built by Colonel John Vassal in 1759. As", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "LONGFELLOW S HOME\\n177\\nColonel Vassal remained loyal to England during the\\nRevolution, the house and grounds were confiscated to\\nthe State. It afterward passed into other hands, having\\nseveral owners before it became the property of Long-\\nfellow. The history of the house is interesting and\\nremarkable because of the number of noted persons\\nwho have resided there, or have been guests for longer\\nCRAIGIE HOUSE, CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS\\nor shorter periods. General Washington used it for a\\ntime as his headquarters during the Revolution. In\\n1793, Doctor Andrew Craigie purchased the mansion.\\nTwo of his notable guests were Talleyrand, the great\\nFrench statesman, and the Duke of Kent, the father of\\nQueen Victoria. Doctor Craigie lived very extrava-\\ngantly, and, before his death, was forced to part with", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "178 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nall but eight acres of the originally large estate. After\\nhis death, Mrs. Craigie rented the rooms of the house\\nto students and professors of Harvard as a means of\\nsupporting herself. When Longfellow applied to Mrs.\\nCraigie for a room, she assigned to him the southeast\\ncorner room on the second story, which was the one\\nthat had been occupied by General Washington. The\\nroom was in the front of the house, and commanded a\\nview over the meadows to the Charles river. In the\\npages of Hyperion, he writes thus of his pleasant sur-\\nroundings\\nI sit here at my pleasant chamber-window, and enjoy the\\nbalmy air of a bright summer morning, and watch the motions\\nof the golden robin that sits on its swinging nest on the outer-\\nmost pendulous branch of yonder elm. The broad meadows\\nand the steel-blue river remind me of the meadows of Unterseen\\nand the river Aar, and beyond them rise magnificent snow-white\\nclouds piled up like Alps. Thus the shades of Washington and\\nWilliam Tell seem to walk together in these Elysian Fields for\\nit was here, that, in days long gone, our great patriot dwelt;\\nand yonder clouds so much resemble the snowy Alps that they\\nremind. me irresistibly of the Swiss, noble example of a high pur-\\npose and a fixed w r ill.\\nNothing can be more lovely than these summer mornings,\\nnor the southern window at which I sit and write, in this old\\nmansion which is like an Italian villa; but oh, this lassitude,\\nthis weariness, when all around me is so bright I have this\\nmorning- a, singular longing for flowers, a wish to stroll among;\\nthe roses and carnations, and inhale their breath as if it would\\nrevive me. I wish I knew the man who called the flowers the\\nfugitive poetry of Nature. 1 From this distance, from these\\nscholastic shades, from this leafy, blossoming and beautiful\\nCambridge, I stretch forth my hand to grasp his, as the hand of", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "TO THE llIvEB CHARLES 179\\na poet. Yes this morning I would rather stroll with him\\namong the gay flowers than sit here and write. 1\\nHis poem, To the River Charles, has immortalized\\nthe river for all time.\\nRiver that in silence windest\\nThrough the meadows, bright and free,\\nTill at length thy rest thou findest\\nIn the bosom of the sea\\nFour long years of mingled feeling,\\nHalf in rest, and half in strife,\\n1 have seen thy waters stealing\\nOnward, like the stream of life.\\nThou hast taught me, Silent River!\\nMany a lesson, deep and strong;\\nThou hast been a generous giver\\nI can give thee but a song.\\nOft in sadness and in illness,\\nI have watched thy current glide,\\nTill the beauty of its stillness\\nOverflowed me, like a tide.\\nAnd in better hours and brighter,\\nWhen I saw thy waters gleam,\\nI have felt my heart beat lighter,\\nAnd leap onward with thy stream.\\nTo the Biver Charles.\\nIn 1839, Longfellow published Hyperion, A Romance.\\nIt really is an account of his second trip to Europe,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "180 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\ndwelling especially on his journeying along the Rhine\\nin southern Germany. The inscription on the eastern\\nwall of the little chapel of St. Gilgen suggested the\\nromance to him, and in fact became the motto of his\\nlife. It reads,\\nLook not mournfully into the past. It comes\\nNot back again. Wisely improve the present.\\nIt is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy\\nFuture without fear, and with a manly heart.\\nHyperion became very popular, and by 1857, about\\nfifteen thousand copies had been sold in America. It\\ndid a great deal toward attracting the attention of\\nAmerican readers to the wealth and beauty of German\\nliterature.\\nIn the autumn of 1839, Longfellow published his\\nfirst volume of poems, entitled Voices of the Night. It\\nincluded five of his earlier pieces which had appeared\\nin The United States Literary Grazette, twenty-three\\ntranslations, some of which had appeared in The Knick-\\nerbocker, or in The North American Review, and eight\\nother poems, six of which had appeared in The Knicker-\\nbocker also a poetic prelude. Among the poems in this\\nvolume is the famous Psalm of Life. It first appeared\\nin The Knickerbocker in 1838. It is doubtful if any\\nother poem has appealed to so many persons of all ages\\nand all nationalities as the Psalm of Life. Several inter-\\nesting incidents are told of the helpfulness, the comfort,\\nthe hope and the inspiration that it has been to many.\\nThe poet says of it, It was written in my chamber, as\\nI sat looking out at the morning sun, admiring the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "LONGER POEMS 181\\nbeauty of God s creations and the excellence of his\\nplan. The poem was not printed until some months\\nlater, and even then with reluctance.\\nIn the autumn of 1841, appeared another volume of\\npoems called Ballads and Other Poems. This volume\\nwas considered the best collection of poems that Long-\\nfellow ever gave to the public.\\nThe poet again sailed for Europe in 1812. This\\ntime it was in search of health. He visited France,\\nEngland and Germany and returned in the autumn.\\nOn his return voyage, he wrote eight poems against\\nslavery. These were published under the title of\\nPoems on Slavery.\\nOn July 13, 1843, Longfellow married Miss Frances\\nElizabeth Appleton. He had first made her acquaint-\\nance while traveling in Europe in 1836. She was the\\nMary Ashburton of his Hyperion. The following year\\nMr. Appleton purchased the Craigie estate and pre-\\nsented it to his daughter, to be the future home of\\nherself and husband.\\nOf Longfellow s longer poems, published during the\\nyears of 1843-58, those that attracted almost universal\\nattention, and became general favorites, are The Spanish\\nStudent, Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie, The Sony of\\nHiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish, and The\\nBuilding of the Ship, which appeared in the volume of\\npoems called The Seaside and the Fireside.\\nHis drama, The Spanish Student, was published\\nshortly after his return from Europe. The Serenade\\nin it is very beautiful, and has been set to music by\\nseveral great composers. It begins", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "182 HENKY AVALVS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nStars of the summer night!\\nFar in yon azure deeps,\\nHide, hide your golden light!\\nShe sleeps\\nMy lady sleeps\\nSleeps! 1\\nEvangeline is a beautiful and pathetic story based\\nupon the historical facts of the expulsion of the Aca-\\ndians from Nova Scotia. In A Fable for Critics, Lowell\\nsays of it:\\nThat rare, tender, virgin-like pastoral Evangeline,\\nThat s not aneient nor modern, its place is apart\\nWhere time has no sway, in the realm of pure Art,\\nTis a shrine of retreat from Earth s hubbub and strife\\nAs quiet and chaste as the authors own life.\\nThe Building of the Ship is, perhaps, the most power-\\nful and eloquent of all of Longfellow s poems. It\\nappeared at a most critical period in the political history\\nof our country. Without doubt the eloquent patriotism\\nof the following lines appealed to all\\nThou, too, sail on, O Ship of State\\nSail on, O UNION, strong and great\\nHumanity with all its fears,\\nWith all the hopes of future years,\\nIs hanging breathless on thy fate\\nWe know what Master laid thy keel,\\nWhat Workman wrought thy ribs of steel,\\nWho made each mast, and sail, and rope,\\nWhat anvils rang, what hammers beat,\\nIn what a forge, and what a heat\\nWere shaped the anchors of thy hope\\nFear not each sudden sound and shock.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF MRS. LONGFELLOW 183\\nT is of the wave and not the rock\\nT is but the flapping of the sail,\\nAnd not a rent made by the gale\\nIn spite of rock and tempest s roar,\\nIn spite of false lights on the shore,\\nSail on, nor fear to breast the sea\\nOur hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,\\nOur hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,\\nOur faith triumphant o er our fears,\\nAre all with thee, are all with thee\\nThe Building of the Ship.\\nThe popularity of The Song of Hiawatha was re-\\nmarkable both here and in Europe. Its unusual subject,\\nthe peculiar meter in which it is written, and the charm\\nof the whole poem attracted universal attention.\\nThe Courtship of Miles Standish, a story of the early\\nPuritan days, became another general favorite.\\nAt Commencement in 185-1, Longfellow resigned his\\nposition as professor at Harvard College, much to the\\nregret of his pupils and the members of the faculty.\\nHe did not leave, however, Avithout providing a suc-\\ncessor. At his suggestion, James Russell Lowell was\\nappointed. After his resignation from Harvard, Long-\\nfellow devoted all his time to literature.\\nOn Tuesday, July 9, 1861, Mrs. Longfellow, while\\nmaking seals for the amusement of her youngest chil-\\ndren, was fatally burned, her dress catching fire from a\\npiece of burning wax. Though her husband hastened\\nto her rescue, and the best medical aid was summoned,\\nshe died the following day. The poet was too severely\\ninjured in trying to subdue the flames to be able to\\nattend the funeral.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "184 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nLongfellow never recovered from the shock of this\\ngreat sorrow. He became rapidly old, though he bore\\nhis grief with manly reticence, never speaking of it\\neven to his intimate friends. This second marriage,\\nlasting for nearly twenty years, had been a period of\\ncomplete happiness. During it, five children had been\\nborn to him, two sons and three daughters.\\nLongfellow devoted twenty-five years to the transla-\\ntion of the Divina Commedia by Dante, translating it\\nline by line. For many years, a few moments only in\\nthe early, morning, while he was standing at his desk\\nwaiting for his coffee to boil, was all the time he gave\\nto it. After the tragic death of his wife, he turned\\nto the work for solace. When it was published in\\n1867, it was pronounced by all scholars at home and\\nabroad as the best translation of the poem.\\nIn May, 1868, Longfellow made his fourth visit to\\nEurope, remaining a little more than a year. On June\\n16, 1868, the university of Cambridge conferred upon\\nhim the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws, amidst\\ngreat enthusiasm from students and guests. In Juty,\\n1869, the university of Oxford honored him with the\\ndegree of Doctor of Civil Law. While in England in*\\nthe summer of 1868, he visited Windsor Castle and\\nhad an interview with Queen Victoria. After he left,\\nthe queen paid the poet the following tribute\\nThe American poet, Longfellow, has been here. T noticed\\nan unusual interest among the attendants and servants. I could\\nscarcely credit that they so generally understood who he was.\\nWhen he took leave, they concealed themselves in places from\\nwhich they could get a good look at him as lie passed. I have", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 185\\nsince inquired among them, and am surprised and pleased to\\nfind that many of his poems are familiar to them. No other\\ndistinguished person has come here that has excited so peculiar\\nan interest. Such poets wear a crown that is imperisllable.\\nIn Ballads and other Poems, The Village Blacksmith\\nappeared. It begins,\\nUnder a spreading chestnut tree\\nThe village smithy stands\\nThe smith, a mighty man is he,\\nWith large and sinewy hands\\nAnd the muscles of his brawny arms\\nAre strong as iron bands. 1\\nThis village smithy under the spreading chest-\\nnut tree stood many years ago on Brattle street,\\nCambridge. The tree was eventually cut down and\\na dwelling house erected upon its site. From it was\\nmade the armchair which was given to Longfellow on\\nhis seventy-second birthday, February 27, 1879, by the\\nchildren of Cambridge. Around the seat in raised\\nGerman text are the lines\\nAnd children coming home from school\\nLook in at the open door\\nThey love to see the flaming forge,\\nAnd hear the bellows roar,\\nAnd catch the burning sparks .that fly\\nLike chaff from a threshing-floor.\\nThe beautiful poem, From My Armchair, was the\\npoet s response to the gift. The last verses are,\\nAnd thus, dear children, have ye made for me\\nThis day a jubilee,\\nAnd to my more than threescore years and ten\\nBrought back my youth again.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "186 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW\\nThe heart hath its own memory, like the mind,\\nAnd in it are enshrined\\nThe precious keepsakes, into which is wrought\\nThe giver s loving thought.\\nOnly your love and your remembrance could\\nGive life to this dead wood,\\nAnd make these branches, leafless now so long,\\nBlossom again in song.\\nThe poet s last volume of poems was Ultima Thule,\\npublished in 1880. His last public appearance occurred\\nin December of that year, at the celebration of the two\\nhundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of\\nCambridge. A thousand grammar school children were\\namong the audience, and the poet gave his autograph\\nto every one of them who wished it.\\nIn the summer of 1881, it became apparent to all\\nthat Longfellow s health was failing. During the fol-\\nlowing year he was frequently ill. On March 18, 1882,\\nhe received his last visitors, two Boston boys, who had\\ncome to visit the poet and to see the Craigie House.\\nAfter his young guests had gone, he became seriously\\nill. He died March 24, 1882, and he was buried in\\nMount Auburn Cemetery. England has honored his\\nmemory by placing a bust in the Poets Corner in West-\\nminster Abbey.\\nAn evidence of the popularity of Longfellow s poems\\nis the fact that they have been translated, wholly or in\\npart, into German, Dutch, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish,\\nItalian, Portuguese, Spanish, Polish, Russian, Hebrew,\\nChinese, Japanese and Sanskrit.\\nIn order to appreciate the literary services which Long-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "THE POET S SERVICE TO LITERATURE 187\\nfellow rendered to this country, we must consider the\\ncondition of American literature in 1825. The fact is\\nthat a national literature hardly existed at that period.\\nWashington Irving was the only American writer who\\nhad won any reputation at home and abroad. Cooper\\nwas just gaining a little attention, William Cullen Bry-\\nant was known to only a few, and Whittier, Holmes,\\nEmerson, Hawthorne and Poe were still unknown.\\nThere were but few literary magazines, and their exis-\\ntence was uncertain and short-lived. The publishing\\nhouses were few and small, and published principally\\nreprints of English works. It will thus be seen that\\nAmerican life was strangely prosaic and before it\\ncould feel the glow of its own poetry it must know\\nsomething of the poetry of the past. This was Long-\\nfellow s first service to his countrymen. He was a\\n1 mediator between the old and the new he translated\\nI the romance of the past into the language of universal\\nj life. Out of the closed volumes he gathered flowers\\nthat lay pressed and dead and odorless he breathed into\\nthem the breath of life, and they bloomed and were\\nfragrant again. He came to the past as the south winds\\ncome to the woods in the spring and the trees put on\\ntheir leaves, and the earth its mosses, and the dell its\\nwild-flowers to greet him.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\n1807-1892", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "He loved his friends, forgave his foes\\nAnd, if his words were harsh at times.\\nHe spared his f ellowmen, his blows\\nFell only on their crimes.\\nHe loved the good and wise, but found\\nHis human heart to all akin\\nWho met him on the common ground\\nOf suffering and of sin.\\nHis eye was beauty s powerless slave,\\nAnd his the ear which discord pains\\nFew guessed beneath his aspect grave\\nWhat passions strove in chains.\\nHe worshiped as his fathers did,\\nAnd kept the faith of childish days,\\nAnd, howsoe er he strayed or slid,\\nHe loved the good old ways.\\nBut still his heart was full of awe\\nAnd reverence for all sacred things\\nAnd, brooding over form and law,\\nHe saw the Spirit s wings.\\nMy Namesake.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nI know not what the future hath\\nOf marvel or surprise,\\nAssured alone that life and death\\nHis mercy underlies.\\nAnd if my heart and flesh are weak\\nTo bear an untried pain,\\nThe bruised reed he will not break,\\nBut strengthen and sustain.\\nThe Eternal Goodness.\\nDoes it not seem strange that a farmer s son, living\\nin a lonely valley, shnt in from the onter world of cul-\\nture and learning, with only the hills, the trees and the\\nsky for his teachers, should become one of our great\\npoets? Yet such was the case with John Greenleaf\\nWhittier. Brought up on a farm in the lonely country,\\nnear no center of culture, having no advantages of edu-\\ncation, in an austere household where denial of pleasure\\nand obedience to duty was the law of his boyhood, with\\nonly the Bible for his reading for many years, yet he\\nbecame the poet of New England and a foremost leader\\nin the great cause of humanity, the freeing of the\\nslaves. He not only sang of the beauty of the trees,\\nthe hills and the lakeside, of the goodness and the wis-\\ndom of God, but his voice was raised in behalf of the\\n193", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "194 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nslaves, and his manhood devoted to their emancipation.\\nSurely, he well deserves all his titles, the Quaker\\nPoet, the poet of New England, the prophet bard, the\\nbard of a great historic time\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier was born December 17,\\n1807, in a lonely farmhouse in the valley of the Merri-\\nmac, about three miles northeast of Haverhill, Massa-\\nchusetts. This little town was settled in 1640, by\\ntwelve men from Newbury and Ipswich. In a poem\\nwritten in 1890 for its two hundred and fiftieth anni-\\nversary, 1640-1890, Whittier gives its history in a\\nvery interesting manner.\\nGone steepled town and cultured plain,\\nThe wilderness returns again,\\nThe drear, untrodden solitude.\\nThe gloom and mystery of the wood\\nOnce more the bear and panther prowl,\\nThe wolf repeats his hungry howl,\\nAnd, peering through his leafy screen\\nThe Indian s copper face is seen.\\nWe see, their rude-built huts beside,\\nGrave men and women anxious-eyed,\\nAnd wistful youth remembering still\\nDear homes in Ens-land s Haverhill.\\nSlow from the plow the woods withdrew,\\nSlowly each year the corn-lands grew\\nNor fire, nor frost, nor foe could kill\\nThe Saxon energy of will.\\nAnd never in the hamlet s bound\\nWas lack of sturdy manhood found,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "HAVERHILL 195\\nAnd never failed the kindred good\\nOf brave and helpful womanhood.\\nThat hamlet now a city is,\\nIts log-built huts are palaces\\nThe wood-path of the settler s cow\\nIs Traffic s crowded highway now.\\nAnd far and wide it stretches still,\\nAlong its southward sloping hill,\\nAnd overlooks on either hand\\nA rich and many-watered land.\\nAnd, gladdening all the landscape, fair\\nAs Pison was to Eden s pair,\\nOur river to its valley brings\\nThe blessings of its mountain springs.\\nHer sunsets on Kenoza fall,\\nHer autumn leaves by Saltonstall\\nNo lavished gold can richer make\\nHer opulence of hill and lake.\\nWise was the choice which led our sires\\nTo kindle here their household fires,\\nAnd share the large content of all\\nWhose lines in pleasant places fall.\\nMore dear, as years and years advance,\\nWe prize the old inheritance,\\nAnd feel, as far and wide we roam,\\nThat all we seek we leave at home.\\nHaverhill.\\nThe first Whittier to come to this country was\\nThomas Whitier, the great-great-grandfather of our\\npoet. He came to America in 1638, and settled at", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "196 JOHN GREENLEAF WH1TTIER\\nSalisbury, Massachusetts. He afterwards removed to\\nNewbury, and later to Haverhill. He was of Puritan\\nstock, but his sympathies were with the Quakers. His\\nyoungest son, Joseph, married the daughter of the\\nwell-known Quaker, John Peasley. As Whittier is\\ndescended in a direct line from this branch of the fam-\\nily, we see the reason for his being a Quaker, though\\nthe Whittiers were originally Puritans. Whittier s\\ngrandfather married Sarah Greenleaf after whom the\\npoet was named. He writes of her in a little poem\\ncalled The Home Coming of the Bride.\\nSarah Greenleaf, of eighteen years,\\nStepped lightly her bridegroom s boat within,\\nWaving mid-river, through smiles and tears,\\nA farewell back to her kith and kin.\\nWith her sweet blue eyes and her new gold gown,\\nShe sat by her stalwart lover s side\\nOh, never was brought to Haverhill town\\nBy land or water so fair a bride.\\nGlad as the glad autumnal weather,\\nThe Indian summer so soft and warm,\\nThey walked through the golden woods together,\\nHis arm the girdle about her form.\\nThe Home Coming of the Bride.\\nWhittier s father married Abigail Hussey. The\\nHusseys were English. So much of the history of his\\nancestors is necessary to show the stock from which he\\nwas descended, for he was one of those who resisted\\noppression and wrong, and fought heroically for truth.\\nThe Quaker influence is shown in his sincerity, self-\\nabnegation and spiritual-mindedness.*", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "198 JOHN G KEEN LEAF WHITTIEE\\nThe house in which our poet was born was built\\nabout 1688, by his great-great-grandfather, and remains\\nabout the same as when built. It is more open to view\\nfrom the main road than it was when Whittier was\\nborn, the woods about it having been extensively\\ncleared. The house, which is small and plain, was\\nformerly two stories in front, and sloped down to one\\nstory in the back. This latter portion was raised and\\nthe dwelling otherwise improved by the poet s father\\nin 1801. Since then, there has been some repairing\\ndone which gives the old house a modern look, but\\nmuch of the original carpentry may be seen in the iron\\ndoor handles, latches and hinges, made more than two\\ncenturies ago. The front door opens into a small entry,\\nfrom which a steep, narrow staircase leads to the rooms\\nabove. On the left is the room where Whittier was\\nborn, and on the right, the parlor where he wrote. The\\nsmall room above is the one he occupied when a boy.\\nA flight of stairs leads up to it from the kitchen. It is\\nthis room he refers to in Snow-Bound, in the lines,\\nWithin our beds awhile we heard\\nThe wind that round the gables roared,\\nWith now and then a ruder shock,\\nWhich made our very bedsteads rock.\\nWe heard the loosened clapboards tost,\\nThe board-nails snapping in the frost;\\nAnd on us, through the unplastered wall,\\nFelt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.\\nSnow-Bound.\\nBack of the house is the old orchard, and near it was!\\nthe barn. Near the orchard rises a clump of oaks-\\nil\\nI\\n1", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "THE OLD HOMESTEAD 199\\nwhere the Whittiers for many generations were buried.\\nThe modern barn and other farm buildings are across\\nthe road, opposite the house. A short distance along\\nthe road is the Whittier elm. This elm is centuries\\nold. It is eighteen feet in diameter at the smallest\\npoint, and casts a shadow at noon of one hundred feet\\nin diameter. Beyond that is the old Garrison house,\\na place of refuge from the Indians, which the poet\\ndescribes in The Boy Captives.\\nThe house faces the south, and between it and the\\nroad rises a grassy knoll at the foot of which flows the\\nlittle brook mentioned in Snoiv-Bound and also in The\\nBarefoot Boy.