should have written a poem on this subject, and it is still more remarkable that he should have written such a good one. The fact that Bryant was a delicate lad, and predisposed to consumption, may have influenced his mind in the choice of themes; but his imagination never entirely freed itself from "the land of graves," even after he had developed, by means of careful habits and systematic exercise, into robust physical manhood. Then, too, in his earlier years he was under the influence of Young and Cowper and others of the "churchyard school"; but as he grew older the influence of Wordsworth grew stronger, and his work shows a more cheerful contemplation of nature. In Thanatopsis there is shown the greatest reverence for nature, and this reverence has a somberness which always appeals to a certain side of the Anglo-Saxon character. It also has calm resignation to whatever may await man after death. There is not a quiver or a shudder as to the future. Nor has death itself any terror. So far as the spirit and temper of the poem goes, it might have been written by an Anglo-Saxon poet soon after landing on English soil. The last nine lines - - so full of stern courage and of a calmness of spirit almost majestic - were added to the poem by Bryant ten years after the original draft was made. Next to this passage, the best-known line is — Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste. In this poem, then, Bryant shows dignity, poise, reverence for nature, resignation to fate, and serene courage; and it is all expressed in fitting language and in effective blank verse. 60. The Flood of Years. This poem, written in Bryant's mature years, seems a sort of enlargement of Thanatopsis. It has some of the same somberness and grimness. In the first part of the poem, one almost gets the impression that Bryant derives satisfaction from seeing the earthly doings of men and women swallowed up by the flood of the passing years; but at the close there is more mellowness, and warmer human feeling. The poem, as a whole, lacks the spontaneity and directness of Thanatopsis, but it has greater play of the imagination. 65. The Battlefield. While Bryant sympathized with the antislavery movement, and in the Civil War supported with his pen the side of the Union, yet he was a man of peace rather than of war. And it was the victories of peace that seemed to him more worth while than the victories of war, the victory of truth over falsehood, of liberty over tyranny, of enlightenment over ignorance. The third stanza from the end is good enough to make any poem endure. 66. The Death of the Flowers. The first line is, of course, very familiar. On first reading the poem, one is apt to think of it as a mere echo from the graveyard; but when it is remembered that it was written in memory of Bryant's sister, who died of consumption, the delicacy of the sentiment seems entirely fitting. The poem contains, too, mention of more American birds and flowers than can be found in any American poem written before it. 67. The Evening Wind. Bryant's human sympathy, however strong it may have been, did not often come to the surface. This poem contains more of it than is ordinarily found in his poetry. The play of the imagination, too, is attractive. The evening wind is thought of as bringing in from the sea healing and life to the weary and the ill, and then carrying out again to the mariners on the sea hints of the shore and of home. The last four lines have rarely been excelled for luminous beauty. 69. To the Fringed Gentian. The gentian is a blue flower that covers the New England hills in autumn. Bryant's appreciation of its beauty is genuine and spontaneous, and his phraseology is felicitous; but he could not help putting in at the end a glimpse of death. Eternity," says Mr. Woodberry, "was always in the same room with him." 66 69. To a Waterfowl. This poem was written not long after Thanatopsis, and first appeared in the North American Review. These two poems established Bryant's reputation as a poet. He never wrote anything better during his long life. It most assuredly has nobility, repose, proportion, and steadfast faith. 71. America. Bryant's patriotic verse often falls below his poems dealing with nature. This poem, however, in its fine restraint and in its deep feeling, far exceeds in merit any of the fervid, extravagant, patriotic verse of his predecessors. There is no screech of the eagle in it, but there is warm and loving devotion and abiding trust. RALPH WALDO EMERSON 75. Concord Hymn. These simple but noble lines, among the earliest of Emerson's verses, celebrate the fight which took place at the Concord Bridge, in 1775, between the Minutemen and the British. A monument was erected on the spot in 1836, not long after Emerson had gone to live in the Old Manse, at Concord, the house which his grandfather, the Rev. William Emerson, occupied at the time of the battle. The Old Manse is only a short distance from the battlefield. Hawthorne once lived in this house, and here he wrote his well-known volume, Mosses from an Old Manse. The building is still well preserved. The bridge mentioned in the first line is the one that spanned the Concord River near the battlefield. The river at this point is shallow and sluggish, and fringed with grasses. 75. The Problem. In the first eight lines of this poem, and in the last two, Emerson sets forth his personal feeling toward formal religion. He likes a "church" and a "cowl," and "monastic aisles fall like sweet strains " upon his heart; but, in spite of this, he has no desire to be an ecclesiastic. He cares most of all for things of the spirit, and churches and bishops are external symbols of spirituality; but Emerson was so extremely sensitive on his spiritual side, that anything like formalism seemed to him inadequate. So much for Emerson's personal feeling as expressed in The Problem. The key to the remainder of the poem may be found in these lines: The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; The conscious stone to beauty grew. When turned into prose the lines would mean, that the hand that built St. Peter's and the other churches in Rome during the early Christian era built conscientiously, according to fixed plans (wrought in a sad sincerity), but that the Spirit of God worked mysteriously through the builder and caused him unconsciously to build something more beautiful than he had planned. This thought the mysterious influence of God in adding greater beauty to art and life runs through the entire poem. This is the problem that Emerson asks his readers to solve. 