For his thought, that never stops, Down to the graves of the dead, Down through chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers underground; And sees them, when the rain is done, Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear, In the perpetual round of strange Mysterious change, From birth to death, from death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime Of things, unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel In the rapid and rushing river of Time. SONNET: THE POETS. O ye dead poets, who are living still PHANTOMS. All houses wherein men have lived and died SONNET: NATURE. As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, to his own exertions. He was not nineteen when his first published poem appeared in a Newburyport paper, edited by William Lloyd Garrison. The first complete collection of his poems was published in 1850. Other volumes appeared later: "Songs of Labor," in 1851; "The Chapel of the Hermits," in 1852; "The Panora ma," in 1856; "Home Ballads," in 1860; "In War Time," in 1863; "Snow - Bound," in 1865; "The Tent on the Beach," in 1867; "Among the Hills," in 1868; "The Pennsylvania Pilgrim," in 1873. Whittier was at different periods of his life an editor, and he has put forth some four or five volumes in prose. But it is as a poet, and one indigenous to the soil of America, and true to its traditions and associations, that he will be known to posterity. Even his moral and didactic verse is distinguished by a lyrical grace and freedom that overcomes their gravity. His "Maud Muller" (1855) is one of the choicest of idyllic poems, and savors thoroughly of the native soil. In his religious utterances he shows an earnest and devotional spirit, hopeful in its views of the destiny of the race, but too broad for circumscription in any sectarian creed. As a ballad-writer he is eminently successful-simple, graceful, interesting, and never prolix. His "Witch of Wenham" may be in Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lyun! stanced as a singularly beautiful specimen in this depart Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn! The distant light-house hears, and with his flaming signal, Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moou, O Bells of Lynn! And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn! ment of verse. Among the tributes sent to him on his seventieth birthday was the following little poem by Lydia Maria (Francis) Child, born in Medford, Mass., in 1802, and the author of "The Progress of Religious Ideas," and other approved works, as well as of some admirable poems for the young: "I thank thee, friend, for words of cheer, And now, when lengthening shadows come, I thank thee for thy genial ray, That prophesies a brighter day, When we can work, with strength renewed, In clearer light, for surer good. God bless thee, friend, and give thee peace, And may we meet in worlds afar, My Morning and my Evening Star!" Whittier has resided the greater part of his life at Amesbury, Mass. He has never been married, and his life has been almost wholly devoted to literary pursuits. In 1877 he edited "Songs of Three Centuries," a tasteful collection of poetry, British and American. |