\\nLaughed the brook for my delight\\nThrough the day and through the night,\\nWhispering at the garden wall,\\nTalked with me from fall to fall.\\nThe Barefoot Boy.\\nWe minded that the sharpest ear\\nThe buried brooklet could not hear,\\nThe -music of whose liquid lip\\nHad been to us companionship,\\nAnd, in our lonely life, had grown\\nTo have an almost human tone.\\nSnow-Bound.\\nOne of the pleasures of his boyhood was to go fishing\\nin this little brook with his brother and uncle Moses.\\nOn this grassy slope was once a garden, and to the left\\na tall well-sweep. It is now replaced by a pump. We\\nget a glimpse of all this in his Telling the Bees.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "200 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nJob s Hill, a knoll about three hundred feet high, is\\nnot far distant from the farm. It was a favorite resort\\nof the boys and the cattle on the hot summer afternoons.\\nAmong the cattle were two oxen, Buck and Old Butler,\\nwhich were great pets of the boys. They would sit on\\nthe heads of the oxen as they lay in the grass, and rest\\ntheir arms on the oxen s horns as though they were arm-\\nchairs. A story is told of how Old Butler saved Whit-\\ntier s life at the risk of his own. One day, he was\\nbringing some salt for the oxen. Old Butler espied him,\\nand knowing what he had, started toward him with\\nlong strides down the hillside. The earth was loose and\\nthe incline very great. The ox was coming rapidly upon\\nthe boy, and he could not stop himself. He would have\\ncrushed him to death, but with a presence of mind that\\nwas almost human, he leaped into the air over Whit-\\ntier s head, landing far below, but without injury.\\nOn the road from Haverhill to the Whittier farm,\\nabout a mile from the honse, is Kenoza lake, formerly\\ncalled Great Pond. In 1859, the shores were improved\\nfor a park, and at its opening Whittier read the poem\\nwhich gave to it the Indian name of Kenoza, meaning\\npickerel.\\nLake of the pickerel let no more\\nThe echoes answer back, Great Pond,\\nBut sweet Kenoza, from thy shore\\nAnd watching hills beyond,\\nLet Indian ghosts, if such there be\\nWho ply unseen their shadowy lines,\\nCall back the ancient name to thee,\\nAs with the voice of pines.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "SNOAV-BOUND 201\\nThe shores we trod as barefoot boys,\\nThe nutted woods we wandered through,\\nTo friendship, love, and social joys\\nWe consecrate anew.\\nIn sunny South and prairied West\\nAre exiled hearts remembering- still,\\nAs bees their hive, as birds their nest,\\nThe homes of Haverhill.\\nLong be it ere the tide of trade\\nShall break with harsh resounding din\\nThe quiet of thy banks of shade,\\nAnd hills that fold thee in.\\nStill let thy woodlands hide the hare,\\nThe shy loon sound his trumpet-note,\\nWind-weary from his fields of air,\\nThe wild goose on thee float.\\nKenoza Lake.\\nThe home circle consisted of father and mother, uncle\\nMoses, his father s brother, aunt Mercy, his mother s\\nsister, his sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, and his brother,\\nMatthew Franklin. In Snow-Bound, the poet gives a\\nbeautiful picture of this home of his boyhood, portray-\\ning with tender, loving words each member of the fire-\\nside group.\\nShut in from all the world without,\\nWe sat the clean-winged hearth about,\\nContent to let the north wind roar\\nIn baffled rage at pane and door,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "202 JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIEE\\nWhile the red logs before us beat\\nThe frost-line back with tropic heat\\nAnd ever, when a louder blast\\nShook beam and rafter as it passed,\\nThe merrier up its roaring- draught\\nThe great throat of the chimney laughed.\\nWe sped the time with stories old,\\nWrought puzzles out, and riddles told.\\nOur mother, while she turned her wheel\\nOr run the new-knit stocking heel,\\nTold how the Indian hordes came down\\nAt midnight on Cocheco town,\\nAnd how her own great-uncle bore\\nHis cruel scalp mark to fourscore.\\nRecalling, in her fitting phrase,\\nSo rich and picturesque and free,\\n(The common unrhymed poetry\\nOf simple life and country ways,)\\nThe story of her early days.\\nOur uncle, innocent of books,\\nWas rich in lore of fields and brooks,\\nThe ancient teachers never dumb\\nOf Nature s unhoused lyceum.\\nIn moons and tides and weather wise,\\nHe read the clouds as prophecies,\\nAnd foul or fair could well divine,\\nBy many an occult hint and sign,\\nHolding the cunning-warded keys\\nTo all the woodcraft mysteries\\nHimself to Nature s heart so near\\nThat all her voices in his ear\\nOf beast or bird had meaning clear.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "204 JOHN GliEENLEAF WHITT1EH\\nNext, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer\\nAnd voice in dreams I see and hear,\\nThe sweetest woman ever Fate\\nPerverse denied a household mate,\\nWho, lonely, homeless, not the less\\nFound peace in love s unselfishness,\\nAnd welcome wheresoe er she went,\\nA calm and gracious element,\\nWhose presence seemed the sweet income\\nAnd womanly atmosphere of home.\\nThere, too, our elder sister plied\\nHer evening task the stand beside\\nA full, rich nature, free to trust,\\nTruthful and almost sternry just,\\nImpulsive, earnest, prompt to act,\\nAnd make her generous thought a fact,\\nKeeping with many a light disguise\\nThe secret of self-sacrifice.\\nAs one who held herself a part\\nOf all she saw, and let her heart\\nAgainst the household bosom lean,\\nUpon the motley braided mat\\nOur youngest and our dearest sat,\\nLifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,\\nNow bathed in the unfading green\\nAnd holy peace of paradise.\\nBrisk wielder of the birch and rule,\\nThe master of the district school\\nHeld at the fire his favored place,\\nIts w r arm glow lit a laughing face\\nFresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared\\nThe uncertain prophecy of beard.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "ANECDOTES 205\\nHe teased the mitten-blinded cat,\\nPlayed cross-pins on my uncle s hat,\\nSang songs, and told us what befalls\\nIn classic Dartmouth s college halls.\\nSo days went on a week had passed\\nSince the great world was heard from last.\\nThe Almanac we studied o er,\\nRead and reread our little store\\nOf books and pamphlets, scarce a score.\\nAt last the floundering carrier bore\\nThe village paper to our door.\\nLo broadening outward as we read,\\nTo warmer zones the horizon spread,\\nIn panoramic length unrolled\\nWe saw the marvels that it told.\\nWe felt the stir of hall and street,\\nThe pulse of life that round us beat.\\nThe chill embargo of the snow\\nWas melted in the genial glow\\nWide swung again our ice-locked door,\\nAnd all the world was ours once more\\nSnow-Bound.\\nVery few anecdotes of Whittier s boyhood have\\nbeen preserved. In later years he himself related the\\nfollowing incident to a friend.\\nWhen he was nine years old, President Monroe\\nvisited Haverhill, and on the same day a circns pitched\\nits tents in the town. Whittier was not allowed to be\\npresent at either event. He did not care so much\\nabout the circus, but was bitterly disappointed at not", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "206 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nseeing the president. The next day he trudged to\\nHaverhill, determined to see at least the footprints of\\nthe great man. In the circus parade, there was an ele-\\nphant whose footprints were plainly visible in the road\\nover which the procession had passed. When Whittier\\ncame to these, he was at once convinced that they\\nmust be the footprints of President Monroe, the great-\\nest man in America, and he reverently followed them\\nas far as they could be traced.\\nOne of his childish fears was of a gander, the leader\\nof a flock of geese that he and. his father met every\\ntime they went on a certain journey. In going up hill,\\nthe boy and his father would get out of the wagon and\\nwalk. The gander would take this opportunity to run\\nafter them, hissing and flapping his wings in a most\\nalarming manner. This used to frighten Whittier very\\nmuch, and he would have been glad to be safe in the\\nwagon, but he did not like to admit that he was afraid.\\nThis stage of the journey was always greatly dreaded\\nby him.\\nAnother experience of fear was with the Country\\nBridge Ghost. This was a headless spirit which was\\nsupposed to haunt the Country Bridge. Upon being\\ndared by some of his playmates to run across this bridge\\nafter sundown, Whittier promised not only to cross it,\\nbut to call for the ghost to come forth. He kept his\\npromise, but when he approached the bridge fear over-\\ncame his brave resolutions, and, although he called\\nloudly for the ghost, he ran so fast he never knew\\nwhether it answered his summons or not.\\nWhittier went to school when he was seven years", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 207\\nold. He had very little opportunity, however, for an\\neducation, as the school term only lasted during the\\nthree winter months and there was usually a new mas-\\nter every term. At one time, the school was kept in a\\nprivate house, while the school-building was undergoing\\nrepairs. The schoolmaster, who became his lifelong\\nfriend, was Joshua Coffin. He tells us of this teacher\\nand these school days in his poem, To My Old School-\\nmaster.\\nOld friend, kind friend lightly down\\nDrop time s snow-flakes on thy crown\\nNever be thy shadow less,\\nNever fail thy cheerfulness.\\nI, the urchin unto whom,\\nIn that smoked and dingy room,\\nWhere the district gave thee rule\\nO er its ragged winter school,\\nThou didst teach the mysteries\\nOf those weary A B C s,\\nWhere, to fill the every pause\\nOf thy wise and learned saws,\\nThrough the cracked and crazy wall\\nCame the cradle-rock and squall,\\nAnd the goodman s voice, at strife\\nWith his shrill and tipsy wife,\\nLuring us by stories old,\\nWith a comic unction told,\\nMore than by the eloquence\\nOf terse birchen arguments\\n(Doubtful gain, I fear), to look\\nWith complacence on a book", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "208 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nI, the man of middle years,\\nIn whose sable locks appears\\nMany a warning fleck of gray,\\nLooking back to that far day,\\nAnd thy primal lessons, feel\\nGrateful smiles my lips unseal,\\nAs, remembering thee, I blend\\nOlden teacher, present friend.\\nTo My Old Schoolmaster.\\nThe site of the old schoolhouse where Whittier at-\\ntended school is marked by a wooden slab on a tall post\\nset back from the roadside. On it is written, Here\\nWhittier went to school. The following description\\nof the schoolhouse is taken from In School Days\\nStill sits the schoolhouse by the road\\nA ragged beggar sleeping\\nAround it still the sumachs grow,\\nAnd blackberry -vines are creeping.\\nWithin, the master s desk is seen,\\nDeep scarred by raps official\\nThe warping floor, the battered seats,\\nThe jack-knife s carved initial\\nThe charcoal frescos on its wall\\nIts door s Worn sill, betraying\\nThe feet that, creeping slow to school,\\nWent storming out to playing\\nIn School Days.\\nIf there was little time or opportunity for education\\nat school, there was less at home, for here his reading", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "THE BAREFOOT BOY 209\\nwas still more limited. There were only twenty vol-\\numes in the house and they were nearly all journals of\\nthe pioneers of the Friends Society. His reading in\\nthose early days was mostly from the Bible. To this\\nconstant Bible reading may be attributed the accurate\\nknowledge of Bible history so apparent in his poems.\\nOther reading consisted of the almanac and the vil-\\nlage weekly newspaper.\\nHis boyhood was simple and uneventful. He at-\\ntended school when he could, worked on the farm or\\nhelped his mother in the performance of her home du-\\nties. Sometimes on Sundays, the boy would be taken\\nwith his parents to the Friends meeting-house. This\\nwas at Amesbury, about eight miles distant from the\\nfarm. The Whittiers made the journey in an old-\\nfashioned chaise, and when the boy was crowded out,\\nhe would spend the day wandering in the woods, or on\\nthe lake shore or climbing Job s Hill. In his poem,\\nThe Barefoot Boy, Whittier describes himself in those\\nearly days.\\nBlessings on thee, little man,\\nBarefoot boy, with cheek of tan\\nWith thy turned-up pantaloons,\\nAnd thy merry whistled times\\nWith thy red lip, redder still\\nKissed by strawberries on the hill\\nWith the sunshine on thy face,\\nThrough thy torn brim s jaunty grace\\nFrom my heart I give thee joy,\\nI was once a barefoot boy", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "210 JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIER\\nOh for boyhood s painless play,\\nSleep that wakes in laughing day,\\nHealth that mocks the doctor s rules,\\nKnowledge never learned of schools,\\nOf the wild bee s morning chase,\\nOf the wild-flower s time and place,\\nFlight of fowl and habitude\\nOf the tenants of the wood\\nHow the tortoise bears his shell,\\nHow the woodchuck digs his cell,\\nAnd the gronnd-mole sinks his well\\nHow the robin feeds her young,\\nHow the oriole s nest is hung\\nWhere the whitest lilies blow,\\nWhere the freshest berries grow,\\nWhere the ground-nut trails its vine,\\nWhere the wood-grape s clusters shine;\\nOf the black wasp s cunning way,\\nMason of his walls of clay,\\nAnd the architectural plans\\nOf gray hornet artisans\\nFor, eschewing books and tasks,\\nNature answers all he asks\\nHand in hand with her he walks,\\nFace to face with her he talks,\\nPart and parcel of her joy,\\nBlessings on the barefoot boy\\nAll too soon these feet must hide\\nIn the prison cells of pride,\\nLose the freedom of the sod,\\nLike a colt s for work be shod,\\nMade to tread the mills of toil,\\nUp and down in ceaseless moil\\nHappy if their track be found\\nNever on forbidden ground", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "BOYHOOD 211\\nHappy if they sink not in\\nQuick and treacherous sands of sin.\\nAh that thou couldst know thy joy,\\nEre it passes, barefoot boy\\nThe Barefoot Boy.\\nSo passed the lonely days of boyhood and youth on\\nthe farm, free from all outside disturbances and in-\\nfluences, surrounded by the beauties of nature and the\\npure moral atmosphere of his Quaker home. Very\\nlittle was heard from the outside world. Visits of\\ntraveling Friends would occasionally break the monot-\\nony of the home. Sometimes tramps would come to\\nthe house, very often receiving a kindly welcome. The\\nvisits of these beggars, or old stragglers as they were\\nthen called, were events of considerable interest in\\nthe lonely farm life. Many of them visited the farm\\nat regular intervals and became well known. In his\\nYankee Gipsies, Whittier gives an interesting account\\nof these visitors. To one, a wandering Scotchman, he\\nowes his first knowledge of the poet Burns. This man\\nafter eating his bread and cheese, and drinking his\\ncider, sang for them Bonnie Boon, Highland Mary and\\nAuld Lang Syne. The incident seems unimportant, yet\\nin the Quaker home, where music was not allowed, this\\nfirst introduction to the beautiful Scotch ballads opened\\nto the boy a new world. When he was fourteen years\\nold, his attention was again attracted to the Scotch poet.\\nHis teacher, Joshua Coffin, brought to the house a vol-\\nume of Burns s poems, from which he read, greatly to\\nthe boy s delight. Whittier borrowed the book, taught\\nhimself the dialect, and read and reread the poems.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "212 JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER\\nThis was Whittier s first knowledge of poetry, and\\nit made a lasting impression upon him. The verses\\nawakened feeling and thought before unknown. During\\nthe next few years, he tried to shape his own thoughts\\nin rhyme in imitation of Burns. These, however, were\\nnot his first efforts, for when he was a boy of seven, he\\nused to write verses instead of doing his sums. Like\\nthe plant closed within the dark cells of a seed, the\\ninnate talent was there it only needed the poetry of\\nBurns to awaken it. In his poem, Burns, he speaks of\\nthis first acquaintance with his poetry and of the older\\npoet s influence upon him, in a very beautiful manner.\\nWild heather bells and Robert Burns\\nThe moorland flower and peasant\\nHow, at their mention, memory turns\\nHer pages old and pleasant\\nThe gray sky wears again its gold\\nAnd purple of adorning,\\nAnd manhood s noonday shadows hold\\nThe dews of boyhood s mornino-.\\nI call to mind the summer day,\\nThe early harvest mowing,\\nThe sky with sun and clouds at play,\\nAnd flowers with breezes blowing.\\nHow oft that day, with fond delay,\\nI sought the maple s shadow,\\nAnd sang with Burns the hours away,\\nForgetful of the meadow", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "BURNS 213\\nSweet clay, sweet songs The golden hours\\nGrew brighter for that singing,\\nO\\nFrom brook and bird and meadow flowers\\nA dearer welcome bringing:.\\nNew light on home-seen Nature beamed,\\nNew glory over Woman\\nAnd daily life and duty seemed\\nNo longer poor and common.\\nI woke to find the simple truth\\nOf fact and feeling better\\nThan all the dreams that held my youth\\nA still repining debtor\\nWith clearer eyes I saw the worth\\nOf life among the lowly\\nThe Bible at his Cotter s hearth\\nHad made my own more holy.\\nThrough all his tuneful art, how strong\\nThe human feeling gushes\\nThe very moonlight of his song\\nIs warm with smiles and blushes\\nGive lettered pomp to teeth of Time,\\nSo Bonnie Doon but tarry\\nBlot out the Epic s stately rhyme,\\nBut spare his Highland Mary.\\nBurns.\\nDuring this period, William Lloyd Garrison, who was\\nonly three years older than Whittier, was writing for\\nthe Newburyport Herald. He was the great abolition-\\nist that awakened the national conscience to the sin of", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "214 JOHN G KEEN LEAF WHITTIER\\nslavery. In 1826, he established The Free Press, to\\nwhich the Whittier family subscribed. In this paper,\\nin 1826, appeared Whittier s first published poem, The\\nExile s Departure. The poem had been sent to the\\npaper by his sister Mary without his knowledge. One\\nsummer day, while he was mending fences with some\\nof the older members of the family, the postman came\\nalong and, taking a copy of The Free Press from the\\nsaddle-bags, threw it to them. Whittier took the\\npaper, opened it, saw his poem in the poet s corner,\\nand read his lines with delight again and again, all\\nwork being forgotten for the time. So began his career\\nas a poet.\\nShortly after the publication of this poem, while\\nworking in the fields one day, word was brought to\\nWhittier that a stranger had driven to the house and\\nhad asked for him. As visitors were very unusual, the\\nboy was much astonished. He hesitated about seeing\\nhis caller, but his sister induced him to appear. He\\nentered the house by the back door that he might dress\\nproperly before he presented himself to the stranger,\\nwho proved to be Garrison, the young and enthusiastic\\neditor of The Free Press. His sister Mary had revealed\\nthe authorship of The Exile s Departure to Garrison,\\nand he had come out to the farm on a friendly visit of\\nencouragement. This was the first meeting of the two\\nyoung men, and the beginning of that life-long friend-\\nship which had, upon Whittier at least, such a strong\\ninfluence. In a poem written some years after this\\nfirst meeting, in 1833, Whittier expresses his love for\\nGarrison.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON 215\\nI love thee with a brother s love,\\nI feel my pulses thrill,\\nTo mark thy spirit soar above\\nThe cloud of human ill.\\nMy heart hath leaped to answer thine,\\nAnd echo back thy words,\\nAs leaps the warrior s at the shine\\nAnd flash of kindred swords\\nHave I not known thee well, and read\\nThy mighty purpose long\\nAnd watched the trials which have made\\nThy human spirit strong\\nAnd shall the slanderer s demon breath\\nAvail with one like me,\\nTo dim the sunshine of my faith\\nAnd earnest trust in thee\\nTo William Lloyd Garrison.\\nThe words of praise and encouragement from Garri-\\nson made a deep impression on the young poet, and had\\ngreat weight with his family. Garrison spoke to the\\nboy s father about his ability, and advised and urged\\nhis being better educated. Though the family were\\nwell-to-do farmers for that period, still there was no\\nmoney that could be used for the boy s education, so it\\ndid not seem possible at first to act upon the advice.\\nHowever, a way was found, and that through the boy s\\nown effort. One of the helpers on the farm, who made\\nladies shoes during the winter months, offered to teach\\nWhittier the trade. The offer was eagerly accepted.\\nDuring the next winter, Whittier earned enough money,\\nmaking ladies slippers at twenty-five cents a pair, to", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "216 JOHN GBEENLEAF WHITTIER\\npay for six months schooling, board and a snit of\\nclothes. He calculated the cost so closely and lived\\nso economically that at the end of six months, he had\\njust twenty-five cents left.\\nIn April, 1827, when he was in his twentieth year,\\nWhittier went to the Academy at Haverhill. As the\\nacademy was just opened and in a new building, there\\nwas a formal dedication for which Whittier wrote an\\node that was sung. He remained in Haverhill six\\nmonths, leaving every Friday to spend Saturday and\\nSunday at home. His regular studies were the ordi-\\nnary English branches but he also took lessons in\\nFrench. His work in prose composition was surpris-\\ningly good from the first, and he immediately estab-\\nlished a good record in all his work. His standing at\\nschool, the fact that he had written a hymn for the open-\\ning of the Academy, and had had some verses printed,\\nattracted a great deal of attention to him and made him\\nquite a person of distinction in the town of Haverhill.\\nHe is described at that period as being tall, slight,\\nerect, very handsome and distinguished-looking, with re-\\nmarkably beautiful eyes. He was very shy, grave, and\\nquiet in manner, but there was an undercurrent of fun\\nand wit also. He was always extremely courteous, and\\nhad a keen sense of truth and justice. Then, as always,\\nhe was much loved by children. In later years, when\\nhe had his home at Amesbury and at Oak Knoll, Dan-\\nvers, Massachusetts, he had many friends among the\\nlittle ones. He was often spoken of by the children of\\nAmesbury as the man who owns the parrot. The\\nparrot, called Charlie, had belonged to his sister Mary.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "OAK KNOLL\\n217\\nWhen she died he took care of it. It was a great talker,\\nand would often even after having been well fed, say\\nagain and again, What does Charlie want This\\nbird and its oft repeated question became the subject\\nof a poem entitled The Common Question.\\nMed Hiding Hood is a poem about a little girl friend,\\nOAK KNOLL, DANVERS, MASSACHUSETTS\\nwho, clad in her red cloak, went out on the snow-cov-\\nered lawn and fed the blue jays and the squirrels with\\nnuts and corn.\\nAt Oak Knoll, Whittier had another dear little friend\\nnamed Phoebe. She considered him her especial play-\\nfellow. One day, after romping with her, he said, She\\nis seventy, I am seven, and we both act like sixty.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "218 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEE\\nAt the close of his first term, the autumn of 1827,\\nWhittier had his first and only experience as a teacher.\\nHe taught the district school at Amesbury during the\\nfollowing winter. In the spring, he returned to the\\nAcademy and passed another six months in study.\\nWhile in Haverhill, Whittier boarded with Mr. A.\\nW. Thayer, the editor and publisher of The Haverhill\\nGazette. As early as 1828, he wrote poems for this\\npaper, and continued his contributions for nearly forty\\nyears.\\nIn the autumn of 1828, Whittier obtained a place as\\na regular writer for The American Manufacturer of Bos-\\nton. This position had been obtained for him by Gar-\\nrison, who, his Free Press being a failure, had gone to\\nBoston and established The National Philanthropist. As\\nWhictier s salary w T as very small and his help needed\\non the farm, he returned to his home in the early sum-\\nmer of 1829 and remained there until the summer of\\n1830.