76:4. Jove... Phidias. The Grecian sculptor Phidias did not create his statue of Jove "from a vain and shallow thought," but from conceptions of beauty and power derived from above. This mysterious influence is commonly called inspiration. 76: 6. Delphic oracle. There was in early times an oracle at Delphi, a town in Greece, through which the gods were supposed to answer the inquiries of men, and to foretell the future. 76: 27. the Parthenon. The most famous and beautiful of all the Grecian temples. It was at Athens. 77: 22, 23. This is an idea that Emerson expresses again and again,— that God is in everything and everybody, and that spiritual forces always make themselves felt everywhere. 77:24. the fathers wise. The early Christian church fathers. 77:26. Old Chrysostom, best Augustine. These were two of the most prominent early church fathers. St. Chrysostom, the patriarch of Constantinople, was noted for his eloquence. His name comes from two Greek words meaning golden-mouthed. This explains "Golden Lips" in line 28. St. Augustine was a writer of great influence on theological subjects. 77:27. And he who blent both in his line. This refers to Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), who is mentioned by name in line 29. He was an amiable, scholarly, and eloquent English divine. He was made a bishop by Charles II. Emerson means that Taylor, in his line of succession as a shining ecclesiastical light, blended in himself the good qualities of St. Chrysostom and of St. Augustine. Emerson feels the great charm of Taylor's personality as it is expressed in his portrait and in his writings; but he does not envy him his bishop's robes. 77: 28. mines: gold mines. There is a connection in thought here with "Golden Lips." 78. Each and All. Both in Each and All and in The Problem, there are high and enduring thoughts expressed obscurely in some places and carelessly in others. Unfortunately, many of Emerson's poems are marked by twisted and sprawling lines, and awkward, clumsy rhymes. This was due, not so much to carelessness, as to Emerson's feeling that matter was supremely more important than manner. All the very great poets, however, recognize clearly that immortal thoughts must be married to immortal verse. Let us examine closely this poem, Each and All. If Emerson had been a careful workman, he would probably have begun the poem with lines II and 12: All are needed by each one; The central idea of the poem is expressed in these lines. In the first ten lines are four illustrations of this central idea. To put these illustrations first is unnatural, and tends to make the poem obscure. The clown and the heifer and the sexton are given as examples of the truth expressed in line 12, that — Nothing is fair or good alone. The thought expressed in lines 9 and 10 illustrates the truth that All are needed by each one. From line 12 on to the end, the main thought is developed in an orderly way. When the sparrow (line 13) is taken from his alder bow and brought into a house, when the delicate shells (line 19) are brought away from the sea, and the graceful maid (line 29) is taken from the merry throng and placed in a hermitage, then all lose something of their beauty and charm : 79: 4, 5. Nothing is fair or good alone. Then I said, "I covet truth; LONG'S AM. POEMS 22 Emerson does not mean by this that truth and beauty are opposites. He simply means that beauty torn from its setting lacks truth, and thereby becomes a cheat, for All are needed by each one. In the last ten lines he looks about him and finds oaks and acorns and violets and the morning bird and the rolling river, all in their proper places and in perfect unison. Then he exclaims, Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 79. Days. The days are, of course, personified when they are spoken of as the daughters of time. They are called "hypocritic" (in the first line of the poem) because they march along "muffled and dumb," giving no sign of the opportunities they bring to men. The poet, meditating idly in his garden, took only a few herbs and apples, whereas he might have had kingdoms and stars. By failing to make good use of his time, by neglecting opportunities, he received only the scorn of the departing day. 80. Forbearance. The first three lines of this poem teach forbearance and self-restraint. 80 3. At rich men's tables. The man of restraint is supposed to confine himself to plain fare and to avoid luxuries. 80 7. Nobility more nobly to repay. The "high behavior" (line 5) that comes from self-restraint Emerson characterizes as "nobility." To refrain from praising it—because praise would be inadequate, or perhaps because praise might seem patronizing - would be a more noble way of repaying this nobility. The temper of the poem is in strict keeping with Emerson's theories of plain living and high thinking. It also embodies a rather common New England trait, - chariness in the bestowing of praise. 80. The Humble-Bee. Emerson's first poem in this collection, the Concord Hymn, shows the author on his patriotic side; in The Problem, Each and All, Days, and Forbearance, we see him on his more subtle and obscure side, as he tries to interpret spiritual realities; and in the last three poems The Humble-bee, The Snow-storm, and The Rhodora - we find in him a sensuous delight in nature almost equal to that displayed by Wordsworth and Keats. Both the meter and the thread of thought in The Humble-bee seem to correspond to the clumsy but active movements of that " 'zigzag steerer." The poem has freedom of movement, gayety of feeling, quick play of the imagination, and unusual delight in all that appeals to the senses in outdoor life. |