\\nDuring the years from 1830 to 183 -Whittier did r\\ngreat deal of writing both in prose an verse for the\\ndifferent papers of that period. Though many of the\\npieces are not of value in themselves, s the constant\\nwriting was excellent practice. During this period, he\\nedited The Haverhill Gazette, and The New England\\nReview of Hartford for a year and half. Of th\\nmany poems published in the review, i retained only\\nthree in the later editions of his works $he Frost Spirit\\nThe City of the Plain, The Vaudois Teacher. The las\\npoem was translated many years ag In :o French, and\\nwas believed by the Protestants of jie lower Alps to", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "CAREER AS EDITOR 219\\nbe an original French poem. When the people learned\\nthat it was written by an American, at a general as-\\nsemblage of their churches, an affectionate address was\\nsent to Whittier.\\nAfter Whittier became editor of the Review, he spent\\npart of the time in Hartford, and part at the farm on\\naccount of his father s failing health. His father died\\nin June, 1831. Whittier then went to Hartford for a\\nshort period, leaving his mother and sisters in charge of\\nthe farm. His own want of health, however, forced\\nhim to give up the newspaper drudgery in January,\\n1832, and to return again to the farm where he re-\\nmained during the year.\\nIn February, 1831, he published a volume called\\nNew England Legends in Prose and Verse.\\nAfter his return from Hartford, Whittier thought\\nlong upon the question of slavery, its contradiction to\\nfree institutions in a free country and to all .Christian\\nteachings. A*ter having studied the subject long and\\nthoughtfully, i printed, in 1833, a pamphlet on slavery\\nand abolition. For many years after this, his pen was\\nnever idle, and his writings in prose and verse were de-\\nvoted to the F irpose of freeing the slaves.\\nAn anti-slavery society was formed in Haverhill in\\nApril, 1 834, 1 which Whittier was made secretary.\\nIn 1835 he s elected to the state legislature, and\\nthis, with the exception of once being a presidential\\nelector, was tl only political position he held, his ad-\\nvocacy of abolition tending to make him unpopular\\nwith many.\\nAs Whittier ct /oted his life more and more to the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "220 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\ncause of freedom and the brotherhood of man, his life\\nbecame more closely linked with that of Garrison s, and\\nboth are part of the history of that great moral struggle,\\nthe effort to awaken the conscience of the people to\\nthe sin of slavery, which preceded the Civil War. Gar-\\nrison believed that the three great evils to be attacked\\nwere slavery, war and intemperance. As the years\\npassed by, Whittier sacrificed all possible ease and leis-\\nure,, the companionship of scholars and all prospect of\\nliterary renown, yielding more and more to the influence\\nof Garrison, with whom he stood unswervingly for truth\\nand freedom. His poem on Sumner may well be applied\\nto himself as he started on his career as an abolitionist.\\nIn referring in after years to this period of his life,\\nWhittier says, I had thrown myself with a young\\nman s fervid enthusiasm into a movement which com-\\nmended itself to my reason and conscience, to my love\\nof country, and my sense of duty to God and my fellow-\\nmen.\\nFrom the time of his father s death in 1831, until\\n1837, Whittier managed the farm, sometimes engaging\\nhelp, but always doing a good share of the work him-\\nself. The income, as usual, was very small, so every\\nfarm product was used either in the house or given in\\nexchange for other things that were needed. In the\\nautumn he would drive his team to Rock Bridge on\\nthe Merrimac, carrying vegetables and apples to be ex-\\nchanged for salt fish. It was a life of toil and hardship,\\na struggle with poverty, but a strong will and a cheer-\\nful and contented mind lightened the burden. Though\\nhe wrote much, it was for a cause that had but few", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "CONTINUED STRUGGLES 221\\nfollowers, so his income from that source ivas but\\nslight. In 1836, he again became the editor of the\\nGazette in Haverhill, but he gave it up in a few months.\\nIn 1837, Whittier went to Philadelphia to write for\\nThe Pennsylvania Freeman, a paper devoted to the anti-\\nslavery cause, of which he became the editor in 1838.\\nThe office of the Freeman, which was in Pennsylvania\\nHall, was sacked and burned by a mob in May, 1838,\\nthe entire building being destroyed. Whittier resigned\\nthis editorship in March, 1810, and left Philadelphia\\nthe following May.\\nThe old homestead was sold in 1810, and the family,\\nconsisting of mother, aunt, and younger sister, moved\\nto Amesbury. Here Whittier joined them on his re-\\nturn from Philadelphia. He made this his legal resi-\\ndence, though he spent much of his time during the\\nlast few years of his life at Oak Knoll, Danvers, Mas-\\nsachusetts.\\nWhittier s life, from the time he moved to Amesbury.\\nwas uneventful. For five years or more following this\\nremoval, he was earnestly engaged in working for the\\nanti-slavery cause. It was done in straitened circum-\\nstances, for he had to depend on his writings for sup-\\nport. His standing as a great poet had not yet been\\nestablished, and the fact that he was an abolitionist was\\nsufficient to exclude his writings from many magazines\\nand newspapers. He wrote constantly, however, for\\nthose papers that sympathized with his views, and fre-\\nquently went from town to town trying to create a feel-\\ning against slavery. The one break in his residence in\\nAmesbury was the six months that he lived in Lowell,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "222 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nwhile writing for The Middlesex Standard. Some of\\nthese articles were afterwards reprinted under the title\\nThe Stranger in Lowell.\\nThe home circle gradually narrowed. His sister\\nMary had been married some years before to Mr. Jacob\\nCaldwell who once was publisher of the Haverhill\\nG-azette. She died in 1861. His aunt, Mercy Hussey,\\ndied in the spring of 1846. His mother lived until\\n1857. She had the happiness of seeing her son prop-\\nerly appreciated as a poet.\\nWhittier speaks thus tenderly of his mother All\\nthat the sacred word mother means in its broadest and\\nfullest significance, our mother was to us a friend,\\ncounselor, companion, ever loving, gentle and unself-\\nish.\\nHis sister Elizabeth was his closest and most sympa-\\nthetic companion. Her death occurred in 1864. She\\nwas, like her brother, an active worker in the anti-sla-\\nvery cause, and bore, with him, with grave patience the\\ninsults of riotous mobs. As her nature was retiring,\\nshe took but little part in public demonstrations. She\\nwrote poetry from her fifteenth year, and her poems are\\nfull of tender feeling and reveal her spiritual nature.\\nIn Hazel Blossoms, Whittier has printed a few of her\\npoems. He exercised, however, as much severity of\\njudgment in making the selections as he did in regard\\nto his own works. As a result, many of her poems\\nwhich were well worth reprinting, can only be found\\nin the periodicals where they first appeared. It was\\nof this sister that he wrote in The Tent on the\\nBeach,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "LAYS OF MY HOME 22 3\\nthe dear\\nMemory of one who might have tuned my song\\nTo sweeter music by her delicate ear.\\nThe first volume of poems for which Whittier re-\\nceived any remuneration was the one published in 1843,\\nentitled Lays of my Home and Other Poems. This little\\nbook contained poems that have become great favor-\\nites. In this collection, the poet gives glimpses of him-\\nself and of his friends. He paints charming pictures\\nof the beautiful Merrimac and the scenery of the river-\\nvalley.\\nIn order to fully understand and rightly value Whit-\\ntier s position in the group of America s great poets,\\nclose study and a complete knowledge of the great\\nmoral conflict for the freedom of the slaves is neces-\\nsary. The desire to abolish slavery in the United\\nStates was not one that united the entire North against\\nthe entire South. The small party of men and women\\nwho looked upon slavery within the boundaries of a\\nfree country as a national disgrace and contrary to all\\nChristian teaching, also had opposed to them a large\\npart of the North itself. Even the churches forgot\\nthe teachings of Christ and the brotherhood of man.\\nSome clergymen actually preached in defense of the\\nslaveholder. When Garrison attacked them with quo-\\ntations from the Scriptures, he was called an infidel.\\nAfter awhile these friends of the slave were looked\\nupon as a distinct sect, and were separated from reli-\\ngious bodies as rigorously as were the first Quakers.\\nThe abolitionists were everywhere insulted, their public\\nmeetings mobbed, and their places of meeting burned to", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "224 JOHN GkEENLEAF WHITTIEk\\nthe ground by their Northern neighbors. The criminal\\nlaws were consulted to find excuse for their arrest and\\nimprisonment, juries were urged to indict them, and\\ngovernors of states offered rewards for their heads.\\nThese persecutions not only occurred in the large cities,\\nbut even in the small towns of such a state as Massa-\\nchusetts. This malicious feeling was displayed not\\nmerely by the low, ignorant classes, but by the cultured,\\neducated and wealthy. As we look back upon that\\nperiod, we are shocked at the outrages committed\\nagainst these brave workers for truth and freedom.\\nThis treatment did not turn Whittier from his pur-\\npose. He had been brought up in a home where duty\\nto God and to man was the principal influence. He\\nbecame a most earnest worker, and of all our poets did\\nthe most for abolition. From 1832 to the close of the\\nwar in 1865, his peri was always busy. Every impor-\\ntant event connected with that long and dreadful contest\\nbrought forth from his heart poems that are strong, in-\\nspiring, arousing. That they fulfilled their mission\\nthere is little doubt. They had a wide circulation, and\\nwere read in the schools and in the homes. They\\nreached the hearts of the people. When the final\\nstruggle, the Civil War, came, the result of the work\\nof Whittier and that small band of abolitionists was\\nseen by the loyal response to arms. Their earnest and\\nconstant endeavors also made the Emancipation Proc-\\nlamation possible.\\nAs poetry was a means not an end with Whittier, as\\nhis purpose was to reach the heart and conscience of\\nmen, the anti-slavery poems are not as remarkable for", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "ANTISLAVERY POEMS 225\\nbeauty of thought and form as are those relating to other\\nincidents and calmer periods of his life. If his censure\\nseemed harsh and severe at times, it was because he felt\\nso keenly the importance of the occasion and the hour.\\nThese poems were written at the call of duty, and they\\nare an earnest and eloquent protest against slavery.\\nThey are strong, religious, hopeful. Being associated\\nwith his toils and triumphs, they show his inmost feel-\\nings when most deeply touched.\\nThe poems of this group are numerous. It is diffi-\\ncult to trace all to their first publication. Many of\\nthem, however, were printed in The Liberator, The\\nEmancipator, The Anti-slavery Standard, The Haverhill\\nGazette and The National Era. In the latest edition\\nof Whittier s works, they are to be found under the\\nheadings of Anti-slavery Poems, In War Time and\\nAfter the War.\\nThe poem, Expostulation, was called forth by a\\nspeech of a German patriot, Dr. Charles Follen. In\\nhis speech he condemned in eloquent language the\\ncrime of a free country holding men in bondage. The\\npoem is strong, forcible, almost harsh.\\nHunters of Men is a protest against the action of the\\nAmerican Colonization Society whose plan was that\\nthe free blacks should be sent to Africa, and that there\\nshould be no emancipation unless the negroes were sent\\nout of the country immediately upon obtaining their\\nfreedom.\\nStanzas for the Times refers to a proslavery meeting\\nin Faneuil Hall, the so-called Cradle of Liberty.\\nAt this meeting, a demand was made for the suppression", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "226 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nof free speech, for it was claimed it would interfere\\nwith the interests of commerce.\\nAt a meeting of the General Association of Congre-\\ngational Ministers of Massachusetts in 1837, a pastoral\\nletter was sent to the churches under its care. Its\\npurpose was to discourage all discussion, especially the\\npublic speaking of women, upon the subject of slavery.\\nThis letter was aimed principally against Sarah and\\nAngelina Grimke, two women of Carolina, who had\\nbeen slave-owners, but had become staunch defenders\\nof freedom. Whittier s reply, The Pastoral Letter, is\\nfilled with sarcasm and indignation.\\nTexas, To Faneuil Hall, To Massachusetts, The\\nPine Tree, To a Southern Statesman and At Washing-\\nton are all poems in which Whittier expresses the\\nintense feeling of the anti-slavery party concerning the\\nannexation of Texas, for the friends of slavery held that\\nthe new territory was large enough to form six slave\\nstates. The first poem was written at the suggestion\\nof Lowell, who appealed to Whittier to cry aloud and\\nspare not against the accursed plot.\\nThe first real, encouragement which the abolitionists\\nreceived was the formation in 1848 of a national anti-\\nslavery party. This party was led by Martin Van\\nBuren. The great joy felt by the abolitionists over\\nthis event was beautifully expressed by Whittier in\\nthe Pwan.\\nThe Crisis relates to the terms of the treaty of peace\\nwith Mexico. A Sabbath Scene was called forth by the\\neagerness with which the clergymen, even of the North,\\nurged the enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "AN OPPONENT OF WAR 227\\nThe Kansas Emigrants, For Righteousness Sake, A\\nLetter and Burial of Barbour are poems which refer to\\nthe settlement of Kansas and the conflicts which took\\nplace between the antislavery and the proslavery\\nsettlers. The Kansas Emigrants was sent to the first\\ncompany of settlers as they started upon their journey\\nacross the prairies. It was sung by them when they\\nstarted, it was sung by them during their journey, it\\nwas sung in their new homes.\\nThe poems written during the Civil War, In War\\nTime, are few and full of sadness and anxiety. A\\nQuaker, the friend of peace, could hardly Avrite war\\npoems. The idea of war was most abhorrent to\\nWhittier. To him, it was only murder. He did not\\nfavor forcing the South by war to free the slaves. His\\nfeeling on this subject is plainly expressed in the poem,\\nA Word for the Hour.\\nTo John 0. Fremont refers to an incident that\\noccurred during the early part of the war. Fremont\\nhad charge of the army of the West. A number of\\nslaves came into his lines whom he proclaimed free.\\nPresident Lincoln annulled his proclamation and later\\nrelieved Fremont of his command.\\nDuring this period of strife and suspense, Whittier s\\nreliance and trust in the Power that makes for right-\\neousness, will be seen in Thy Will Be Done, The\\nBattle Autumn of 1862, The Watchers, and Ein Feste\\nBurg ist Unser G-ott.\\nBarbara Frietehie is the only romantic ballad in this\\ngroup of poems.\\nLaus Deo is a beautiful poem full of gratitude for", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "228 JOHN GREENLEAF WH1TTIER\\nthe abolition of slavery by the constitutional amend-\\nment. Its ratification by the states was announced\\nDecember 18, 1865. Whittier sat in the Friends\\nmeeting-house in Amesbury when the good news was\\nproclaimed by the ringing of bells. The poem wrote\\nitself, or rather sang itself, as the bells rang, for he\\nrecited a portion of it to some associates before it was\\nwritten.\\nIt is done\\nClang of bell and roar of gun\\nSend the tidings up and down.\\nHow the belfries rock and reel\\nHow r the great guns, peal on peal,\\nFling the joy from town to town\\nRing, O bells\\nEvery stroke exulting tells\\nOf the burial hour of crime.\\nLoud and long, that all may hear,\\nRing for every listening ear\\nOf Eternity and Time\\nLet us kneel\\nGod s own voice is in that peal,\\nAnd this spot is holy ground.\\nLord, forgive us What are we,\\nThat our eyes this glory see,\\nThat our ears have heard the sound\\nIt is done\\nIn the circuit of the sun\\nShall the sound thereof go forth.\\nIt shall bid the sad rejoice,\\nIt shall give the dumb a voice,\\nIt shall belt with joy the earth", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "ICHABOD 229\\nRing and swing,\\nBells of joy On morning s wing-\\nSend the song of praise abroad\\nWith a sound of broken chains\\nTell the nations that He reigns,\\nWho alone is Lord and God\\nLaus Deo.\\nThe Peace Autumn in After the War expresses the\\nsame spirit of glad thankfulness.\\nAmong the group of personal poems which bear upon\\nthe anti-slavery struggle are two of unusual interest.\\nBrotvn of Ossawatomie relates to John Brown s kiss-\\ning the child of a slave mother when he was being\\nled on his way to his execution. Ichabod, meaning the\\nglory has departed, refers to the great conciliatory\\nspeech of Daniel Webster in March, 1850. The result\\nof this speech was the passage of the Fugitive Slave\\nLaw. The poem is strong and beautiful, and was writ-\\nten more in grief than in anger over the loss of a great\\nleader, and his descent from the high position which he\\nhad previously held. Some years after, Whittier ex-\\npressed in The Lost Occasion the same grief and\\nregret, but in milder language. At the time of the\\nwriting of Ichabod, remembering the great cause at\\nstake, none but the strongest language seemed possible\\nto the poet. Ichabod is equaled by no other poem of\\nthe same nature in the English language.\\nIn the history of no other conflict for human rights\\ndo we find poems that make such a direct appeal to the\\nheart, conscience, honor and valor of man. Bryant,\\nLongfellow and Emerson gave aid with timely words\\nand the influence of their names to the cause of free-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "230 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITT1ER\\ndom. Lowell employed all his sarcasm and wit in its\\nbehalf, but Whittier seemed to live for no other pur-\\npose than to sound the call to duty, duty to God and\\nman. At the celebration of the thirtieth anniversary\\nof the founding of the American Anti-slavery Society,\\nGarrison, who presided, made an impressive speech in\\nwhich he referred to the services Whittier had rendered\\nto the cause. He said, I have no words to express\\nmy sense of the value of his services. There are few\\nliving who have done so much to operate upon the\\npublic mind and conscience and heart of our country\\nfor the abolition of slavery as John Greenleaf Whittier.\\nIll health prevented Whittier from attending this\\ngathering. In his letter of congratulation, he says, I\\nset a higher value on my name as appended to the anti-\\nslavery declaration of 1833 than on the title page of\\nany book. Looking over a life marked by many errors\\nand shortcomings, I rejoice that I have been able to\\nmaintain the pledge of that signature, and that in the\\nlong intervening years,\\nMy voice, though not the loudest, has been heard\\nWherever Freedom raised her cry of pain.\\nIn reading carefully Whittier s poems, it will be\\nseen that all of suffering humanity appealed to him.\\nHe dwells upon the wrongs of the Indian, protests\\nagainst capital punishment, and expresses his sympathy\\nfor the prisoner for debt.\\nWhittier s writing was not confined wholly to poetry.\\nMuch excellent prose came from his pen, but it did not\\nmake the deep and lasting impression that his poems", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "PROSE WRITINGS 231\\nhave made. Among the most interesting of his prose\\nworks are Literary Recreations, Old Portraits, a collec-\\ntion of biographical sketches, and Margaret Smith s\\nJournal, which is considered his best effort.\\nIn 1857, when Whittier had reached his fiftieth year,\\na complete edition of his poems was published. He\\nhad already won his position in literature. He was\\nwell known as a man with high moral ideals, and his\\nplace among the great poets was established. The same\\nyear The Atlantic Monthly was organized, and he was\\ninvited to be one of its contributors with Longfellow,\\nLowell, Emerson and Holmes. The Atlantic was the\\nfirst magazine of high rank which considered the great\\nmoral question of the day. In fact, it discussed all\\nmoral and political questions with the greatest freedom.\\nWhittier s poems during the first few years were largely\\nupon general subjects, for he left the discussion of all\\ngrave questions to the editors.\\nThe contributors to the Atlantic would meet socially\\nonce a month, but as Whittier s health was feeble, the\\nresult of his years of privations and hard toil, he rarely\\nattended these meetings. In this way, he was deprived\\nof the pleasure of interchanging thoughts and opinions\\nwith his literary associates. His increasing ill health\\nforced him to a life of seclusion, and as the years passed\\non, the publication of a poem became the only event in\\nhis life.\\nIn 1860, appeared another volume of poems, Home\\nBallads, Poems and Lyrics. Among the poems were\\nKenoza Lake, Brown of Ossawatomie and Telling the\\nBees. This last poem refers to a custom in New Eng-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "232 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nland of telling the bees when a death occurred in a\\nfamily, and of draping their hives in mourning, to pre-\\nvent their seeking a new home. It is a very beautiful\\nidyl. All the bits of description in it are pictures of\\nthe old homestead of his childhood.\\nSnow-Bound was published in 1866. It is a true and\\nvery charming description of country life in New Eng-\\nland in the days of Whittier s boyhood. Parts of it\\nwere quoted in describing the poet s home circle, but\\nthe whole poem should be studied in order to under-\\nstand its full beauty. It is the very best expression of\\nWhittier s poetic ability. It immediately became a\\nvery great favorite, and added much to Whittier s fame.\\nIn it, he refers with sadness to the changes that Time\\nhad wrought in that fireside group.\\nO Time and Change with hair as gray\\nAs was my sire s that winter day,\\nHow strange it seems, with so much gone\\nOf life and love, to still live on\\nAh, brother! only I and thou\\nAre left of all that circle now.\\nSnow-Bou?id.\\nHis brother, Matthew Franklin, died in Boston, Janu-\\nary 7, 1883. When this brother was a baby, and his\\nparents were talking about naming him, Whittier, then\\na little fellow, suggested that as his name was Green-\\nleaf, his brother s name should be Peachleaf.\\nThe Tent on the Beach and Other Poems appeared in\\n1867. It is the story of the poet, and his two friends,\\nBayard Taylor and James T. Fields, camping on Salis-\\nbury beach, and telling stories of old times. The in-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "THE ETERNAL GOODNESS 233\\ntroduction is saddened by the memory of his sister s\\ndeath, and he tells us, too, to think of his enforced\\nleisure of slow pain. Among the occasional poems in\\nthis volume are Our Master and The Eternal Goodness\\nwhich are marked by deep religious feeling. The latter\\npoem is a full expression of Whittier s creed.\\nI walk with bare, hushed feet the ground\\nYe tread with boldness shod\\n1 dare not fix with mete and bound\\nThe love and power of God.\\nYe praise His justice even such\\nHis pitying love I deem\\nYe seek a king; I fain would touch\\nThe robe that hath no seam.\\nThe wrong that pains my soul below\\n1 dare not throne above\\nknow not of His hate, 1 know\\nHis goodness and His love.\\nI dimly guess from blessings known\\nOf greater out of sight.\\nAnd, with the chastened Psalmist, own\\nHis judgments too are right.\\nThe Eternal Goodness.\\nIn School Days, from which we have quoted a de-\\nscription of the schoolhouse, was published in 1870.\\nIt is a charming story of an incident in his friendship\\nwith a little girl classmate.\\nAmong the purely^ personal poems is My Triumph.\\nIn it, Whittier shows how indifferent he is to praise\\nor fame that he thinks only of the good that has been\\ndone and of that which still can be accomplished.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "234 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nHazel Blossoms was published in 1875 when Whittier\\nwas sixty-eight years old. The principal poem in this\\ncollection is the one to Charles Sumner, who died in\\n1874. The poem was due to the poet s feeling of\\nsincere friendsship and deep admiration for Sumner s\\ncareer. It is a long poem of fifty verses, and shows\\ncareful study. It is a just and fine tribute to a Northern\\nstatesman who was intellectual, faithful, persistent and\\nbrave, and whose career was spotless. In this volume\\nare a small number of his sister Elizabeth s poems.\\nOn December 17, 1877, the publishers of The Atlan-\\ntic Monthly gave a dinner in honor of Whittier s seven-\\ntieth birthday. Among the men of eminence present\\nwere Emerson, Longfellow and Holmes. All contrib-\\nuted words of praise in prose and verse. Emerson,\\ninstead of reading a poem of his own, paid Whittier\\nthe greater compliment of reading Iehabod. Whittier s\\nseventieth birthday was not only celebrated by the\\npublishers of The Atlantic Monthly in Boston, but\\nmagazines, newspapers, authors and a host of others\\nremembered it with kind words and congratulations,\\nso warm a place had he won in the hearts of the people.\\nIn 1878, appeared At Eventide, which in many ways\\nis a summary of Whittier s own life.\\nThe Lost Occasion, to which we have already referred,\\nwas one of a collection of poems that was published in\\n1881.\\nAt Sundown appeared in 1890, when Whittier was\\neighty years old. It was printed only for his friends\\nand was sent to them on his birthday. The affectionate\\ndedication is to Edmund Clarence Stedman. In a re-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "LAST WRITINGS 235\\nprint of these poems, their number has been increased\\nand contains his last writing, To Oliver Wendell\\nHolmes, which Whittier sent to his friend on his eighty-\\nthird birthday. It is dated August 29, 1892, only nine\\ndays before Whittier died. It shows his brave and\\ncheerful spirit, and his fine appreciation of his friend,\\nwhose work was quite different from his own.\\nAmong the thousands who with hail and cheer\\nAVill welcome thy new year,\\nHow few of all have passed, as thou and I,\\nSo many milestones by\\nWe have grown old together we have seen\\nOur youth and age between.\\nTwo generations leave us, and*to-day\\nWe with the third hold way,\\nLoving and loved. If thought must backward run\\nTo those who, one by one,\\nIn the great silence and the dark beyond\\nVanished with farewells fond,\\nUnseen, not lost our grateful memories still\\nTheir vacant places fill,\\nAnd with the full-voiced greeting of new friends\\nA tenderer whisper blends.\\nThe hour draws near, howe er delayed and late,\\nWhen at the Eternal Gate\\nWe leave the words and works we call our own,\\nAnd lift void hands alone\\nFor love to fill. Our nakedness of soul\\nBrings to that Gate no toll\\nGiftless we come to Him, who all things gives\\nAnd live because He lives.\\nTo Oliver Wendell Holmes.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "236 JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER\\nWhittier was stricken with paralysis September 3,\\n1892. At the time, he was visiting friends at Hampton\\nFalls, N. H. When the serious nature of his illness\\nbecame apparent, his friends thought that he might\\nwant to return to Amesbury, as he had often expressed\\nthe wish that he might die where his beloved mother\\nand sisters had lived and died. He was too ill to be\\nmoved, however, but he bore this last disappointment\\nwith the same old-time patience. He died September\\n7, 1892. His poem, At Last, was recited by one\\nof the group of relatives about his bedside as he\\nquietly passed away. He was buried in the village\\ncemetery of Amesbury, in the section reserved for the\\nSociety of Friends. ^Unseen, not lost, he yet lives, for\\nfrom his life-work there emanates an influence that will\\nalways be felt.\\nIn glancing backward over the life of Whittier, it\\nwill be seen that none of the influences which sur-\\nrounded the lives of our other poets, Emerson, Lowell,\\nLongfellow, Holmes, and helped to form their charac-\\nters, came into the life of Whittier. He had nothing\\nin common with them until very late in life. His life\\nand work stand alone. On the lonely farm, in the\\nlittle town of Haverhill, were to be found none of the\\nculture and learning of Boston and Cambridge. The\\ngreat world of literature was unknown to him for many\\nyears. College training he had none. Neither did he\\ncome from a stock of highly educated men and women.\\nFor generations back his ancestors were simple, God-\\nfearing folk. He began his life s, work with no knowl-\\nedge of the usages and conventionalities of the world", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "THE QUALITY OF HIS WORK 237\\noutside of the home circle he was prepared for the\\nbattle with little education, but was sustained and for-\\ntified by the desire to perform his duty to God and\\nman. The standard by which he measured all things\\nwas the standard of Right.\\nWhittier s literary methods and style are his own.\\nHis lack of education and the loneliness of those early\\nyears placed him outside of all literary, poetic or theo-\\nlogical influences. His devotion to abolition still fur-\\nther separated him from his fellow men. In the early\\ndays the effect of Burns may be seen, but it was not\\nuntil late in life that he had the leisure to study the\\nold masters. It was then he wrote\\nI love the old melodious lays\\nWhich softly melt the ages throllg\u00e2\u0080\u00a2h. ,1\\nIf, now and then, his poems show a lack of finish, an\\nabsence of that beauty of form which is found in some\\nof the other poets, the spirit that breathes through them\\nis beyond criticism. Love of truth, beauty and nature,\\nand for man and God, are the strains of music heard in\\nall. How hard the task, how brave the struggle, how\\ngreat the heights he scaled", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\n1809-1894\\ngre", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "Where is this patriarch you are kindly greeting?\\nNot unfamiliar to my ear his name,\\nNor yet unknown to many a joyous meeting\\nIn days long vanished, is he still the same\\nYes, long, indeed, I ve known him at a distance,\\nAnd now my lifted door-latch shows him here\\nI take his shriveled hand without resistance,\\nAnd find him smiling as his step draws near.\\nI come not here your morning hour to sadden,\\nA limping pilgrim, leaning on his staff,\\nI, who have never deemed it sin to gladden\\nThis vale of sorrow with a wholesome laugh.\\nIf word of mine another s gloom has brightened,\\nThrough my dumb lips the heaven-sent message came\\nIf hand of mine another s task has lightened,\\nIt felt the guidance that it dares not claim.\\nThe Iron Gate.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nBuild thee more stately mansions, O my soul,\\nAs the swift seasons roll\\nLeave thy low-vaulted past\\nLet each new temple, nobler than the last,\\nShut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,\\nTill thou at length art free,\\nLeaving thine outgrown shell by life s unresting sea\\nThe Chambered Nautilus.\\nWhen a person thinks of an author, he usually thinks\\nof a man who has devoted his life to the writing of\\nbooks who has no interest in politics, who could\\nunderstand medicine as little as a child, and to whom\\nlaw is a puzzle, while in the matters of ordinary busi-\\nness, he is also unfortunately ignorant and unsuccess-\\nful. In short, the usual idea of an author, especially\\nof a poet, is that he is incapable of taking part in the\\npractical affairs of life, but belongs wholly to the world\\nof intellect, where to weave the fancies of the imagina-\\ntion in glowing words and dainty verse is his sole\\noccupation. Yet the fact is that many of the greatest\\nwriters gained distinction in other professions, and it was\\nbecause of this knowledge of many things beside writing\\nwords and making verses, this helpful knowledge of\\nlife and men, that they were enabled to become great\\nwriters. James Russell Lowell was one of our great\\n243", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "1 44 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\npoets, but lie was also interested in public affairs, for\\nlie loved his country and his country s honor beyond\\nall things else, and well represented our nation s inter-\\nests at the Court of St. James. Henry Wadsworth\\nLongfellow, the poet with whose works you are, per-\\nhaps, the most familiar, was a very successful and much\\nloved professor at Bowdoin College and at Harvard\\nUniversity. Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose poetry is\\nhumorous, pathetic, beautiful, and whose prose is among\\nthe wittiest, was also a physician of profound knowledge\\nand a writer of valuable essays upon medical subjects,\\nwhose opinion was respected by the greatest physicians.\\nOliver Wendell Holmes was born in an old gambrel-\\nroofed house in Cambridge, Massachusetts, August\\n29, 1809. In referring to his birthday, he said, In\\nthe last week of August used to fall Commencement\\nDay at Cambridge. I remember that week well, for\\nsomething happened to me once at that time, namely,\\nI was born. This old gambrel-roofed house stood\\nbetween the sites how occupied by the Hemenway\\nGymnasium and the Law School of Harvard University.\\nIt was a spacious mansion, set well back from the road,\\nwith a generous expanse of common beside it, and tall\\nAmerican elms that overshadowed it. The poet says,\\nThe old house was General Ward s headquarters at the break-\\ning out of the Revolution the plan for fortifying Bunker s Hill\\nwas laid, as commonly believed, in the southeast lower room, the\\nfloor of which was covered with dents, made, it was alleged, by the\\nbutts of the soldiers 1 muskets. In the house, too, General War-\\nren probably passed the night before the Bunker Hill battle, and\\nover its threshold must the stately figure of Washington have\\noften cast its shadow.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "246 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nWhen, years after, the old homestead became the\\nproperty of Harvard University, Holmes wrote most\\nregretfully of its destruction:\\nThe Old Gambrel-rpofed House exists no longer.\\nWe may die out of many houses, but the house can die but once\\nand so real is the life of a house to one who has dwelt in it,\\nmore especially the life of a house which held him hi dreamy\\ninfancy, in restless boyhood, in passionate youth, so real, I\\nsay, is its life, that it seems as if something like a soul of it\\nmust outlast its perishing frame.\\nTo his friend, Lowell, he wrote\\nOur old house is gone. I went all over it, into every\\nchamber and closet, and found a ghost in each and all of them,\\nto which I said good-by. I have not seen the level ground\\nwhere it stood. Be very thankful that you still keep your birth-\\nplace. This earth has a homeless look to me since mine has\\ndisappeared from its face.\\nThe Reverend Abiel Holmes, the father of the poet,\\napart from his severe religious belief, which was that\\nof the early New England days, was a modest, kindly\\ngentleman of culture. He had some literary ability,\\nand wrote a few poems which were published in book\\nform. His Annals of America, however, was the\\nfirst accurate American history after the Revolution.\\nHolmes s mother, Sarah Wendell, was a bright, well-\\neducated woman, from whom he seemed to inherit his\\nintellectual ability. His parents came from the best\\nNew England stock. The first Holmes to arrive in\\nthis country was John Holmes, who came from Eng-\\nland to Woodstock, Connecticut, with the first settlers\\nin 1686. The Wendells came from Holland about\\n1640, and settled at Albany.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "ANCESTORS 247\\nThese facts about Holmes s ancestors are interesting\\nbecause, as he has written:\\nThe nest is made ready long beforehand for the bird which\\nis to be bred in it and to fly from it. The intellectual atmos-\\nphere into which a scholar is born, and from which he draws\\nthe breath of his early mental life, must be studied, if we will\\nhope to understand it thoroughly/\\nDorothy Quincy, celebrated by the poet in the follow-\\ning lines, was an ancestor of his and also of his wife.\\nGrandmother s mother her age, I guess,\\nThirteen summers, or something less\\nGirlish bust, but womanly air;\\nSmooth, square forehead with uprolled hair\\nLips that lover has never kissed\\nTaper fingers and slender wrist\\nHanging sleeves of stiff brocade\\nSo they painted the little maid.\\nOn her hand a parrot green\\nSits unmoving and broods serene.\\nHold up the canvas full in view,\\nLook there s a rent the light shines through,\\nDark with a century s fringe of dust,\\nThat was a Red-Coat s rapier-thrust\\nSuch is the tale the lady old,\\nDorothy s daughter s daughter, told.\\nO Damsel Dorothy Dorothy Q.\\nStrange is the gift that I owe to you\\nSuch a gift as never king\\nSave to daughter or son might bring,\\nAll my tenure of heart and hand,\\nAll my title to house and land\\nMother and sister and child and wife\\nAnd joy and sorrow and death and life", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "248 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nWhat if a hundred years ago\\nThose close-shut lips had answered No,\\nWhen forth the tremulous question came\\nThat cost the maiden her Norman name,\\nAnd under the folds that look so still\\nThe bodice swelled with the bosom s thrill\\nShould I be I, or would it be\\nOne-tenth another, to nine-tenths me\\nDorothy Q.\\nSome years later the poet sent to his grandniece,\\nDorothy Quincy Upham, who was named after Dorothy\\nQ., the following verses\\nDear little Dorothy, Dorothy Q.,\\nWhat can I find to write to you\\nYou have two LPs in your name, it s true.\\nAnd mine is adorned with a double-u,\\nBut there s this difference in the IPs,\\nThat one you will stand a chance to lose\\nWhen a happy man of the bearded sex\\nShall make it Dorothy Q. X.\\nMay Heaven smile bright on the blissful day\\nThat teaches this lesson in Algebra\\nAVhen the orange blossoms crown ycur head,\\nThen read what your old great-uncle said,\\nAnd remember how in your baby-time\\nHe scribbled a scrap of idle rhyme,\\nIdle, it may be but kindly, too,\\nFor the little lady, Dorothy Q.\\nOf his childish impressions the poet wrote,\\nWhen the chick first emerges from the shell, the Creator s\\nstudio in which he was organized and shaped, it is a very little\\nworld with which he finds himself in relation. First the nest,\\nthen the hen-coop, by and by the barnyard with occasional pre-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "250 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\ndatory incursions into the neighbor s garden and his little uni-\\nverse lias reached its boundaries. Just so with my experience\\nof atmospheric existence. The low room of the old house the\\nlittle patch called the front yard somewhat larger than the\\nTurkish rug beneath my rocking-chair the back yard with its\\nwood-house, its carriage house, its barn, and, let me not forget,\\nits pigsty. These were the world of my earliest experiences.\\nBut from the western window of the room where I was born, I\\ncould see the vast expanse of the Common, with the far-away\\nWashington Elm as its central figure the immeasurably dis-\\ntant hills of the horizon, and the infinite of space in which these\\ngigantic figures were projected all these, in unworded im-\\npressions vague pictures swimming by each other as the eyes\\nrolled without aim through the lights and shadows which\\nfloated by them. From this center I felt my way into the crea-\\ntion beyond.\\nLike all children, I began to speculate on the problems of\\nexistence at an early age. As for the government of the\\nuniverse to which I belonged, my thoughts were very confused.\\nThe Deity was to me an Old Man, as represented in some of the\\npictures I had seen. Angels and Demons were his subjects,\\nand fellow-inhabitants with myself in the planet on which I\\nlived.\\nThe garret, the door of which I sometimes passed, but\\nwhose depths I never exj)lored until later in life, was full of\\nunshaped terrors. There was an outhouse where old and broken\\nfurniture had been stored, which I shunned as if it had been\\npeopled with living bipeds and quadrupeds in the place of old\\nchairs and tables.\\nTwo specters haunted my earliest years, the dread of mid-\\nnight visitors, and the visits of the doctor. I hardly know when\\nI was not subject to fears when left alone in the dark. These\\nterrors were vague, and different at different times. I could not\\nsay that I believed in ghosts, nor yet that I disbelieved in their\\nexistence, but the strange sounds at night, the creaking of the\\nboards, the howling of the winds, the footfall of animals, voices\\nheard from a distance and unaccounted for, all such things", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "CHILDHOOD 251\\nkept me awake, restless, and full of strange apprehensions.\\nThese fears lasted, until, on the approach of adolescence, I became\\ngreatly ashamed of them. The other source of distress was,\\nas I have said, the visits of the physician. The dispenser of\\ndrugs that embittered my boyhood was Dr. William Gamage.\\nHe was an old man, associated principally in my mind with two\\nvegetable products, namely: the useful though not comforting\\nrhubarb, and the revolting and ever to be execrated ipecacu-\\nanha. The dread of the last of these two drugs was one of my\\nchronic miseries. Such causes of unhappiness as those I\\nhave mentioned may seem trivial to persons of less sensibility\\nthan myself, but they were serious drawbacks to the pleasures\\nof existence, and, added to the torture of tooth-drawing, made a\\nconsiderable sum of wretchedness.\\nOne of the greatest changes of the modern decades has been\\nin the matter of heating and lighting. We depended on wood,\\nwhich was brought from the country in loads upon wagons or\\nsledges. This was often not kept long enough to burn easily,\\nand the mockery of the green-wood fire was one of my recollec-\\ntions, the sap oozing from the ends, and standing in puddles\\naround the hearth.\\nSome of my pleasantest Sundays were those when I went\\nwith my father, who was exchanging pulpits with a neighboring\\nclergyman. We jogged off together in one of the old-fashioned\\ntwo-wheeled chaises, behind a quiet horse, for the most part. I\\nremember the house at Lexington at which we stayed, had a\\nsanded floor instead of a carpeted one.\\nI never wanted for occupation. Though not an inventor, I\\nwas always a contriver. I was constantly at work with tools of\\nsome sort. I was never really a skillful workman, other boys\\nwere neater with their jackknives than I. I had ingenuity enough\\nto cut a ball in a cage, with a chain attached carved out of the\\nsame wood but my tendency was to hasty and imperfect work-\\nmanship. I was always in too much of a hurry to complete my\\nwork, as if linished when only half done. My imagination helped\\nme into immense absurdities, in which, however, I found great de-\\nlight. Thus, before I had a pair of skates, I had made one skate", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "252 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nof wood, which I had fastened on to my foot, and experimented\\nwith on the ditch, 1 a narrow groove which one could step across,\\nbut where I served my first apprenticeship in the art of skating.\\nBut the strongest attraction of my early teens was found in\\nshooting such small game as presented, more especially small\\nbirds and squirrels. It sounds strangely now to say that my\\nachievements as a sportsman were performed, not with a gun,\\nsuch as is carried by the sportsman of to-day, not even with a\\npercussion lock in use during the greater part of my manhood,\\nbut with the old flintlock, such as our grandfathers used in the\\nRevolution. I do not think I ever used a percussion cap, but\\nmany a flint have I worn down in service. An old king s\\narm had been hanging up in the store closet ever since I could\\nremember. This I shouldered, and with this I blazed away at\\nevery living thing that was worthy of a charge of the smallest\\nshot I could employ/\\nThis ability to contrive was shown in later years\\nby his inventing the hand stereoscope, which had a\\nlight frame that was easily held in one hand. Although a\\nlarge number of them have been manufactured, Holmes\\nderived no benefit, as he did not have his invention\\npatented. The stereoscope in use before this was a\\nlarge, clumsy case, too heavy to hold in the hand, and\\nwith room for only a small number of pictures.\\nHolmes schooling began early, and, as was custom-\\nary at that time, at a dame s school. At the age of\\nten, he went to a school at Cambridgeport where he\\nstayed five years. Of his school days, he wrote,\\nMy first schoolmaster, William Biglow, was a man of\\npeculiar. character. He was of a somewhat Bardolphian as-\\npect, red in the face, and was troubled from time to time with\\nheadaches, which led to occasional absence from the place of\\nduty. He was a good-natured man, a humorist, a punster but\\nhis good-nature had something of the Rip Van Winkle character.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "SCHOOL DAYS 253\\nI do not remember being the subject of any reproof or dis-\\ncipline at that school, although I do not doubt I deserved it, for\\nI was an inveterate whisperer at every school I ever attended.\\nI do remember that once as he passed me, he tapped me on the\\nforehead with his pencil, and said he couldn t help it if I would\\ndo so well, 1 a compliment which I have never forgotten.\\nFrom Cambridgeport, Holmes went to Phillips Acad-\\nemy at Andover, Massachusetts. He gives us a de-\\nlightful picture of his boyish impressions in a poem\\nentitled The School-Boy, read at the centennial celebra-\\ntion of the foundation of Phillips Academy, 1778-\\n1878.\\nMy cheek was bare of adolescent down\\nWhen first I sought the academic town\\nSlow rolls the coach along the dusty road,\\nBig with its filial and parental load\\nThe frequent hills, the lonely woods are past,\\nThe schoolboy s chosen home is reached at last.\\nI see it now, the same unchanging spot,\\nThe swinging gate, the little garden plot,\\nThe narrow yard, the rock that made its floor,\\nThe flat, pale house, the knocker-garnished door,\\nThe small, trim parlor, neat, decorous, chill,\\nThe strange, new faces, kind, but grave and still\\nTwo, creased with age, or what I then called age,\\nLife s volume open at its fiftieth page\\nOne a shy maiden s, pallid, placid, sweet\\nAs the first snowdrop, which the sunbeams greet\\nOne the last nursling s slight she was, and fair,\\nHer smooth white forehead warmed with auburn hair.\\nBrave, but with effort, had the schoolboy come\\nTo the cold comfort of a stranger s home", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "254 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nHow like a dagger to my sinking heart\\nCame the dry summons, It is time to part\\nGood-by Goo ood-by one fond maternal kiss.\\nHomesick as death Was ever pang like this?\\nToo young as yet with willing feet to stray\\nFrom the tame fireside, glad to get away,\\nToo old to let my watery grief appear,\\nAnd what so bitter as a swallowed tear\\nHow all comes back the upward slanting floor,\\nThe master s thrones that flank the central door,\\nThe long, outstretching alleys that divide\\nThe rows of desks that stand on either side,\\nThe staring boys, a face to every desk,\\nBright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque.\\nGrave is the Master s look his forehead wears\\nThick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares\\nUneasy lie the heads of all that rule,\\nHis most of all whose kingdom is a school.\\nSupreme he sits before the awful frown\\nThat bends his brows the boldest eye goes down\\nNot more submissive Israel heard and saw\\nAt Sinai s foot the Giver of the Law.\\nAs to the traveler s eye the varied plain\\nShows through the window of the flying train,\\nA mingled landscape, rather felt than seen,\\nA gravelly bank, a sudden flash of green,\\nA tangled wood, a glittering stream that flows\\nThrough the cleft summit where the cliff once rose,\\nAll strangely blended in a hurried gleam,\\nRock, wood, waste, meadow, village, hillside, stream,\\nSo, as we look behind us, life appears,\\nSeen through the vista of our bygone years.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "EARLY POEMS 255\\nYet in the dead past s shadow-tilled domain,\\nSome vanished shapes the hues of life retain\\nUnbidden, oft, before our dreaming eyes\\nFrom the vague mists in memory s path they rise.\\nThe School-Boy.\\nFrom Andover, Holmes went to Harvard College in\\nthe summer of 1825, thus becoming a member of the\\nfamous class of 29, as it has been called, because of\\nthe distinction which many of the members gained in\\ntheir different professions. Among them was Samuel\\nFrancis Smith, the author of America.\\nWhile at Harvard, Holmes wrote poetry fiercely,\\nas he himself afterward said, for a little monthly paper,\\ncalled the Collegian. He said, It was silly stuff, I\\nsuppose, but the papers have quoted some of it about\\nas if they really thought it respectable. Among this\\nsilly stuff, were The Dorchester Giant, The Specter\\nPig, Evening, By a Tailor, and several other equally\\nwell-known poems. The Dorchester Giant is his very\\namusing account of the presence of the pudding stones\\nwhich are found in such quantities near Dorchester,\\nMilton and Roxbury, Massachusetts.\\nTHE DORCHESTER GIANT\\nThere was a giaut in time of old,\\nA mighty one was he\\nHe had a wife, but she was a scold,\\nSo he kept her shut in his mammoth fold\\nAnd he had children three.\\nIt happened to be an election day,\\nAnd the giants were choosing a king", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "256 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nThe people were not democrats then,\\nThey did not talk of the rights of men,\\nAnd all that sort of thing.\\nThen the giant took his children three,\\nAnd fastened them in the pen\\nThe children roared qnoth the giant, Be still\\nAnd Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill\\nRolled back the sound again.\\nThen he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums,\\nAs big as the State-House dome\\nQuoth he, There s something for you to eat;\\nSo stop your mouths with your lection treat,\\nAnd wait till your dad comes home.\\nSo the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,\\nAnd whittled the boughs away\\nThe boys and their mother set up a shout,\\nSaid he, You re in, and you can t get out,\\nBellow as loud as you may.\\nOff he went, and he grow T led a tune\\nAs he strode the fields along\\nT is said a buffalo fainted away,\\nAnd fell as cold as a lump of clay,\\nWhen he heard the giant s song.\\nBut whether the story s true or not,\\nIt isn t for me to show\\nThere s many a thing that s twice as queer\\nIn somebody s lectures that w r e hear,\\nAnd those are true, you know.\\nWhat are those lone owes doing now,\\nThe wife and the children sad\\nO, they are in a terrible rout,\\nScreaming, and throwing their pudding about,\\nActing as they were mad.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "THE DORCHESTER GIANT 257\\nThey flung it over to Roxbury hills,\\nThey flung it over the plain,\\nAnd all over Milton and Dorchester too\\nGreat lumps of pudding the giants threw\\nThey tumbled as thick as rain.\\nGiant and mammoth have passed away,\\nFor ages have floated by\\nThe suet is hard as a marrow-bone,\\nAnd every plum is turned to a stone,\\nBut there the puddings lie.\\nAnd if, some pleasant afternoon,\\nYou ll ask me out to ride,\\nThe whole of the story I will tell,\\nAnd you shall see where the puddings fell,\\nAnd pay for the punch beside.\\nJust what was to be Holmes s life work, was a matter\\nof considerable doubt during his college days. His\\nfather wished him to be a clergyman like himself,\\nalthough he by no means insisted upon it. The son,\\nhowever, had no inclination toward the ministry. He\\nsaid, I might have been a minister myself, for aught I\\nknow, if a certain clergyman had not looked and talked\\nso like an undertaker.\\nDuring his last year at college, Holmes wrote in a\\nletter to a friend, I am quite undecided what to\\nstudy it will be law or physic, for I cannot say that\\nI think the trade of authorship quite adapted to this\\nmeridian. Even after he was graduated from Har-\\nvard, the question was not finally settled. He studied\\nlaw at the Dane Law School, Cambridge, for a year,\\nbut the study was not pursued with much enthusiasm.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "258 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nIt was during this year, 1830, that Holmes wrote\\nthat stirring poem, Old Ironsides. The historic frigate,\\nConstitution, old and unseaworthy, was condemned by\\nthe Navy Department to be destroyed. Holmes read\\nof it in the newspapers, and immediately wrote the\\nprotest, Old Ironsides.\\nOLD IRONSIDES\\nAy, tear her tattered ensign down\\nLong; has it waved on high\\nAnd many an eye has danced to see\\nThat banner in the sky\\nBeneath it rung the battle shout,\\nAnd burst the cannon s roar\\nThe meteor of the ocean air\\nShall sweep the clouds no more\\nHer deck, once red with heroes 1 blood,\\nWhere knelt the vanquished foe,\\nWhen winds were hurrying o er the flood,\\nAnd waves were white below,\\nNo more shall feel the victor s tread,\\nOr know the conquered knee\\nThe harpies of the shore shall pluck\\nThe eagle of the sea\\nO better that her shattered hulk\\nShould sink beneath the wave\\nHer thunders shook the mighty deep,\\nAnd there should be her grave\\nNail to the mast her holy flag,\\nSet every threadbare sail,\\nAnd give her to the god of storms,\\nThe lightning and the gale", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "260 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nThe poem was published in The Boston Daily Adver-\\ntiser, and from that was copied into almost every paper\\nin the country, awakening national indignation against\\nan action done in the ordinary course of business. The\\nSecretary of the Navy, who was much surprised at the\\nindignation, withdrew his order. The frigate was\\nsaved, and a number of people of the United States\\nheard for the first time of Oliver Wendell Holmes, a\\nlaw student at Cambridge, who was one month past\\nhis majority.\\nThe next year, Holmes gave up law and began the\\nstudy of medicine. In March, 1831, he wrote,\\nI must announce to you the startling- position that I have\\nbeen a medical student for more than six months. I know I\\nmight have made an indifferent lawyer, I think I may make\\na tolerable physician, I do not like the one and I do like the\\nother. And so you must know that for the last several months\\nI have been quietly occupying a room in Boston, attending medi-\\ncal lectures, and going to the Massachusetts Hospital. If\\nyou would die fagged to death like a crow with the king birds\\nafter him, be a schoolmaster; if you would wax thin and\\nsavage, like a half-fed spider, be a lawyer; if you would go\\noff like an opium-eater in love with your starving delusions,\\nbe a doctor. 11\\nHolmes studied for over two years at the private\\nschool of Dr. James Jackson. After he finished the\\ncourse with Doctor Jackson, two years more of study\\nin European hospitals was necessary, if he were to be\\nmore than a country doctor. His parents were not\\nrich, but they made such sacrifices as were necessary to\\ngive their son this extra preparation for his profession.\\nIn the spring of 1833, when he was little more than", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "IN PARIS 261\\ntwenty-one years old, Holmes was in Paris at last,\\nquietly established and almost naturalized, and quite\\nabsorbed in study. There he worked diligently, going\\nto the hospital at half-past seven every morning, where\\nhe heard lectures by the most prominent physicians and\\nsurgeons of France. He generally stayed there till ten\\no clock, when he had breakfast. After breakfast, study\\nwas continued until five o clock. In the evening, he\\nsometimes went to the theater. He felt that his time\\nwas well spent, and that he was learning more in these\\ntwo years in Paris than he would have done in a life-\\ntime of ordinary practice.\\nDuring his sta}^ in Europe, Holmes did no literary\\nwork, as he was wholly absorbed in study, occupying all\\nhis time with it. The editor of The New England\\nMagazine, an old friend of his, requested him to write\\nfor that publication. Holmes gave the following\\nreasons for declining\\nI am at the present moment living not merely the most\\nlaborious, but by far the most unvaried and, in its outward\\ncircumstances, most unexciting mode of life that I have ever\\nlived. Nearly five hours in the day I pass at the bedside of\\npatients, and you may imagine that this is no trifling occupation\\nwhen 1 tell you that it is always with my note-book in my hand\\nthat I often devote nearly two hours to investigating a difficult\\ncase, in order that no element can escape me, and that T have\\nalways a hundred patients under my eye. Add to this the details\\nand laborious examination cf all the organs of the body in such\\ncases as are fatal the demands of a Society of which I am a\\nmember which in the course of two months has called on me\\nfor memoirs to the extent of thirty thick-set pages all French,\\nand almost all facts hewn out one by one from the quarry\\nand my out-of-door occupations have borne their testimony.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "262 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nNo, John, a heavier burden from my own science, if you will,\\nbut not another hair from the locks of Poesy.\\nIn December of 1835, Holmes returned from Europe.\\nOn his return to Cambridge, lie read before the mem-\\nbers of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, his Poetry, in\\nwhich he affectionately alludes to his boyhood. His\\nbeautiful tribute to the war-song, Marseillaise, is con-\\nsidered the finest part of the poem.\\nIn the latter part of 1836, he published his first volume\\nof poems. It was a collection of those that had appeared\\nelsewhere. It contained, among others, Old Ironsides,\\nthe history of which you already know, the very attrac-\\ntive poem To an Insect, and The Last Leaf, which be-\\ncame a great favorite, and was translated into French\\nand German. These poems are full of rollicking good\\nhumor, of a swing which carries the reader along, and\\nof a determination to see the bright side c lvp and to\\ntry to make others see it. This bright\\ndisposition was one of the Doctor s B\\ntraits during his whole life.\\nTO AN INSECT\\nI love to hear thine earnest voicf\\nWherever thou art h i,\\nThou testy little dogmatist,\\nThou pretty Katydid\\nThou mindest me of\\nOld gentlefolks are u\\nThou say st an undisp\\nIn such a solemn w\u00c2\u00b0", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "TO AN. INSECT 263\\nThou art a female, Katydid\\nI know it by the trill\\nThat quivers through thy piercing notes,\\nSo petulant and shrill\\nI think there is a knot of you\\nBeneath the hollow tree,\\nA knot of spinster Katydids,\\nDo Katydids drink tea\\ntell me where did Katy live,\\nAnd what did Katy do\\nAnd was she very fair and young,\\nAnd yet so wicked, too?\\nDid Katy love a naughty man,\\nOr kiss more cheeks than one\\n1 warrant Katy did no more\\nThan many a Kate has done.\\nDear me! Til tell you all about\\ny fuss with little Jane,\\ni Ann, with whom I used to walk\\noften down the lane,\\nall that tore their locks of black,\\n1 wet their eyes of blue,\\ntell me, sweetest Katydid,\\naat did poor Katy do\\nthe living oak shall crash,\\nhat stood f, or ages still,\\nshall rend its mossy base\\nunder r down the hill,\\n:ff1 Katydid\\n.-word, to tell\\n:l of the maid\\no ,she knows so well.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "264 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nPeace to the ever-murmuring race\\nAnd when the latest one\\nShall fold in death her feeble wings\\nBeneath the autumn sun,\\nThen shall she raise her fainting ^oice,\\nAnd lift her drooping lid,\\nAnd then the child of future years\\nShall hear what Katy did.\\nHolmes took his degree from Harvard in 1836, and\\nthis same year begun the practice of medicine in\\nBoston. Here, in his office, the smallest fevers were\\nthankfully received. As a visiting physician, Dr.\\nHolmes never had a very large practice, but as a\\nlecturer and a college professor, he was very successful.\\nThe reason he was not a success as a physician was that\\nmost people at that time had an idea that a doctor\\nmust be old, white-haired and solemn. The ordinary\\ndoctor, even though he had lived all his life in some\\nsmall town, never broadening his knowledge by visiting\\nthe large hospitals of his own country nor those of\\nEurope, was preferred to Dr. Holmes, notwithstand-\\ning his three years of study and experience in Paris and\\nEdinburgh. He, unfortunately, was brilliant, witty and,\\nworst of all, a poet. Regarding this poor success as a\\nphysician, he wrote in later years,\\nBesides my prospects don t you kno\\\\v r that people won t\\nemploy\\nA man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy\\nAnd suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot,\\nAs if wisdom s old potato could not flourish at its root", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "MARRIAGE 265\\nIt s a vastly pleasing prospect, when you re screwing out a\\nlaugh,\\nThat your very next year s income is diminished by a half\\nAs we have said, he was very successful as a profes-\\nsor, and a writer on medical subjects. In 1838, he was\\nappointed Professor of Anatomy at Dartmouth College,\\nwhich position he held for two years.\\nIn June, 1840, Holmes married Miss Amelia Lee\\nJackson, a lady who made an ideal wife for the doctor,\\nas their happy married life shows. They had three chil-\\ndren. The eldest son was Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.,\\nwhose birth his father announced to his sister in the\\nfollowing letter:\\nMy Dear Ann, Last evening between eight and nine there\\nappeared at No. 8 Montgomery Place a little individual who may\\nbe hereafter addressed as\\nHolmes, Esq.\\nor\\nThe Hon. Holmes, M.C.\\nor\\nHis Excellency Holmes, President, etc., etc., but who for\\nthe present is content with scratching his face and sucking his\\nright forefinger.\\nIn My Hunt After the Captain, Holmes gives a thrill-\\ning account of his search for this son, who had been\\nwounded in battle, during the war of the Rebellion.\\nHe afterward became prominent in his profession,\\nthat of law, and Dr. Holmes wrote of him to a friend\\nThank you for all the pleasant words about the Judge. To\\nthink of it, my little boy a Judge, and able to send me to jail\\nif I don t behave myself.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "266 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nThe second child was a daughter, who died in 1889,\\nand the third, another boy, who died in 1884.\\nIn 1847, Dr. Holmes was appointed Parkman Pro-\\nfessor of Anatomy and Physiology in the Medical\\nSchool of Harvard University. He also occasionally\\ngave instruction in the use of the microscope. Teach-\\ning so many branches prompted him to say that he\\noccupied not a professor s chair, but a whole settee.\\nDr. Holmes held this professorship of anatomy for\\nthirty-five years.\\nAt the University, the lectures frequently began at\\neight o clock and continued until two. By this time\\nthe students were completely worn out by their close\\nattention to five hours of continuous instruction. To\\nDr. Holmes was assigned the last hour, for, as one of\\nthe students has said, No one but Dr. Holmes could\\nhave been endured under the circumstances. He was\\nfrequently greeted upon his entrance in the classroom\\nwith uproarious applause. With his bright, cheery\\ndisposition, his quaint and humorous comparisons, and\\nthe wit which sparkled through the whole lecture, he\\nwas able to hold the weary students attention. Yet\\nbeneath the brightness and attractiveness of Dr.\\nHolmes s lectures, were the solid foundation of fact\\nand a thorough knowledge of his subject, so that the\\nstudent listened not only with pleasure but with profit.\\nThus the very traits which had hindered him in his\\npractice as a physician greatly aided him to succeed as\\na professor and a lecturer.\\nDr. Holmes delivered a large number of public lec-\\ntures on literature and other general topics. In this he", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "CONTRIBUTOR TO THE ATLANTIC 267\\nwas also very successful. At times he became very\\ntired of it. Family men, he said, get dreadfully\\nhomesick. His health also suffered considerably from\\nthe exposure of country traveling.\\nFrom 1849, for seven succeeding years, Holmes spent\\nhis summers at Canoe Place, the name of his home\\nwhich he built on a part of the large estate that his\\ngreat-grandfather had purchased, at Pittsfield, Massa-\\nchusetts, The place was so called because of the\\nmark, a canoe, with which the Indian sachem signed\\naway the land. During these summer months, he deliv-\\nered lectures before the Berkshire Medical School at\\nPittsfield. At the Berkshire festivals, the poet was fre-\\nquently called upon to write a poem, which he did in\\nhis usual wise and witty way.\\nIn 1857, a monthly magazine was started in Boston,\\nof which James Russell Lowell was invited to become\\nthe editor. He accepted on the condition that Holmes\\nshould be the first contributor engaged. The condition\\nwas agreed to. Holmes was very much surprised at his\\nfriend s invitation to become a regular contributor, and\\nwas at first inclined to refuse, as he had for many years\\nbeen too busy with other duties and studies to give\\nany time to literature. However, Lowell insisted and\\nHolmes yielded. He afterwards said, Lowell woke\\nme from a kind of literary lethargy in which I was half\\nslumbering, to call me to active service.\\nHolmes first service to the new magazine was to\\nchristen it, for it was at his suggestion that it was\\ncalled The Atlantic. His first contributions were a se-\\nries of papers entitled The Autocrat of the Breakfast", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "268 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nTable. Holmes had published two papers under the\\nsame name many years before in The New England\\nMagazine, which explains why he began the new papers\\nwith I was just going to say, when I was interrupted.\\nPrevious to the publication of these papers, Holmes\\nwas known to only a small circle as a writer and a lec-\\nturer, a wit and a brilliant conversationalist, but these\\npapers made him well known not only in America but\\nin Europe. They contained the brightest and best of\\nthe poet s thoughts, and as a whole are doubtless his\\nfinest work. In The Autocrat appeared The Chambered\\nNautilus, probably the most beautiful of Holmes s\\npoems.\\nTHE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS\\nThis is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,\\nSails the unshadowed main,\\nThe venturous bark that flings\\nOn the sweet summer wind its purpled wings\\nIn gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,\\nAnd coral reefs lie bare,\\nWhere the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.\\nIts webs of living gauze no more unfurl\\nWrecked is the ship of pearl\\nAnd every chambered cell,\\nWhere its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,\\nAs the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,\\nBefore thee lies revealed,\\nIts irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!\\nYear after year beheld the silent toil\\nThat spread his lustrous coil\\nStill, as the spiral grew,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "THE CHAMBERED HAUTILUS 269\\nHe left the past year s dwelling for the new,\\nStole with soft step its shining archway through,\\nBuilt up its idle door,\\nStretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no\\nmore.\\nThanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,\\nChild of the wandering sea,\\nCast from her lap, forlorn\\nFrom thy dead lips a clearer note is born\\nThan ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!\\nWhile on mine ear it rings,\\nThrough the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that\\nsings:\\nBuild thee more stately mansions, O my soul,\\nAs the swift seasons roll\\nLeave thy low- vaulted past\\nLet each new temple, nobler than the last,\\nShut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,\\nTill thou at length art free,\\nLeaving thine outgrown shell by life s unresting sea\\nHolmes s connection with The Atlantic was not sev-\\nered until his death, and the different publishers of the\\nmagazine were always the publishers of his writings.\\nFollowing The Autocrat came The Professor at the\\nBreakfast Table, published in The Atlantic, in 1859. In\\n1871, appeared The Poet at the Breakfast Table. Both\\nare written in mnch the same pleasing, conversational\\nstyle as The Autocrat.\\nThe poems which Holmes had published since 1849,\\nappeared in 1862, in a volume entitled Songs in Many\\nKeys. In this collection was the beautiful ballad, Agnes.\\nOn July 4, 1863, the poet delivered an oration before", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "270 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nthe city authorities of Boston. This oration, The In-\\nevitable Trial, was an eloquent, patriotic appeal to his\\ncountrymen to be true to their country and the cause\\nof liberty. Not only was it of value and interest at\\nthat particular period, but it is still considered, aside\\nfrom its patriotism, a very fine piece of prose literature.\\nIn Pages from an Old Volume of Life, published later,\\nwill be found My Hunt After the Captain, The Inevitable\\nTrial, Cinders from the Ashes, and many other valuable\\nessays.\\nHolmes collected several of his different writings and\\npublished them, in 1866, under the title of Soundings\\nfrom the Atlantic. In 1878, he wrote the biography of\\nhis lifelong friend, John Lothrop Motley. In 1884, a\\nsimilar task, though a labor of love as before, again fell\\nto him, that of writing the biography of his friend,\\nRalph Waldo Emerson, the great poet and philosopher.\\nBesides his poetical works and the Breakfast-Table\\nSeries, which chiefly made him famous, Holmes wrote\\nthree novels. Elsie Venner was published in 1860, The\\nGuardian Angel in 1867, and a A Mortal Antipathy\\nin 1885.\\nIn 1882, Dr. Holmes resigned his professorship at\\nHarvard University, a position which he had held for\\nover thirty-five years. His class presented him with a\\nsilver loving-cup, on which was engraved the following\\nlines, quoted from his own writings\\nLove bless thee, joy crown thee, God speed thy career. 1\\nDr. Holmes, with his daughter, visited Europe in\\n1886. He spent most of his time in England, where", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "DEATH 271\\nhis writings were known and admired. He was most\\ncordially received, and was overwhelmed with atten-\\ntions. In 1880, Harvard had conferred upon him the\\ndegree of Doctor of Law. During his stay in England,\\nCambridge made him a Doctor of Letters, Edinburgh\\ngave him the degree of Doctor of Laws, and Oxford\\nmade him Doctor of Civil Law. Iri memory of this\\njourney, the Doctor wrote the volume Our Hundred\\nDays in Europe.\\nIn 1888, Mrs. Holmes died, and his daughter, Mrs.\\nSargent, came to live with the Doctor. She, too, passed\\naway during the next year. His eldest son, the only\\nremaining child, then came with his wife, and stayed\\nwith his father for the rest of his life. In his last years,\\nDr. Holmes s eyesight began to fail him, though he\\nnever became totally blind.\\nDr. Holmes died peacefully in his chair, October 7,\\n1894, the last leaf upon the tree.\\nThere s Holmes, who is matchless among you for wit;\\nA Leyden jar always full-charged, from which flit\\nThe electrical tingles of hit after hit\\nIn long poems t is painful sometimes, and invites\\nA thought of the way the new Telegraph writes,\\nWhich pricks down its sharp little sentences spitefully\\nAs if you got more than you d title to rightfully,\\nAnd you find yourself hoping its wild father Lightning\\nWould flame in for a second and give you a fright ning.\\nHe has perfect sway of what I call a sham metre,\\nBut many admire it, the English pentameter,\\nAnd Campbell, I think, wrote most commonly worse,\\nWith less nerve, swing, and fire in the same kind of verse,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "272 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nNor e er achieved aught in t so worthy of praise\\nAs the tribute of Holmes to the grand Marseillaise.\\nHis are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric\\nFull of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satiric\\nIn a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes\\nThat are trodden upon are your own or your foes.\\nLowell: A Fable for Critics.\\nIt was just that estimate of, and admiration for,\\nHolmes s literary ability that induced James Russell\\nLowell to insist upon his becoming a regular contribu-\\ntor to The Atlantic, The debt of gratitude that is due\\nto Lowell is well expressed by Holmes himself, who\\nsaid, at the breakfast given him in 1879 by the publish-\\ners of The Atlantic\\nBut what I want especially to say here is, that I owe the\\nimpulse which started my second growth, to the urgent hint of\\nmy friend Mr. Lowell, and that you have him to thank, not only\\nfor his own noble contributions to our literature, but for the\\nspur which moved me to action, to which you owe any pleasure\\nI may have given, and I am indebted for the crowning hairiness\\nof this occasion.\\nIt was at this famous breakfast that the poet read\\nhis beautiful poem, The Iron Crate,, a selection from\\nwhich we have quoted at the beginning of this\\nbiography.\\nHolmes is a national writer. Not in the sense, how-\\never, of writing about any particular period of American\\nlife, or about the peculiarities of any section of our\\ncountry, as Longfellow in his Evangeline, Hiawatha, and\\nMiles Standish, Lowell in The Biglow Papers, and", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "THE BOYS 273\\nWhittier in his war poems, B%6t in the sense that there is\\na close mingling of the humorous and the pathetic, of\\nshrewd common sense and beautiful thoughts. His\\nstyle is unique clear in expression, high in thought,\\ngraceful and lofty.\\nThere are in his poems suggestions of stories, and\\ntraditions of old Colonial days, as in Dorothy Q.,\\nGrandmother s Story of Bunker Hill Battle, and in the\\nbeautiful ballad of Agnes. There are also beautiful\\ndescriptive passages, high moral truths, and a constant\\nrecurrence of humor and pathos.\\nOf all our American poets, Holmes was, without\\ndoubt, the best writer of occasional verses, as they\\nare called, being composed to celebrate some especial\\noccasion. The most famous of these poems are those\\nwritten for the annual meetings of the class of 29, con-\\ntributed regularly from 1851 to 1894. In all of them\\nis a tender pathetic touch which the bright sparkle of\\nhumor in them seems to hide from many readers. In\\nThe Boys, written for the class meeting in 1859, when\\nthe^ boys were old men, the tears and the laughter\\nare closely mingled.\\nHas there any old fellow got mixed with the boys\\nIf there has, take him out, without making a noise.\\nHang the Almanac s cheat and the Catalogue s spite S\\nOld Time is a liar We re twenty to-night\\nWe re twenty We re twenty Who says we are more\\nHe s tipsy, young jackanapes show him the door\\nGray temples at twenty Yes white if we please\\nWhere the snow-flakes fall thickest there s nothing: can freeze", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "274 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nWe ve a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,\\nOf talking (in public) as if we were old\\nThat boy we call Doctor, and this we call Judge\\nIt s a neat little fiction, of course it s all fudge.\\nThat fellow s the Speaker, 1 the one on the right;\\nMr. Mayor, my young one, how are you to-night\\nThat s our Member of Congress, we say when we chaff\\nThere s the Reverend What s his name don t make me\\nlaugh.\\nAnd there s a nice youngster of excellent pith,\\nFate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith\\nBut he shouted a song for the brave and the free,\\nJust read on his medal, My country, of thee\\nYes, we re boys, always playing with tongue or with pen,\\nAnd I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?\\nShall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay,\\nTill the last dear companion drops smiling away\\nThen here s to our boyhood, its gold and its gray\\nThe stars of its winter, the dews of its May\\nAnd when we have done with our life-lasting toys,\\nDear Father, take care of thy children, the boys.\\nThe Boys,\\n1859.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\n1819-1891", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "There is Lowell, who s striving Parnassus to climb\\nWith a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme,\\nHe might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders,\\nBut he can t with that bundle he has on his shoulders,\\nThe top of the hill he will ne er come nigh reaching\\nTill he learns the distinction twixt singing and preaching\\nHis lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well,\\nBut he d rather by half make a drum of the shell,\\nAnd rattle away till he s old as Methusalem,\\nAt the head of a march to the last New Jerusalem.\\nA Fable for Critics.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nAnd what is so rare as a day in June\\nThen, if ever, come perfect days\\nThen Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,\\nAnd over it softly her warm ear lays\\nWhether we look or whether we listen,\\nWe hear life murmur, or see it glisten\\nEvery clod feels a stir of might,\\nAn instinct within it that reaches and towers,\\nAnd, groping blindly above it for light,\\nClimbs to a soul in grass and flowers\\nThe flush of life may well be seen\\nThrilling back over hills and valleys\\nThe cowslip startles in meadows green,\\nThe buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,\\nAnd there s never a leaf nor a blade too mean\\nTo be some happy creature s palace\\nThe little bird sits at his door in the sun,\\nAtilt like a blossom among the leaves,\\nAnd lets his illumined being o errun\\nWith the deluge of summer it receives\\nHis mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,\\nAnd the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings\\nHe sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,\\nIn the nice ear of Nature which song is the best\\nVision of Sir Launfal.\\nThis lovely passage from Sir Launfal shows Lowell\\nto be truly a poet of nature. The picture of a rare\\nday in June is so exquisite, so full, so complete that\\nthere is never a perfect day that the lines do not come\\n279", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "280 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nback like the ever recurring strains of sweet music.\\nThey recall the beautiful summer day, with the bright\\nsunlight, the deep blue sky, the trees and the birds, the\\nbuds and the blossoms. Sometimes the picture they\\nbring is that of the seashore with its stretch of white\\nsand, the great blue ocean, and the music of the\\nwaves upon the beach sometimes it is a bit of green\\nwoods with the birds flitting from bough to bough,\\nand the blue sky peeping in between the leaves and\\nsometimes the picture is a bit of meadow and a clump\\nof trees in whose shadow one can lie and read and\\nread or dream of all the beautiful things of life. The\\nVision of Sir Launfal is but one of the many poems\\nthat place Lowell in the front rank of American poets,\\nand his works in both prose and poetry show him to\\nbe one of our best scholars.\\nJames Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Mas-\\nsachusetts, February 22, 1819. The Lowells were\\ndescended from Percival Lowell (Lowle), who came\\nfrom Bristol, England, in 1639 and settled at Newbury,\\nMassachusetts. John Lowell, who was born in 1704\\nand graduated from Harvard in 1721, was the first\\nminister of Newburyport. His son, also John, took a\\nprominent part in the forming of the state government\\nafter the Revolution. He was the author of the sec-\\ntion of the Bill of Rights which abolished slavery in\\nMassachusetts. Lowell, the manufacturing city, on the\\nMerrimac, was named after the Rev. Charles Lowell,\\nthe father of the poet, and his brother, Francis Cabot\\nLowell, who were among the first colonists to discover\\na way of using the water power of New England. The", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "ELM WOOD 281\\nRussells were also of English descent. The first Rus-\\nsell, Richard, settled at Charlestown, in 1640. The\\npoet s mother, who was of Scotch origin, came from an\\nold Orkney family.\\nLowell was most fortunate both in regard to his\\nhome life and the social influences that surrounded\\nhis boyhood. His father was a cultured, refined and\\ngracious gentleman. His mother had a remarkable gift\\nfor languages and a great love for old songs and ro-\\nmances. From her, Lowell inherited his poetic tem-\\nperament and his love for the beauties of nature. He\\nwas the youngest child, and had two brothers and two\\nsisters. Does it not seem very odd that so great a man\\nshould ever have been called Baby Jamie Yet\\nsuch was his mother s pet name for him for many\\nyears.\\nThe home of Lowell was named Elm wood because of\\nsome old elms that stood in front of the house. It is in\\nCambridge, four miles from Boston. The house is a\\nlarge, comfortable one, built in the colonial style. It is\\nthree stories high, and somewhat resembles the Craigie\\nHouse. In a letter to a friend, written when he was a\\nman of mature years, Lowell thus describes his favorite\\nroom\\nHere I am in my garret. I slept here when I was a little\\ncurly-headed boy, and used to see visions between me and the\\nceiling, and dream that so often recurring dream of having the\\nearth put into my hand like an orange. In it I used to be shut\\nup without a lamp my mother saying that none of her children\\nshould be afraid of the dark to hide my head under the pil-\\nlows, and then not to be able to shut out the shapeless monsters\\nthat thronged around me, minted in my brain. It is a pleasant", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "282\\nJAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nroom, facing, from the position of the house, almost equally\\ntoward the morning and the afternoon. In winter I can see the\\nsunset, in summer I can see it only as it lights up the tall trunks\\nof the English elms in front of the house, making them some-\\ntimes, when the sky behind them is lead-colored, seem of the\\nmost brilliant yellow. When the sun, towards setting, breaks\\nelm wood, lowell s home\\nout suddenly after a thunder-shower and I see them against an\\nalmost black sky, they have seemed of a most peculiar and daz-\\nzling green tint, like the rust on copper. In winter my view is\\na wide one, taking in a part of Boston. I can see one long curve\\nof the Charles, and the wide fields between me and Cambridge,\\nand the flat marshes beyoud the river, smooth and silent with\\nglittering snow. As the spring advances and one after another\\nof our trees puts forth, the landscape is cut off from me piece by", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "CAMBRIDGE THIRTY YEARS AGO 283\\npiece, till, by the end of May, I am closeted in a cool and\\nrustling privacy of leaves.\\nElmwood stood fronting upon a lane between two\\nroads. The house was surrounded by pleasant grounds,\\nconsisting of a garden, a lawn, an orchard and a large\\nstretch of woodland. Though Elmwood was so near\\nthe city of Boston, yet at that time the whole district\\nwas quite rural. Between the house and the village of\\nCambridge was a long stretch of open space. To the\\neast from the house, close to the Charles river, was a\\nslight elevation called Symonds Hill. The country\\nback of Elmwood was a farming district, with stretches\\nof woods and meadows.\\nThe following, taken from Lowell s Cambridge Thirty\\nYears Ago, describes the region as it was in his child-\\nhood\\nApproaching it from the west by what was then called the\\nNew Road (so called no longer, for we change onr names as\\nreadily as thieves, to the great detriment of all historical asso-\\nciation), yon would pause on the brow of Symonds 1 Hill to enjoy\\na view singularly soothing and placid. In front of yon lay the\\ntown, tufted with elms, lindens, and horse-chestnuts. Over\\nit rose the noisy belfry of the College, the square, brown tower\\nof the church, and the slim, yellow spire of the parish meeting\\nhouse, by no means ungraceful, and then an invariable charac-\\nteristic of JSTew England religious architecture. On your right,\\nthe Charles slipped smoothly through green and purple salt-\\nmeadows, darkened, here and there, with the blossoming black-\\ngrass as with a stranded cloud-shadow. To your left hand,\\nupon the Old Road, you saw some half-dozen dignified old\\nhouses of the colonial time, all comfortably fronting southward.\\nFrom Letters of James Russell Lowell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper\\nBrothers.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "284 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nIf it were early June, the rows of horse-chestnuts along the\\nfronts of these houses showed, through every crevice of their\\ndark heap of foliage, and the end of every drooping limb, a cone\\nof pearly flowers, while the hill behind was white or rosy with\\nthe crowding blooms of various fruit-trees. 11\\nAt the end of the New Road toward Cambridge stood\\na line of six willows which Lowell mentions in his\\nIndian Summer Reverie and also in Under the Willows.\\nIVe seen those unshorn few,\\nThe six old willows at the causey s end\\n(Such trees Paul Potter never dreamed nor drew),\\nThrough this dry mist their checkering shadows send,\\nStriped, here and there, with many a long-drawn thread,\\nWhere streamed through leafy chinks the trembling red,\\nPast which, in one bright trail, the hangbird\\\\s flashes blend.\\nIndian Summer Reverie.\\nThis willow is as old to me as life\\nAnd under it full often have I stretched\\nFeeling the warm earth like a thing ali\\nAnd gathering virtue in at every pore\\nTill it possessed me wholly, and thou tsed,\\nOr was transfused in something to w! night\\nIs coarse and dull of sense. Myself t.\\nGone from me like an ache, and what km I\\nBecame a part of the universal joy. IJlfe\\nMy soul went forth, and, mingling wi. se,\\nDanced in the leaves or, floating in\\nSaw its white double in the stream bt hem agai.\\nOr else, sublimed to purer ecstasy, eculiar ant\\nDilated in the broad blue over all. inter my vi\\nI was the wind that dappled the lush ee one long c\\nThe tide that crept with coo t and Cambridge\\nThe thin-winged swallow sk\u00c2\u00ab and silent with\\nThe life that gladdened eve id one after another\\nit off from me piece by", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "TO THE DANDELION 285\\nThe boy had a very free and happy outdoor life in\\nthis country home. He keenly enjoyed such a life,\\ncaring little for school. The ample grounds, covering\\nmany acres, with their grassy lawns, orchards and\\ngroves, afforded him many opportunities to study nature.\\nThat he became an interested and a close observer of\\nall her moods and manifestations is shown in many of\\nhis writings. Here the dear dandelion of his boyhood\\ngrew, and here he heard the robin s song.\\nDear common flower, that grow st beside the way,\\nFringing the dusty road with harmless gold,\\nFirst pledge of blithesome May,\\nWhich children pluck, and, full of pride uphold,\\nHigh-hearted buccaneers, o er joyed that they\\nAn Eldorado in the grass have found,\\nWhich not the rich earth s ample round\\nMay match in wealth, thou art more dear to me\\nTh\u00c2\u00b0 \\\\11 the prouder summer-blooms may be.\\nGr ch as thine ne er drew the Spanish prow\\nThr, he primeval hush of Indian seas,\\nwrinkled the lean brow\\nOf a 5 rob the lover s heart of ease\\nSpring s largess, which she scatters now\\nTo 3 nc 1 poor alike, with lavish hand.\\noircL v n mos t hearts never understand\\nt at God s value, but pass by\\nred wealth with unrewarded eye.\\nJlc of New\\nCharles sL\\nidows, dark\\nass as with a\\ntood s earliest thoughts are linked with thee\\nupon the Old back the robin,s son\\nhouses of the co J e dark old tree\\nclearly all day long,\\nFrom Letters of J J.\\nt nldish piety,\\nBrothers. L J", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "286 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nListened as if I heard an angel sing\\nWith news from heaven, which he could bring\\nFresh every day to my untainted ears\\nWhen birds and flowers and I were happy peers.\\nHow like a prodigal doth nature seem,\\nWhen thou, for all thy gold, so common art!\\nThou teaches me to deem\\nMore sacredly of every human heart,\\nSince each reflects in joy its scanty gleam\\nOf heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,\\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.\\nTo the Dandelion.\\nIn My G-arden Acquaintances the poet invites one to\\nwander in his little kingdom. In the essay, he mentions\\nforty species of birds that nested within the grounds of\\nhis home, whose habits he had lovingly watched from\\nhis boyhood. He says, All my birds look upon me as\\nthough I were a tenant at will, and they, landlords.\\nThere is something inexpressibly dear to me in these\\nold friendships of a lifetime.\\nHow he valued in after years the lessons taught him\\nin his close study of nature is shown in a letter he\\nwrote to his nephew, Charles R. Lowell.\\nLet me counsel you to make use of all your visits to the\\ncountry as opportunities for an education which is of great im-\\nportance, which town-bred boys are commonly lacking in, and\\nwhich can never be so cheaply acquired as in boyhood. Remem-\\nber that a man is valuable in our day for what lie knows, and\\nthat his company will always be desired by others in exact pro-\\nportion to the amount of intelligence and instruction he brings\\nwith him. I assure you that one of the earliest pieces of definite", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "STUDY OF NATURE 287\\nknowledge we acquire after we have become men is this that\\nour company will be desired no longer than we honestly pay our\\nproper share in the general reckoning of mutual entertainment.\\nA man who knows more than another knows incalculably more,\\nbe sure of that, and a person with eyes in his head cannot look\\neven into a pigsty without learning something that will be use-\\nful to him at one time or another. Not that we should educate\\nourselves for the mere selfish sake of that advantage of superi-\\nority which it will give us. But knowledge is power in this\\nnoblest sense that it enables us to benefit others and to pay our\\nway honorably in life by being of use.\\nNow, when you are at school in Boston you are furnishing\\nyour brain with what can be obtained from books. Yon are\\ntraining and enriching your intellect. While you are in the\\ncountry you should remember that you are in the great school\\nof the senses. Train your eyes and ears. Learn to know all\\nthe trees by their bark and leaves, by their general shaj3e and\\nmanner of growth. Sometimes you can be able to say positively\\nwhat a tree is not by simply examining the lichens on the bark,\\nfor you will find that particular varieties of lichens love particu-\\nlar trees. Learn also to know all the birds by sight, by their\\nnotes, by their manner of flying all the animals by their gen-\\neral appearance and gait or the localities they frequent.\\nYou would be ashamed not to know the name and use of\\nevery piece of furniture in the house, and we ought to be as\\nfamiliar with every object in the world which is only a larger\\nkind of house. You recollect the pretty story of Pizarro and\\nthe Peruvian Inca how the Inca asked one of the Spaniards\\nto write the word Bio (God) upon his thumbnail, and then,\\nshowing it to the rest, found only Pizarro unable to read it.\\nAY ell, you will find as you grow older that this same name- of\\nGod is written all over the world in little phenomena that occur\\nunder onr eyes every moment, and I confess that I feel very\\nmuch inclined to hang my head with Pizarro when I cannot\\ntranslate these hieroglyphics into my own vernacular. 1\\nFrom Letters of James Russell Lowell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper\\nBrothers.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "288 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nLowell became an earnest student and lover of books\\nas he grew older, but they were the books of his own\\nchoosing rather than those which were required to be\\nstudied at school and college. As a little fellow, he\\nattended a dame s school in Cambridge. When\\nhe was about eight years old, he became a day scholar\\nat the boarding school of Mr. William Wells, near Elm-\\nwood. In this school he was well grounded in Latin.\\nLowell mentions his childish experiences in the fol-\\nlowing poem which is published in his Biglow Papers\\nPropped on the marsh, a dwelling now, T see\\nThe humble schoolhouse of my A, B, C,\\nWhere well-drilled urchins, each behind his tire,\\nWaited in ranks the wished command to fire,\\nThen all together, when the signal came,\\nDischarged their a-b abs against the dame.\\nDaughter of Danaus, who could daily i^our\\nIn treacherous pipkins her Pierian store,\\nShe, mid the volleyed learning firm and calm,\\nPatted the furloughed ferrule on her palm,\\nAnd, to our wonder, could divine at once\\nWho flashed the pan, and who was downright dunce.\\nAh, dear old times there once it was my hap,\\nPerched on a stool, to wear the long-eared cap\\nFrom books degraded, there I sat at ease,\\nA drone, the envy of compulsory bees;\\nRewards of merit, too, full many a time,\\nEach with its woodcut and its moral rhyme,\\nAnd pierced half-dollars hung on ribbons gay\\nAbout my neck (to be restored next day)\\nI carried home, rewards as shining then\\nAs those that deck the lifelong pains of men,", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "CHILDISH EXPERIENCES 289\\nMore solid than the redemanded praise\\nWith which the world beribbons later days.\\nAh, dear old times how brightly ye return\\nHow, rubbed afresh, your phosphor traces burn\\nThe ramble schoolward through dew sparkling meads,\\nThe willow-wands turned Cinderella steeds,\\nThe dinner carried in the small tin pail,\\nShared with some dog, whose most beseeching tail\\nAnd dripping tongue and eager ears belied\\nThe assumed indifference of canine pride\\nThe caper homeward, shortened if the cart\\nOf neighbor Pomeroy, trundling from the mart,\\nO ertook me, then, translated to the seat\\nI praised the steed, how stanch he was and fleet,\\nWhile the bluff farmer, with superior grin,\\nExplained where horses should be thick, where thin,\\nAnd warned me (joke he always had in store)\\nTo shun a beast that four white stockings wore.\\nWhat a fine natural courtesy was his\\nHis nod was pleasure, and his full bow bliss\\nHow did his well-thumbed hat, with ardor rapt,\\nIts curve decorous to each rank adapt\\nHow did it graduate with a courtly ease\\nThe whole long scale of social differences,\\nYet so gave each his measure running o 1 er,\\nNone thought his own was less, his neighbor s more\\nThe squire was flattered, and the pauper knew\\nOld times acknowledged neath the threadbare blue\\nDropped at the corner of the embowered lane,\\nWliistling I wade the knee-deep leaves again,\\nWhile eager Argus, who has missed all day\\nThe sharer of his condescending play,\\nComes leaping onward with a bark elate\\nAnd boisterous tail to greet me at the gate\\nThat I was true in absence to our love\\nLet the thick dogVears in my primer prove.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "290 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nAs before mentioned, Lowell s father was a clergy-\\nman, and he frequently would exchange Sunday ser-\\nvices with other clergymen whose charges were in\\nneighboring towns or villages. On these trips, which\\nwere often a day s journey from home, he would take\\nhis son James. In this way the boy had many oppor-\\ntunities to become well acquainted with the New Eng-\\nland people, their manners and customs, and their\\npeculiarities of speech. That he was a close observer\\nof the Yankee of that period is shown in some of his\\nwritings, especially in The Bigloiv Papers and Fitz\\nAdams Story. All the early influences in Lowell s\\nlife are felt in his works.\\nQuite a number of Lowell s letters to his friends have\\nbeen published. They are very interesting and give\\none a closer acquaintance with the real man. The fol-\\nlowing letters were written when he was a little boy\\nJan. 25, 1827.\\nMy dear brother The dog and the colt went down today with\\nour boy for me and the eolt went before and then the horse\\nand slay and dog I went to a party and I danced a great deal\\nand was very happy I read french stories The colt plays\\nvery much and follows the horse when it is out.\\nYour affectionate brother\\nJames R. Lowell.\\nI forgot to tell you that sister mary has not given me any\\npresent but I have got three books.*\\nNov. 2, 1828.\\nMy Dear Brother, I am now going to tell you melancholy\\nnews. I have got the ague together with a gumbile. I presume\\nyou know that September has got a lame leg, but he grows bet-\\nFrom Letters of James Russell LoAvell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper\\nBrothers.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "CLASS POEM 291\\nter every day and now is very well but still limps a little. We\\nhave a new scholar from round hill. his name is Hooper and\\nwe expect another named Penn who I believe also comes from\\nthere. The boys are all very well except Nemaise, who has got\\nanother piece of glass in his leg and is waiting for the doctor to\\ntake it out, and Samuel Storrow is also sick. I am going to\\nhave a new suit of blue broadcloth clothes to wear every day and\\nto play in. Mother tells me I may have any sort of buttons I\\nchoose. I have not done anything to the hut but if you wish\\nI will. I am now very happy; but I should be more so if you\\nwere there. I hope you will answer my letter if you do not I\\nshall write you no more letters, when you write my letters you\\nmust direct them all to me and not write half to mother as you\\ngenerally do. Mother has given me the three volumes of the\\ntales of a grandfather.\\nfarewell\\nYours truly\\nJames R. Lowell.\\nYou must excuse me for making so many mistakes. You\\nmust keep what I have told you about my new clothes a secret\\nif you don t I shall not divulge any more secrets to you. I have\\ngot quite a library. The Master has not taken his rattan out\\nsince the vacation. Your little kitten is as well and playful as\\never and I hope you are to for I am sure I love yon as well as\\never. Why is grass like a mouse who can t guess that he he he\\nho ho ho ha ha ha hum hum hum.*\\nIn 1834, when Lowell was about fifteen years old,\\nhe entered Harvard College. As many of the studies\\nrequired by the college were those that did not interest\\nhim, his work as a student became very irksome. He\\nwas graduated, however, receiving his bachelor degree in\\n1838. His first printed poem was his Class Poem.\\nIt was printed in pamphlet form for his classmates, and\\ndedicated to them in the following original manner\\nFrom Letters of James Russell Lowell. Copyrighted, 1893, by Harper\\nBrothers.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "292 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nTo the class of 1838, some of whom he loves, none of\\nwhom he hates, this poem is dedicated by their classmate. 1\\nLowell had such a keen appreciation of his ability to\\nbecome a writer and a poet, that it was most difficult\\nfor him to decide upon a profession. The ministry was\\nfirst considered but dismissed because he felt that no\\nman should be a minister unless he had money other\\nthan his salary to support him. For, he wrote, the\\nminister of God should not be thinking of his own and\\nchildren s bread when dispensing the bread of life.\\nThe study of law received his attention, but not always\\nan earnest nor continuous attention, for all the while he\\nfelt within himself the spirit of poesy craving for ex-\\npression. However, in the spring of 1839, he entered\\nthe Dane Law School. He finished his studies at the\\nHarvard Law School the following year, receiving the\\ndegree of Bachelor of Laivs.\\nLowell had no desire to practice law in fact, he had a\\ndecided dislike for it, as the following lines plainly show:\\nThey tell me I must study law.\\nThey say that I have dreamed, and dreamed too long\\nThat I must rouse and seek for fame and gold\\nThat I must scorn this idle gift of song,\\nAnd mingle with the vain and proud and cold.\\nIs, then, this petty strife\\nThe end and aim of life,\\nAll that is worth the living for below\\nGod then call me hence, for I would gladly go\\nOwing, however, to the fact that his father had lost\\nthe greater part of his personal property, and to Lowell s\\nLetters of James Russell Lowell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper Bros.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "Ft\\ni\\nj^m^^mm\\nr i\\ny^^\\n5\\nl*.\\n^jjr^^Hf*\\n#11\\n*^P i V-i \u00e2\u0080\u00a2*ttdManu^JS\\n.T_\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Sip 7- J.\\n1 1\\nr\\n*^Pra|", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "294 JAMES KUSSELL LOWELL\\ndesire to many Miss Maria White, to whom he had be-\\ncome engaged, the practice of laiv seemed to be a neces-\\nsity as a means of earning his livelihood. Bnt after\\ngiving the matter some attention, he at last dismissed it\\nentirely, and devoted his efforts wholly to literature.\\nLowell was a contributor of poems to several periodi-\\ncals for a year or two, under his own name and the\\nassumed name of Hugh Percival. These poems were\\ncollected and published in 1841 as his first volume of\\npoems. It was called A Years Life. They are now\\npublished in the volume of Earlier Poems. He also\\nstarted a literary magazine, The Pioneer, but only three\\nnumbers of it were published.\\nIt was wholly the lack of business ability that caused\\nThe Pioneer to fail, for the magazine had as its contribu-\\ntors such writers as Hawthorne, Whittier and Poe. In\\nit appeared Hawthorne s Hall of Phantasy and Poe s\\nLenore. In one of the numbers was Lowell s Song\\nWriting, an excellent essay upon the value and influence\\nof that form of poetry called songs. In the same num-\\nber, Lowell took his stand with the anti-slavery party,\\nand wrote an almost prophetic criticism upon the future\\ninfluence of the work and writings of Garrison and\\nWhittier.\\nIn the winter of 1843, Lowell published his second\\nvolume of Poems. These indicated the growth of his\\npowers, and plainly showed that he was wise in de-\\nciding to devote his life to literature and not to law.\\nAlthough Lowell s income from his writings was\\nsmall and uncertain, yet it seemed sufficient to permit\\nhis marrying. In December, 1844, he was married to", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "THE CHANGELING 295\\nMiss White. As Mrs. Lowell was rather frail, they\\nspent the winter in Philadelphia, the climate there being\\nmilder than in Cambridge. They returned to Elmwood\\nin the following June. The happiness of Lowell s home\\nlife was greatly increased by the birth of his daughter,\\nBlanche, in December, 1845. The little one lingered\\nwith them hardly more than a year. The following\\nbeautiful poem shows how dearly her father loved her.\\nI had a little daughter,\\nAnd she was given to me\\nTo lead me gently backward\\nTo the Heavenly Father s knee.\\nThat I, by the force of nature,\\nMight in some dim wise divine\\nThe depth of his infinite patience\\nTo this wayward soul of mine.\\nShe had been with us scarce a twelvemonth,\\nAnd it hardly seemed a day,\\nWhen a troop of wandering angels\\nStole my little daughter away\\nOr perhaps those heavenly Zingari\\nBut loosed the hampering strings,\\nAnd when they had opened her cage-door,\\nMy little bird used her wings.\\nBut they left in her stead a changeling,\\nA little angel child,\\nThat seems like her bud in full blossom,\\nAnd smiles as she never smiled\\nWhen I wake in the morning, I see it\\nWhere she always used to lie,\\nAnd I feel as weak as a violet\\nAlone neath the awful sky.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "296 JAMES EUSSELL LOWELL\\nThis child is not mine as the first was,\\nI cannot sing it to rest,\\nI cannot lift it up fatherly\\nAnd bliss it upon my breast\\nYet it lies in my little one s cradle\\nAnd sits in my little one s chair,\\nAnd the light of the heaven she s gone to\\nTransfigures its golden hair.\\nThe Changeling.\\nIn The First Snow-Fall, his thought is of this little\\ndaughter when he refers to a mound in sweet Auburn.\\nTHE FIRST SNOW-FALL\\nThe snow had begun in the gloaming,\\nAnd busily all the night\\nHad been heaping field and highway\\nWith a silence deep and white.\\nEvery pine and fir and hemlock\\nW r ore ermine too dear for an earl,\\nAnd the poorest twig on the. elm-tree\\nAVas ridged inch deep with j)earl.\\nFrom sheds new-roofed with Carrara\\nCame Chanticleer s muffled crow,\\nThe stiff rails softened to swan s-down,\\nAnd still fluttered down the snow.\\nI stood and watched by the window\\nThe noiseless work of the sky,\\nAnd the sudden flurries of snow-birds,\\nLike brown leaves whirling by.\\nI thought of a mound in sweet Auburn\\nWhere a little headstone stood\\nHow the flakes were folding it gently,\\nAs did robins the babes in the wood.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "THE FIRST SNOW-FALL 297\\nUp spoke our own little Mabel\\nSaying, Father, who makes it snow\\nAnd I told of the good All-father\\nWho cares for us here below.\\nAgain I looked at the snow-fall,\\nAnd I thought of the leaden sky\\nThat arched o er our first great sorrow,\\nWhen that mound was heaped so high.\\nI remembered the gradual patience\\nThat fell from that cloud like snow,\\nFlake by flake, healing and hiding\\nThe scar that renewed our woe.\\nAnd again to the child I whispered,\\nThe snow- that husheth all,\\nDarling, the merciful Father\\nAlone can make it fall\\nThen, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;\\nAnd she, kissing back, could not know\\nThat my kiss was given to her sister,\\nFolded close under deepening snow.\\nLowell had four children, three daughters and a son.\\nOnly one child lived, his daughter Mabel. He dearly\\nloved his little ones and their death was a great sorrow\\nto him. Those who visited him at that time, remember\\nthe pairs of baby shoes that hung over a picture frame\\nin his study. From the window, he could see Mount\\nAuburn, the resting place of the little feet. Beside\\nThe Changeling and The First Snow-Fail, She Came and\\nWent is another poem that expresses, hut in part, his\\nfatherly love.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "298 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nSHE CAME AND WENT\\nAs a twig trembles, which a bird\\nLights on to sing, then leaves unbent,\\nSo is my memory thrilled and stirred\\nI only know she came and went.\\nAs clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,\\nThe blue dome s measureless content,\\nSo my soul held that moment s heaven\\nI only know she came and went.\\nAs, at one bound, our swift spring heaps\\nThe orchards full of bloom and scent,\\nS 3 clove her May my wintry sleeps\\nI only know she came and went.\\nAn angel stood and met my gaze,\\nThrough the long doorway of my tent\\nThe tent is struck, the vision stays\\nI only know she came and went.\\nOh, when the room grows slowly dim,\\nAnd life s last oil is nearly spent,\\nOne gush of light these eyes will brim,\\nOnly to think she came and went.\\nThe loss of their children told greatly upon Mrs.\\nLowell s health, which had always been delicate, and\\ntheir trip to Europe, in 1851, was undertaken with the\\nhope that it might benefit her. The death of their\\nyoungest child, their baby son, Walter, who was buried\\nin Rome, was a grief from which Mrs. Lowell never\\nrecovered. They returned from Europe the following\\nautumn, and Mrs. Lowell died at Elmwood in the au-\\ntumn of 1853. On the day of her death, a child was\\nborn to Longfellow. His Two Angels, which Longfel-", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 299\\nlow sent to Lowell, is a most beautiful expression of\\nsympathy for his friend s sorrow.\\nTwo angels, one of Life and one of Death,\\nPassed o er our village as the morning broke\\nThe dawn was on their faces, and beneath\\nThe somber houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.\\nTheir attitude and aspect were the same,\\nAlike their features and their robes of white\\nBut one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame,\\nAnd one with asphodels, like flakes of flight.\\nTwas at thy door, O friend and not at mine,\\nThe angel with the amaranthine wreath,\\nPausing, descended, and with voice divine,\\nWhispered a word that had a sound like Death.\\nThen fell upon the house a sudden gloom,\\nA shadow on those features fair and thin\\nAnd softly, from that hushed and darkened room,\\nTwo angels issued, Where but one went in.\\nTwo Angels.\\nIn the summer of 1846, the Mexican war was in\\nprogress, and in June of that year Lowell s first poem\\nof the first series of The Biglow Papers, in which he\\nholds up to scorn the efforts to raise volunteers in\\nBoston, appeared in The Boston Courier.\\nThe next important poem after the Bigloiv Papers\\nwas The Vision of Sir Launfal. It was published in\\n1848. The poem was written in forty-eight hours,\\nduring which time the poet scarcely ate or slept.\\nThroughout it seems inspired. The pictures of sum-\\nmer and of winter, which form the introductions to the", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "800 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nfirst and second parts, are exquisitely beautiful. It is\\na landscape poem, and its popularity is due more to its\\npresentation of nature than to its legend. This alle-\\ngory shows the deeply religious element in Lowell s\\nnature and his sincere love for humanity.\\nShortly after Sir Launfal, appeared The Present\\nCrisis, the most eloquent and patriotic of all his\\npoems.\\nA Fable for Critics\\nSet forth in October, the 31st day,\\nIn the year 48, G. P. Putnam, Broadway, 1\\nis a keen, satirical and humorous estimate of the writers\\nof that period. It is, on the whole, surprisingly just.\\nThe poem is unequaled by anything of the same nature,\\nin the English language. The poet in his prefatory\\nnote says,\\nThis jeu cVcsprit was extemporized, I may fairly say, so\\nrapidly was it written, purely for my own amusement and with\\nno thought of publication. I sent daily instalments of it to a\\nfriend in New York, the late Charles F. Brio-o-s. He ur^ed me\\nto let it be printed, and I at last consented to its anonymous pub-\\nlication. The secret was kept till after several persons had laid\\nclaim to its authorship. 1\\nBeaver Brook, a few miles from Elmwood, was a\\nfavorite haunt of the poet. He has made the beauties\\nof the place familiar to all in his exquisite poem, Beaver\\nBrook. The mill is no longer there, but the Waverly\\nOaks, seven to eight in number, still stand. To the\\nDandelio?i and The Birch Tree are two other poems that\\nare beautifully descriptive.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "PROFESSOR IN HARVARD COLLEGE 301\\nIn the winter of 1855, Lowell was appointed to the\\nprofessorship of French and Spanish languages and\\nliteratures, and belles-lettres in Harvard College. He\\naccepted the position on the condition that he be per-\\nmitted to spend a year in Europe in preparatory study.\\nDuring the summer of the next year, he returned from\\nEurope in the autumn, he began his duties as pro-\\nfessor.\\nAlthough Lowell was well fitted by education and\\nby a kindly, sympathetic nature to be a teacher, still\\nthe performance of his duties was very irksome. With-\\nout doubt, his work as professor interfered with his\\nliterary efforts, and even seemed at times to crush all\\npoetic expression. After he had been teaching about\\nten years, he writes, I have been overhauling my old\\nmanuscripts, and hope to finish some beginnings which\\nhave stood still ever since I was benumbed by sitting\\ndown in the professor s chair.\\nIn another letter, he writes, I begin my annual dis-\\nsatisfaction of lecturing next Wednesday. I cannot\\nget used to it. All my nightmares are of lecturing.\\nIn 1874, when he was contemplating the giving up\\nof his professorship, he wrote, in quite a different spirit,\\nthe following\\nI was never good for much as a professor once a week,\\nperhaps, at the best, when I could manage to get into some con-\\nceit of myself, and so could put a little of \\\\\\\\\\\\j go into the boys.\\nThe rest of the time my desk was as good as I. And then, on\\nthe other hand, my being a professor wasn t good forme it\\ndamped my gunpowder, as it were, and my mind, when it took\\nfire at all (which wasn t often), drawled off in an unwilling fuse", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "302 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\ninstead of leaping to meet the first spark. Since I have dis-\\ncharged my soul of it and see the callous on my ankle where the\\nball and chain used to be, subsiding gradually to smooth and\\nnatural skin, I feel like dancing round the table as I used when\\nI was twenty, to let off the animal spirits.\\nIn the summer of 1857, Lowell was married to Miss\\nFrances Dunlap. In the autumn of the same year, he\\nbecame the editor of The Atlantic Monthly, which office\\nhe held for nearly four years. Shortly after giving up\\nthat work, he became the joint editor of The North\\nAmerican Review, retaining the position for ten years.\\nLowell is often spoken of as the poet-statesman, and\\nhe well deserves the name, for few poets have ever ren-\\ndered such service to their country as he did to his.\\nWhile in Philadelphia during the winter of 1844-45,\\nLowell became a contributor to The Pennsylvania Free-\\nman. He also became a contributor to The Anti-Slavery\\nStandard, published in New York, which was the organ\\nof the Anti-Slavery Society. The contributions to these\\npapers, his writings in both prose and poetry, show the\\nkeen interest Lowell took in the grave and exciting\\nevents of that period, his intense patriotism and his\\nhatred of slavery. The following, quoted from a letter\\nto a friend, expresses his sentiments on the subject of\\nslavery in no uncertain terms\\nThe horror of slavery can only be appreciated by one who\\nhas felt it himself, or who has imagination enough to put himself\\nin the place of the slave, and fancy himself not only virtually\\nimprisoned, but forced to toil, and all this for no crime and no\\nreason except that it would be inconvenient to free them. What\\nif the curse of slavery were entailed upon them by their ances-\\nLetters of James Russell Lowell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper Bros.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "THE BIGLUW PAPERS 303\\ntors, does this in the least affect the clear question of right and\\nwrong? If this be so, then no barbarian can ever be reformed.\\n-But, thank God, this is not so. This is the only excuse which\\na pandering conscience, a terrified love of gain, invent for the\\nslaveholders, and in which we Northern freemen sustain and en-\\ncourage (hem. Are the slaves to be forever slaves because our\\nancestors committed a horrible crime and wrong in making them\\nso Only think for a moment on the miserable and outrageous\\nlie and fallacy here. 11\\nThe Present Crisis, printed in 1848, is replete with\\nhis patriotism and his hatred of oppression. The first\\nseries of T lie Bigloiv Papers (published in 1848) relates\\nto the Mexican war. Lowell regarded the war as a\\nnational crime committed in behalf of slavery. He en-\\ndeavored to express the feelings of the New Englanders,\\nespecially the people of Massachusetts, upon the sub-\\nject. The second series, which appeared about twenty\\nyears later (1867), refers to the exciting events of the\\nCivil War. He had thrown himself heart and soul into\\nthe cause of abolition, and the The Biglow Papers were\\nthe medium through which he expressed his bitter\\nhatred of slavery. Beneath his keen satires, his severe\\ncensure of political wrong doing, there flows a stream\\nof gentle humor and human sympathy. The papers are\\nan excellent comment on the exciting times from the\\nbeginning of the Mexican War to the Civil War.\\nThe keen wit and humor displayed placed Lowell in\\nthe front rank of humorists. During the Rebellion,\\nLowell s writings were among the most powerful and\\neffective expressions of the North. The Commemoration\\nFrom Letters of James Russell Lowell. Copyright, 1893, by Harper\\nBrothers.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "304 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nOde was recited in Memorial Hall at the Harvard com-\\nmemoration, July 21, 18(35, in honor of the ninety-three\\nalumni who fell in the Civil War, among whom were\\nfive of the poet s kindred. It contains a noble tribute\\nto President Lincoln, and is full of elevated thought,\\ngreat beauty and power. Beside the above, The Washers\\nof the Shroud is one of the strongest war poems.\\nThe volume of poems containing Under the Willows\\nappeared in 1869. In the preface, the author states\\nthat no collections of his poems had been made since\\n1848 and that some of them are of still earlier date.\\nUnder the Willows is descriptive of the many outdoor\\nattractions that had delighted Lowell from his boyhood.\\nThe willows themselves had always had a peculiar\\ncharm for the poet. Not only did he love the willows\\ndearly, but he taught others to love them so well that a\\nresident of Cambridge changed the plan of her house to\\navoid cutting down one of them.\\nIn Lowell s long poem, The Cathedral, is a full ex-\\npression of his religious faith. It is not only in this\\npoem that we find an expression of his love for God\\nand man, but it is shown in many of his shorter poems,\\nespecially in The Search, Grodminster Chimes and The\\nFoot Path,\\nAs a writer of prose, Lowell also ranks among the\\nfirst of our American authors. His first prose work,\\nConversation on Some of the Older Poets, was published\\nin 1845. In 1854 appeared the Life of Keats.\\nFireside Travels was published in 1864. This is a\\nbook of charming essays which had appeared in the\\nmagazines of the day. In this collection is Cambridge\\nThirty Years Ago.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "306 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nMy Study Windows, which was published in 1870,\\ncontains some of Lowell s best prose writings.\\nIn the summer of 1872, Lowell went to Europe, on\\nhis third visit, remaining abroad two years. The de-\\ngree of Doctor of Civil Law was conferred upon him\\nby Oxford in June 1873, and the degree of Doctor of\\nLaws by Cambridge.\\nLowell was sent by our government as Minister to\\nSpain in 1877. He was afterward transferred to Eng-\\nland (1880). He made many friends while in England,\\ncharming the English people by his courtliness and his\\nbrilliant talents. He delivered a number of speeches,\\nwhich are published among his political and literary\\naddresses. Lowell returned to the United States in\\n1885, and lived a retired life with his only daughter,\\nat South boro Mass. He was not afterward engaged in\\npublic life, and was prevented by failing health from\\ndoing much literary work. He died at Elmwood,\\nAugust 12, 1891.\\nAs a writer, Lowell is one of our best poets, essayists,\\ncritics and lecturers. His writings are humorous, witty,\\npathetic and kindly satirical. As an American, he was\\na true patriot, eager for his country s good an ardent\\nabolitionist and an excellent Minister to the Court of\\nSt. James. England has honored his memory by erect-\\ning a memorial window to him in Westminster Abbey.", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "NDEX", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "IXDEX\\nWILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\nPAGE\\nAdmitted to the bar 23\\nAges, The, Selection from 29\\nAncestors 11, 12\\nBaylies, Hon. William,\\nStudies law with 23\\nBoyhood, Description of 13, 14\\nBoys of My Boyhood, The,\\nSelection from 13\\nBryant,\\nHomestead, Description of 6\\nPeter (Dr.),\\nDescription of 12, 13\\nInfluence of, upon Wil-\\nliam Cullen 14, 15\\nMarriage of 12\\nPeter (Mrs.),\\nDescription of 12\\nInfluence of, upon Wil-\\nliam Cullen 14\\nPhilip (Dr.) 11\\nStephen 11\\nWilliam Cullen,\\nBirth of 5\\nBirthplace of 5\\nDeath of 45\\nDescription of 16\\nEdgar Allan Poe s 38, 39\\nMarriage of 29\\nWilliam Cullen (Mrs.),\\nDeath of 39\\nDescription of .29\\nPoems to 39\\nCedarmere 38\\nCentral Park, New York City,\\nInfluence in establishing 36\\nCollege career 16, 18\\nl AGE\\nCourtship of Miles Standish,\\nThe 12\\nCummington,\\nLife at 10\\nNatural surroundings of 8\\nCurtis, George William,\\nThanatopsis character-\\nized by 19\\nDeath of William Cullen\\nBryant .45\\nDeath of the Flowers, The,\\nSelection fiom 32\\nDeath of Lincoln, The,\\nPublication of 34-\\nSelection from 34\\nDeath of Slavery, The So\\nEditor,\\nCareer as 31-33\\nEveniiig Post 31\\nNew lark Review and\\nAtheneum 31\\nEducation,\\nCollege 18\\nEarly 13-16\\nEightieth Birthday 40\\nEmbargo, The, Account of, 15, 16\\nEurope 35\\nFairchild, Prances (Miss).\\nMarriage of 29\\nFlood of Years 45\\nFountain and Other Poems,\\nThe, Publication of 36\\nFuture Life, The,\\nSelection from 36\\nGreat Barrington,\\nResidence at 25\\n309", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "310\\nINDEX\\nGreen River, quoted 20, 28\\n2.\\nPoe, Edgar Allan,\\nWriting of\\n26\\nBryant described by\\n38, 39\\nGodwin, Parke,\\nPoems,\\nAccount of writing To a\\nComplete volume\\n35\\nWaterfowl\\n23\\nFamiliar\\n31\\nHallock, Moses (Rev.)\\n10\\nFirst volume\\n30\\nHoward, Abiel (Dr\\n12\\nIllustrated edition\\n40\\nHowe, Samuel (Judge),\\nLater favorites\\n40\\nStudies law with\\n23\\nOf nature\\n41\\nHymn to Death,\\nPhi Beta Kappa Society\\nPublication of\\n30\\nHarvard\\n29\\nSelection from\\n15\\nTo Mrs. Bryant\\n39\\nIliad,\\nPoet, The, Selection from\\n5\\nPublication of\\n35\\nPoetry, First efforts in\\n15, 10\\nTranslation of\\n35\\nPolitical principles\\n33\\nInscription for the Entrance\\nProse works, Quality of\\n35\\nto a Wood,\\nPublication, First\\n15\\nPublication of\\n22\\nReputation abroad\\n35\\nSelection from 22\\n23\\nRivulet, The,\\nWriting of\\n22\\nSelection from\\n10, 11\\nIrving, Washington\\n35\\nRobert of Lincoln, quoted\\n42-44\\nJune,\\nRoslyn, N. Y., Home at\\n38\\nPublication of\\n31\\nShaw, Abigail\\n11\\nSelection from\\n46\\nSlavery, Attitude toward\\n33\\nLaw,\\nSnell,\\nPractice of\\n25\\nEbenezer\\n12\\nStudy of\\n23\\nSarah,\\nLetters from the East\\n35\\nAncestors of\\n12\\nLetters of a Traveler\\n35\\nMarriage of\\n12\\nLife that Is, The, Writing of\\n33\\nThomas (Rev.)\\n12\\nLines on Revisiting the\\nSolitude, Love of\\n25\\nCountry,\\nSummer Wind\\n25\\nSelection from\\n8\\nQuoted\\n41, 42\\nLittle People of the Snow,\\nThanatopsis,\\nThe, Selection from 40\\n,41\\nG. W. Curtis 1 s opinion o:\\n19\\nMay Sun Sheds an Amber\\nQuoted\\n19-22\\nLight, The,\\nPublication of\\n19\\nSelection from\\n39\\nSelection from\\n3\\nNew York City,\\nWriting of\\n18\\nFirst visit to\\n31\\nThird of November, The,\\nNew York Review and Athe-\\nPublication of\\n39\\nneum, Co-editor of\\n31\\nThirty Poems, published\\n39\\nOdyssey,\\nTo a Waterfowl,\\nPublication of\\n35\\nAccount of writing\\n23\\nTranslation of\\n35\\nParke Godwin on\\n23\\nOld Man s Funeral, The,\\nQuoted\\n24\\nSelection from\\n5\\nPublication of\\n23\\nOur Country s Call,\\nTranslations\\n35\\nSelection from 33\\n34\\nTravels\\n35", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n311\\nTruth crushed to earth\\nshall rise again 33, 40\\nWhite Footed Beer and Other\\nPoems, The, published 38\\nPAGE\\n18\\nWilliams College\\nWordsworth,\\nInfluence of, upon Bryant 35\\nPOEMS (ENTIRE)\\nGreen River\\nRobert of Lincoln\\nSummer Wind\\n20\\n42\\n41\\nThanatopsis\\nTo a Waterfowl\\n19\\n24\\nEXCERPTS\\nAges, The 29\\nDeath of Lincoln, The 34\\nDeath of the Elowers, The 32\\nFuture Life, The 3(3\\nHymn to Death 15\\nInscription for the En-\\ntrance to a Wood 22\\nJune 45\\nLines on Revisiting the\\nCountry 8\\nLittle People of the Snow,\\nThe 40\\nMay Sun Sheds an Amber\\nLight, The 39\\nOld Man s Funeral, The 4\\nPoet, The 4\\nRivulet, The 10\\nThanatopsis 3\\nRALPH WALDO EMERSON\\nAncestors\\nAtlantic Monthly, The\\nBoston,\\nDescription of\\nResidence in\\nBoyhood, Description of\\nBrothers 55, 61,\\nBulkeley, Peter (Rev.)\\nCambridge, Mass.,\\nDivinity Hall\\nDivinity School\\nHarvard College\\nResidence in\\n52, 53\\nCollege life\\n60-62\\n82\\nConcord, Mass.,\\nDescription of\\n70\\n52\\nPoems about\\n70\\n55, 60\\nManse, The Old,\\n55-58\\nDescription of\\n70\\n63, 64\\nMosses from an Old\\n52\\nManse, written in\\n53, 70\\nNature, written in\\n70\\n66\\nResidence in 60, 66\\n68,84\\n65\\nNew home at,\\n00\\nDescription of\\n70\\n66\\nDestruction of\\n84", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "812\\nINDEX\\nConcord Hymn, Account of\\nConduct of Life,\\nPublication of\\nDeath of Ralph Waldo\\nEmerson\\nDial, The,\\nEarlier poems in\\nEditor of\\nDirge, Selection from\\nDomestic Life\\nDomestic life 73,\\nEach and All\\nEducation,\\nCollege 60-\\nEarly\\nEmerson,\\nEdward\\nJoseph (Rev.) of Concord\\nJoseph (Rev.), pioneer\\nminister\\nMary Moody,\\nCharacter of 57,\\nEarly life of\\nInfluence of, upon Ralph\\nWaldo\\nLove of learning of\\nRalph Waldo,\\nBirth of\\nBirthplace of\\nBoyish traits of 56,\\nBrothers of 55, 6.1, 03,\\nCharacter of, youthful\\nDaughter of\\nDeath of\\nEarly life of\\nFirst wife of .67,\\nMarriage of,\\nFirst\\nSecond\\nWilliam, father of Ralph\\nWaldo,\\nAncestors of 52,\\nEducation of\\nDeath of\\nDescription of\\nMarriage of\\nMinister,\\nOf First Church of\\nBoston\\n5-1\\nPAGE\\nEmerson, William, (continued),\\nMinister of town of Harvard 54\\nWilliam (Mrs.),\\nCharacter of 54\\nStruggle with poverty 54, 55\\nWilliam, patriot minister 53\\nEnd of working life 84\\nEnglish Traits 74\\nEssayist 77\\nEssays,\\nAmerican Scholar .77\\nFirst volume of 77\\nNature 77\\nSecond volume of 77\\nEurope,\\nFirst trip to 68\\nSecond trip to 77\\nThird trip to 84\\nForbearance 51\\nFortus 59\\nFurness, W. H 59\\nGood- Bye 65\\nPublication of 78\\nGould, Benjamin Apthorp, 59\\nAssistance of, to Emerson 61)\\nHarvard College, Career at 60-62\\nHaskins, Ruth 54\\nHawthorne, Nathaniel 53, 85\\nHumble-Bee, The,\\nSelection from 74, 79\\nPublication of 78\\nJackson, Lydia (Miss) 68\\nLatin School 59\\nLectures,\\nAccount of 74, 76\\nIn England 77\\nLowell, Charles (Rev.) 54\\nManse, The Old, 53, G6, 68, 70, 84\\nMay-Day and other Poems 82\\nMinister of Second Church\\nof Boston,\\nOrdained as 66\\nResignation as 67\\nMinistry, Qualified for 06\\nStudying for 65\\nMiscellanies 78\\nMonadnock 70\\nMosses from an Old Manse oS, 70\\nMusketaquid 70", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n313\\nMy Garden\\n65,\\n70\\nRepresentative Men\\n77\\nSelection from\\n71\\nRhodora, The, Publication of\\n78\\nNature, published\\n76\\nSecond Church of Boston,\\nNature,\\nAnti-slavery movement in\\n77\\nLove of\\n65\\n65\\nOrdained minister of\\nResigned charge of\\nSermons,\\n66\\nPoems to\\n67\\nNewtou\\n68\\nNun s Aspiration, The\\n67\\nCriticisms of\\n67\\nOriginal poems\\n59\\n60\\nPublication of\\nm,\\n67\\nParnassus,\\nSlavery, Attitude toward\\n77,\\n78\\nAccount of\\n82\\n84\\nSnow-Storm, The\\n78\\nPublication of\\n82\\nSociety and Solitude\\n77\\nPeter s Field\\n64\\nSouth, Trip to the\\nm\\nPoems,\\nTeaching\\n62\\n63\\nEarlier, published\\n78\\nTerminus, Publication of\\n82\\nFirst\\n78\\nThrenody\\n72\\n82\\nFirst volume published\\n82\\nSelection from\\n72\\n73\\nPleasure in writing\\n78\\nTo Ellen, Selection from\\n67\\n68\\nSecond volume published\\n82\\nTucker, Ellen (Miss)\\n67\\nQuality of\\n84\\n78\\n51\\n66\\nWalden\\n70\\nPreaching\\nWalden woods\\nWebster\\n71\\nProblem, The,\\n78\\nPublication of\\n79\\nWoodnotes\\n65\\n70\\nSelection from\\n81\\n,82\\nI J ublication of\\n79\\nProse works,\\nSelections from 49, 79\\n-81\\n86\\nQuality of\\n78\\nForbearance\\nPOEM (ENTIRE)\\n51\\nDirge\\nHumble-Bee,\\nMy Garden\\nProblem, The\\nThe\\nEXCERPTS\\n74\\n64\\n79\\n71\\n81\\nThrenody\\nTo Ellen\\nWoodnotes\\n49,\\n72\\n67\\n79\\nEDGAR ALLAN POE\\nAnecdotes 135, 137\\nAl Aaraaf 110\\nAllan, Mr. and Mrs.,\\nAdopt Poe 94\\nDeath of Mr. Allan 116\\nHome in England 95\\nObtain West Point Ca-\\ndetship f or l 5 oe 109, 110\\nReturn to America 98\\nSecure Poe s discharge 109", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "su\\nINDEX\\nPAGE\\nAlone, Selection from 89\\nAnnabel Lee,\\nQuoted 137-139\\nSelection from 118\\nArmy, U.S., Enlists in 108\\nArnold, Elizabeth 93\\nAthletics, Account of 99-101\\nBalloon Hoax,, The, publica-\\ntion of 129\\nBaltimore,\\nLast visit to 145\\nResidence in 112\\nBaltimore Saturday Visitor\\n113, 116\\nBamaby Rudge 125\\nBells, The,\\nAccount of 141\\nQuoted 141-145\\nBlack Cat, The,\\nPublication of 128\\nSelection from 102\\nBroadway Journal,\\nConnections with 135\\nBurton s Gentleman s Maga-\\nzine,\\nAssociate-editor of 121\\nTermination of editor-\\nship of 123, 124\\nClemm, Maria (Mrs.),\\nDescription of 128\\nOpinion of Poe 120\\nPoe s home with 116\\nRemoval of, to Richmond 128\\nVirginia, daughter of 116\\nBetrothal of, to Poe 117\\nMarriage of 118, 119\\nGoloseum,\\nQuoted 114, 116\\nPublication of 113\\nConchologisVs First Text-\\nBook, published 121\\nCritic 119\\nCryptography 125\\nDeath of Edgar Allan Poe 145\\nDescent into the Maelstrom,\\nThe 125\\nBream within a Dream, A,\\nSelection from 105\\nEarly struggles 113, 114, 116\\nEducation,\\nCollege 105, 107\\nEarly .94, 96-99, 104\\nEnlists in U.S. Army 108\\nEulalume, Selection from 145\\nEvening Mirror,\\nPublication of Ihe Baven\\nin 130\\nSub-editor of 130\\nFall of the House of Usher,\\nThe 121\\nFordham, Home at 137\\nGold Bug, The, Account of 127\\nGraham s Magazine,\\nContributor to 125\\nEditor of 125, 126\\nSevered Connections with\\n127, 128\\nHaunted Talace, The 121\\nQuoted 122, 123\\nHopkins, C. D. (Mrs.) 93\\nKennedy, Mr. 113, 117\\nLetters,\\nConcerning the use of\\nliquor 124\\nConcerning his wife s\\ndeath 139, 140\\nTo Mr. Kennedy 113\\nTo James Russell Lowell\\n129, 130\\nMS. Found in a Bottle, A 113\\nMurders of the Bue Morgue,\\nThe 125\\nMystery of Marie Boget 127\\nNarrative of Arthur Gordon\\nPym, The 120, 121\\nNew York City,\\nVisits to 112, 120, 128\\nPcean, A, Selection from 104\\nPenn Magazine 124\\nPhiladelphia, Removal to 121\\nPoe,\\nDavid (General) 92\\nDavid,\\nActor 93, 94\\nDeath of 94\\nMarriage of 93\\nStudied law 92, 93\\nDavid (Mrs.) 93, 94", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n315\\nEdgar Allan,\\nAdoption of\\n94\\nBirth of\\n92\\nChildhood of\\n94, i\\nDeath of\\n145\\nDescription of\\n100\\n-102\\nMarriage of\\n118,\\n119\\nEdgar Allan (Mrs.),\\nDeatli of\\n137\\nIll health of\\n12G\\nRosalie\\n94\\nWilliam Henry Leonard,\\n93\\nPoems,\\nEirst volume published\\n107\\nSecond volume publis\\nlied\\n110\\nThird volume published\\n112\\nPosition in literature\\n145,\\n140\\nRaven, The,\\nAccount of\\n134\\nQuoted\\n130\\n-134\\nPublication of\\n130\\nRichmond, Va., Residence at\\n117,\\n118\\nSnowdon 1 s Ladies Magazine\\n127\\nSouthern Literary Messenger,\\nAssistant editor\\n117\\nContributor to\\n117\\nEditor of\\n119\\nStannard, Mrs. 102-104\\nStoke-Newington,\\nAccount of life at\\nReturn to America from\\nStylus, The\\nSun, The (New York),\\nPublications in\\nTale of the Ragged Moun-\\ntains, A\\nTales of the Grotesque and\\nArabesque\\nTamerlane, Selections from,\\n91, 108\\nTamerlane and Other Poems\\nAccount of 107\\nPublication of\\nTo Helen, Selection from\\nTo My Mother, quoted\\nUniversity of Virginia,\\nRecord at\\nWest Point,\\nCadetship,\\nApplication for\\nAppointment to\\nDismissal from\\nLife at Ill, 112\\nWilliam Wilson,\\nSelection from 96-98\\n96-98\\n98\\n127\\n129\\n129\\n123\\n109\\n108\\n107\\n103\\n140\\n105, 107\\n109\\n110\\n112\\nPOEMS (ENTIRE)\\nAnnabel Lee\\nBells, The\\nColoseum, The\\n137\\n141\\n114\\nHaunted Palace, The 122\\nRaven, The 130\\nTo My Mother 140\\nEXCERPTS\\nAlone 89\\nAnnabel Lee 118\\nDream within a Dream, A 105\\nEulalume 145\\nPamn, A 104\\nTamerlane 91, 108, 109\\nTo Helen 103", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "316\\nINDEX\\nHENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\nAmbitions, Literary 170-172\\nAncestors 151, 152\\nAppleton, Frances Elizabeth 181\\nArmchair, The famous 185\\nBallads and Other Poems,\\nPublication of 181\\nBattle of LovelVs Pond, The,\\nAccount of 1G6\\nQuoted 165\\nPublication of 105\\nBowdoin College,\\nCareer in 100, 107\\nProfessor at 172, 178\\nStephen Longfellow, trus-\\ntee of 152\\nBrunswick, Home at 174\\nBuilding of the Ship, The,\\nSelection from 182, 183\\nCambridge, Residence in 170\\nCarter, Nathaniel H. 104\\nChildish impressions 102, 104\\nCollege,\\nDegrees 184\\nRecord at 100, 107\\nCourtship of Miles Standish,\\nThe 183\\nCraigie House 170\\nHistory of 170-178\\nPurchase of 181\\nDay is Done, The,\\nSelection from 151\\nDeath of Henry Wadsworth\\nLongfellow 180\\nDivina Commedia,\\nTranslation of 184\\nEducation,\\nCollege 100, 107\\nEarly 102, 104\\nEssays 173\\nEurope,\\nFirst visit to. 173, 174\\nSecond visit to 175\\nThird visit to 181\\nFourth visit to 184, 185\\nEvangeline 181, 182\\nJ. R. Lowell s opinion of 182\\nFable for Critics, A,\\nSelection from\\n182\\nFootsteps of Angels,\\nSelection from\\n175,\\n17G\\nFrom my Armchair,\\nAccount of\\n185\\nSelection from\\n185,\\n186\\nHarvard College,\\nProfessor at\\n174,\\n176\\nResignation as\\n183\\nHawthorne, Nathaniel\\n100,\\n176\\nHyperion,\\nPopularity of\\n180\\nPublication of\\n179\\nSelection from\\n178,\\n179\\nIndian Hunter, The\\n167\\nQuoted\\n108,\\n169\\nKeramos, Selection from\\n158,\\n159\\nLiterary services to Amer-\\nica\\n180,\\n187\\nLongfellow,\\nAbigail\\n152\\nHenry Wadsworth,\\nBirth of\\n151\\nBirthplace of\\n151,\\n152\\nDeath of\\n186\\nDescription of\\n166\\nMarriage of,\\nFirst.\\n174\\nSecond\\n181\\nHenry Wadsworth (M\\n174, 175,\\n181,\\n183\\nStephen\\n152\\nWilliam\\n151\\nZilpah Wadsworth\\n151,\\n152\\nLovell s Pond\\n165\\nMy Lost Youth, quoted\\n154\\n-158\\nNative Writers\\n167\\nNew England Magazine,\\nThe\\n174\\nNorth American Review,\\nThe\\n174\\nOrr, Benjamin\\n172\\nOutre Mer, published\\n173\\nPoems,\\nCollege, published\\n167\\nFirst, published\\n165,\\n166\\nFirst volume published\\n180", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n317\\nPAGE\\nPAGE\\nPoems,\\nSpanish Student, The,\\nLast volume published\\n180\\nSelection from\\n182\\nLonger\\n181\\nTo the River Charles,\\nPopularity of\\n186\\nSelection from\\n179\\nSecond volume published\\n181\\nTranslation,\\nPoems on Slavery\\n181\\nDivina Commedia\\n184\\nPortland Academy\\n164\\nFrench text-book\\n173\\nPortland Gazette, The\\n105\\nUltima Thule, published\\n180\\nPotter, Mary Storrer\\n174\\nUnited States Literary Ga-\\nPsalm of Life, The 180\\n181\\nzette, The\\n107\\nRopewalk, The, quoted 100\\n-102\\nVillage Blacksmith, The,\\nSea-Diver, The\\n167\\nAccount of\\n185\\nQuoted 100\\n170\\nSelection from\\n180\\nSeventy-second birthday\\n185\\nVoices of the Night, published 180\\nSketch Book, The\\n102\\nWadsworth,\\nSong of Hiawatha, The\\nHenry\\n154\\nPopularity of\\n183\\nZilpali\\n151\\nSelection from\\n149\\nWadsworth House,\\nSpanish Student, The,\\nDescription of .152\\n154\\nPublication of\\n181\\nPOEMS (ENTIRE)\\nBattle of LovelPs Pond.\\nIndian Hunter, The\\nMy Lost Youth\\nThe\\n105\\n168\\n154\\nRopewalk, The\\nSea-Diver, The\\n160\\n109\\nEXCERPTS\\nV\\nBuilding of the Ship, The 182\\nDay is Done, The 151\\nFable for Critics, A Lowell 182\\nFootsteps of Angels 175\\nFrom My Armchair 185\\nKeramos 158\\nSong of Hiawatha, The\\nSpanish Student, The\\nTo the River Charles\\nTwo Angels\\nVillage Blacksmith, The\\n149\\n182\\n179\\n299\\n185\\nJOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nAmerican Manufacturer,\\nWriter for 218\\nAmesbury, Home at 221\\nAncestors 195, 196\\nAnecdotes 200, 205, 200, 216,\\n217, 222\\nAnti-slavery,\\nNational party formed 226\\nPersecution of advocates\\n223, 224\\nPoems 225\\nSociety of Haverhill 219", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "318\\nINDEX\\nAnti-slavery, Work for\\nAt Eventide, published\\nAtlantic Monthly,\\nContributor to\\nDinner by publishers of\\nAt Sundown, published\\nAt Washington\\nBarbara Frletchie\\nBarefoot Boy, The,\\nSelections from 199, 209-\\nBattle Autumn of 1862, The\\nBoy Captives, The\\nBoyhood 209, 211,\\nBrown of Ossdwatomie\\nPublication of\\nBurial of Barbour\\nBurns, Selection from 212,\\nBurns, Robert,\\nInfluence of\\nCity of the Plain, The\\nCoffin, Joshua 207,\\nCommon Question, The\\nCrisis, The\\nDeath of John Greenleaf\\nWhittier\\nEducation, Early 206-\\nEln Feste Burg ist Unser\\nGott\\nEternal Goodness, The,\\nPublication of\\nSelections from 193,\\nErnie s Departure, The\\nExpostulation\\nFarm life\\n199, 200, 209, 211, 219,\\nFor Righteousness Sake\\nFrost Spirit, The\\nGarrison, William Lloyd,\\nCloser association with\\nWhittier\\nFirst meeting .213-\\nFree Press, established by\\nNational Philanthropist,\\nEstablished by\\nTribute to Whittier\\nGreenleaf, Sarah\\nHaverhill, Selection from 194,\\nHaverhill Academy,\\nCareer at 216,\\n221\\n234\\n231\\n234\\n234\\n226\\n227\\n211\\n227\\n199\\n212\\n229\\n281\\n213\\n213\\n212\\n218\\n211\\n217\\n226\\n236\\n209\\n227\\n233\\n233\\n214\\n225\\n220\\n227\\n218\\n220\\n215\\n214\\n218\\n230\\n196\\n195\\n218\\n200,\\n2-2\\nPAGE\\nHaverhill Gazette,\\nContributions to 218\\nEditor of 218, 221\\nHazel Blossoms, published 234\\nHerald, Newburyport 213\\nHome Ballads, Poems and\\nLyrics 231\\nHome circle, Description of\\n201-205, 222\\nHome Coming of the Bride,\\nSelection from\\nHunters of Men\\nHussey, Abigail\\nIchabod\\nIn School Days,\\nPublication of\\nSelection from\\nIn War Time\\nKansas Emigrants, The\\nKenoza Lake,\\nPublication of\\nSelection from\\nLaus Deo,\\nSelection from\\nWriting of\\nLays of my Home and Other\\nPoems\\nLetter, A\\nLiterary Recreations\\nLost Occasion, The,\\nPublication of\\nLowell, Mass\\nMargaret Smith s Journal\\nMiddlesex Standard\\nMy Namesake, Selection\\nfrom\\nMy Triumph\\nNew England Legends in\\nProse and Verse\\nNew England Review,\\nEditorship of\\nResignation of\\nOak Knoll, Danvers\\nOld Portraits\\nOur Master\\nPcean\\nPastoral Letter, The\\nPeace Autumn, The\\nPeasley, John\\n196\\n225\\n196\\n229\\n233\\n208\\n227\\n226\\n231\\n201\\n229\\n228\\n223\\n227\\n231\\n234\\n229\\n221\\n231\\n222\\n191\\n233\\n219\\n218\\n219\\n221\\n231\\n233\\n226\\n226\\n229\\n196", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n319\\nPennsylvania Freeman, The,\\nConnection with 221\\nDestruction of 221\\nPine Tree, The 226\\nPoems, Comparative influence\\nof 229, 230\\nFirst published 214\\nFirst volume 219\\nPersonal 229\\nVolume of 1843 223-225\\nPolitical offices 219\\nPosition in literature\\n.L93, 194, 236, 237\\nProse Works, Quality of, 230, 231\\nBed Riding-Hood 217\\nSabbath Scene, A 226\\nSeventieth birthday 234\\nSlavery, Attitude toward\\n219-221, 223-226\\nSnow-Bound,\\nPublication of 232\\nSelections from 198-205, 232\\nStanzas for the Times 225\\nStranger in Lowell, The 222\\nTeaching 218\\nTelling the Bees,\\nPublication of\\nTent on the Beach,\\nPublication of\\nSelection from\\nTexas\\nThe,\\n199\\n231\\n222\\n232\\n223\\n226\\nPAGE\\n218\\n227\\n226\\n226\\n227\\n226\\nThayer, A. W.\\nThy Will Be Done\\nTo a Southern Statesman\\nTo Faneuil Hall\\nTo John C. Fremont\\nTo Massachusetts\\nTo My Old School Master,\\nSelection from 207, 208\\nTo Oliver Wendell Holmes,\\nSelection from 235\\nWriting of 235\\nTo William Lloyd Garrison,\\nSelection from 215\\nVaudois Teacher, The 218, 219\\nWatchers, The 237\\nWhittier,\\nElizabeth, Description of 222\\nJohn Greenleaf,\\nBirth of 194\\nBirthplace, 194\\nDescription of 198-200\\nSale of\\nBoyhood of\\nDeath of\\nDescription of\\nEarly influences\\nFather, Death of\\nJoseph\\nThomas\\nWord for the Hour, A\\nYankee Gipsies\\n211.\\n221\\n209\\n236\\n216\\n212\\n218\\n196\\n195\\n227\\n211\\nPOEMS (EXCERPTS)\\n-Barefoot Boy, The 199\\nBurns 212\\nEternal Goodness, The 193, 233\\nHaverhill 194\\nHome Coming of the Bride 196\\nIn School Days 208\\nKenoza Lake 200\\nLaus Deo 228\\nMy Namesake 191\\nSnow-Bound 198, 199, 201, 232\\nTent on the Beach, The 223\\nTo my Old School Master 207\\nTo Oliver Wendell Holmes 235\\nTo William Lloyd Garri-\\nson 215", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "320\\nINDEX\\nOLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nPAGE\\nAgnes 269\\nAncestors 246, 247\\nAnnals of America 246\\nAtlantic Monthly, The,\\nContributions to 267\\nEffect of 272\\nNaming of 267\\nAutobiography, Selections\\nfrom, 248, 250-253, 260\\nAutocrat of the Breakfast\\nTable, The 267, 268\\nBiglow, William 252\\nBiographies 270\\nBoston Daily Advertiser 200\\nBoys, The,\\nPublication of 273\\nSelection from 273, 274\\nChambered Nautilus, The,\\nPublication of 268\\nQuoted 268, 269\\nSelection from 243\\nChildhood 248-252\\nChildren 265, 266\\nCinders from the Ashes 270\\nCollege,\\nDegrees 271\\nRecord at 255\\nCollegian, Contributions to 255\\nDane Law School 257\\nDartmouth College,\\nProfessor of Anatomy in 265\\nDeath of Oliver Wendell\\nHolmes 271\\nDorchester Giant, The, 255\\nQuoted 255-257\\nDorothy Q.,\\nSelections from 247, 248\\nEducation,\\nCollege 255\\nEarly 252, 253\\nElsie Venner, published 270\\nEssays 270\\nEurope,\\nFirst visit to 261\\nSecond visit to 270, 271\\nEvening, By a Tailor 255\\nPAGE\\nFable for Critics, A,\\nSelection from 271, 272\\nGuardian Angel, The,\\nPublication of 270\\nHarvard College,\\nCareer at 255\\nPhi Beta Kappa Society,\\nPoetry read before 262\\nProfessorship at,\\nAccount of 266, 267\\nAppointment to 266\\nResignation of 270\\nHolmes,\\nAbiel, (Rev.), Description\\nof 246\\nAbiel (Mrs.) 246\\nJohn 246\\nOliver Wendell,\\nBirth of 244\\nBirthplace,\\nDescription of 244\\nHistory of 244\\nProperty of Harvard 245\\nDeath of 271\\nMarriage of 265\\nOliver Wendell (Mrs), 265, 271\\nOliver Wendell, Jr.,\\nAnnouncement of birth, 265\\nInevitable Trial, The .270\\nIron Gate, The, 272\\nSelection from 241\\nJackson,\\nAmelia Lee (Miss) 265\\nJames (Dr.),\\nStudies medicine with 260\\nLast Leaf The 262\\nLaw, Study of 257\\nLecturer 266\\nMedicine,\\nPractice of 264, 265\\nProfessor of Anatomy 265\\nStudies,\\nAccount of 2C0, 261\\nIn Paris 261\\nNovels 270\\nOccasional verses 273", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n321\\nPAGE\\nOld gambrel roofed house,\\nthe, Account of 244, 245\\nOld Ironsides,\\nPublication of 260\\nQuoted 258\\nWriting of 258\\nOur Hundred Days in\\nEurope 271\\nPages from an Old Volume\\nof Life 270\\nPhillips Academy 253\\nPittsfield, Home at 267\\nPoems,\\nCollege 255\\nFirst volume published 262\\nVolume of 1862 269\\nPoet at the Breakfast Table,\\nThe 269\\nPoetry 262\\nPosition in literature,\\n244, 272, 273\\nProfessor at\\nDartmouth 265\\nHarvard 266, 267\\nProfessor at the Breakfast\\nTable, The, published 269\\nQuincy, Dorothy 247\\nSchool-Boy, The,\\nSelection from 253-255\\nWriting of 253\\nSongs in Many Keys 269\\nSoundings from the Atlantic 270\\nSpectre Pig, The 255\\nTo an Insect,\\nPublication of 262\\nQuoted 262-264\\nUpham, Dorothy Quincy,\\nVerses to 248\\nWendell, Sarah 246\\nA\\nPOEMS (ENTIRE)\\nChambered Nautilus, The\\nDorchester Giant, The\\nOld Ironsides 258\\nChambered Nautilus, The\\nDorothy Q.\\nDorotho Q. (Upham)\\n268\\nTo an Insect 262\\n255\\nBoys, The 274\\n258\\nWXCI\\n243\\n:rpts\\nFable for Critics, A Lowell 271\\n247\\nIron Gate, The 241\\n248\\nSchool-Boy, The 253\\nJAMES RUSSELL LOWELL\\nAmbitions, Literary 292, 294\\nAncestors 280, 281\\nAtlantic Monthly, The 302\\nAnti-slavery party 294\\nAnti-Slavery Standard, The 302\\nBeaver Brook\\nBiglow Papers, The\\nFirst poem published\\nInfluence of\\nPublication of\\nSelection from\\n300 Birch Tree, The\\n290\\n299\\n303\\n303\\n288, 289\\n300", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "322\\nINDEX\\nBoston Courier, The\\nCambridge 280, 283,\\nCambridge Thirty Years\\nAgo,\\nAGE\\n299\\n284\\n283,\\n295,\\n295-\\n291,\\n292,\\nSelection from\\nCathedral, The\\nChangeling, The.\\nSelection from\\nChildren\\nClass Poem\\nCollege,\\nDegrees\\nRecord\\nCommemoration Ode, The\\nConversations on Some of\\nthe Older Poets\\nDane Law School, Enters\\nDeath of James Russell\\nLowell\\nEarlier Poems\\nEditor of\\nAtlantic Monthly, The\\nNorth American Review\\nPioneer, The\\nEducation,\\nCollege\\nEarly 288\\nElmwood, Description of\\n281-283\\nEurope,\\nEirst visit to\\nSecond visit to\\nThird visit to\\nFable for Critics,\\nPreface to\\nPublication of\\nSelection from\\nFireside Travels\\nFirst Snow-Fall, The\\nQuoted\\nFitz Adam s Story\\nFoot Path, The\\nHarvard College,\\nRecord in\\nProfessor\\nDislike of work as\\nResignation as\\nHarvard Law School\\nHawthorne, Nathaniel\\nA,\\n296.\\n301\\n301\\n284\\n304\\n296\\n-298\\n292\\n306\\n291\\n304\\n304\\n292\\n306\\n294\\n,302\\n302\\n294\\n291\\n289\\n295\\n298\\n301\\n306\\n300\\n300\\n277\\n304\\n297\\n290\\n304\\n291\\n301\\n302\\n302\\n292\\n294\\nPAGE\\nIndian Summer Reverie,\\nSelection from 284\\nLaw,\\nPractice of 294\\nStudy of 292\\nLetters,\\nConcerning his professor-\\nship 301, 302\\nConcerning slavery 302, 303\\nEirst 290, 291\\nTo Charles R, Lowell, 286, 287\\nLife of Keats 304\\nLowell,\\nCharles (Rev.) 280, 281\\nCharles (Mrs.) 281\\nCharles R.,\\nLetter from J. R. Lowell\\nto 286, 287\\nErancis Cabot 280\\nJames Russell,\\nBirth of 280\\nBirthplace of 280-283\\nDeath of 306\\nEarly influences 281, 282,\\n285, 290\\nMarriage,\\nFirst 294\\nSecond 302\\nJames Russell (Mrs.)\\n295, 298, 302\\nJohn, minister of New-\\nburyport 280\\nJohn 280\\nPercival 280\\nMemorial Hall 304\\nMinister to Spain and Eng-\\nland 306\\nMy Garden Acquaintances 286\\nMy Study Window 306\\nNature, Love of 285-287, 304\\nPennsylvania Freeman, The 302\\nPhiladelphia, Residence in 295\\nPioneer, The,\\nContributors to 294\\nEstablished 294\\nPoe, Edgar Allan 294\\nPoems 294\\nPoems,\\nEirst 291", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "INDEX\\n323\\nPAGE\\nPoems,\\nFirst volume published 294\\nSecond volume published 294\\nVolume of 1869\\n304\\nPoet-statesman\\n302\\n-304\\nPosition in literature\\n306\\nPresent Crisis, The,\\nPublication of\\n300,\\n303\\nProse works\\n304,\\n306\\nSearch, The\\n304\\nShe Came and Went,\\nquoted\\n298\\nSlavery, Attitude toward\\n294,\\n302\\n-304\\nTo the Dandelion\\n300\\nSelection from\\n285,\\n286\\nTwo Angels Selection from 299\\nUnder the Willows,\\nPublication of 304\\nSelection from 284\\nVision of Sir Launfal, The,\\nEstimate of 280, 299, 300\\nPublication of 299\\nSelection from 279\\nWriting of 299\\nWashers of the Shroud, The 304\\nWells, William 288\\nWhite, Maria (Miss). 294\\nWhittier, John Greenleaf 294\\nYankee dialect, Student of, 290\\nYear s Life, A 294\\nPOEMS (ENTIRE)\\nFirst Snow-Fail, The 2G6 She Came and Went 298\\nEXCERPTS\\nBiglow Papers, The 288\\nChangeling, The 295\\nFable for Critics, A 182, 271, 277\\nIndian Summer Reverie 284\\nTo the Dandelion 285\\nTwo Angels Longfellow 299\\nUnder the Willows 284\\nVision of Sir Launfal, The 279", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "77-9", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process.\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nTreatment Date: Sept. 2009\\nPreservationTechnologies\\nA WORLD LEADERJN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION\\n111 Thomson Park Drive\\nCranberry Township, PA 16066\\n(724)779-2111", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3392", "width": "2023", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3599", "width": "2271", "jp2-path": "sevengreatameric00slai_0344.jp2"}}