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May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane

Where thine earthly part is lying,

Florence Vane !

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH

1819-1902

THE life of Dr. English was unusually active and varied. He practiced both law and medicine at different times; for a number of years he was active in journalism in New York, when he was associated with Willis and Poe; he wrote a novel, made a collection of ballads and fairy stories, and from 1891 to 1895 served as a member of Congress, during which time he published a volume of poems.

Dr. English was born in Philadelphia, and was a graduate of the medical school of the University of Pennsylvania. His last years were spent in blindness at Newark, New Jersey, where he died. Throughout his long career he was a man of vigor and of striking personality.

BEN BOLT

DON'T you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt, –
Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,

Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown?

In the old church yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and alone,

They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray,
And Alice lies under the stone.

Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,

Which stood at the foot of the hill,

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Together we've lain in the noonday shade,
And listened to Appleton's mill.

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The mill wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,

The rafters have tumbled in,

And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze
Has followed the olden din.

Do you mind of the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,
At the edge of the pathless wood,

And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs,
Which nigh by the doorstep stood?

The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,

The tree you would seek for in vain ;

And where once the lords of the forest waved
Are grass and the golden grain.

And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
With the master so cruel and grim,

And the shaded nook in the running brook

Where the children went to swim?

Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt,

The spring of the brook is dry,

And of all the boys who were schoolmates then
There are only you and I.

There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt,

They have changed from the old to the new ; But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth,

There never was change in you. Twelvemonths twenty have past, Ben Bolt,

Since first we were friends

yet I hail

Your presence a blessing, your friendship a truth,

Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale.

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MIDDLE PERIOD

I

Bryant, Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Poe, Holmes, and

Lowell

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

1794-1878

THE life of Bryant falls into two rather distinct parts — his work as a poet, and his career as a journalist and citizen. Much of his best poetry was written while he was a resident of Massachusetts, where he practiced law with doubtful success, but during the last fifty years of his life he edited the New York Evening Post, through which he rendered distinguished service to both literature and politics. In his later years the venerable poet and publicist was often spoken of as the first citizen of the Republic.

The outward facts of Bryant's life may be set down briefly. He was born at Cummington, in the western part of Massachusetts. His father was a physician, who named his son for the once famous Scotch professor of medicine, William Cullen. On his mother's side the poet was descended from John and Priscilla Alden. Young Bryant was precocious. His first poem was published in a newspaper when he was thirteen years of age. A year later he published The Embargo, a satire

Indeed, care

In 1810 he

on President Jefferson, which caused much comment in Boston, where it first appeared. The sentiment of this poem appealed to the prejudices of the violent Federalists of that time, but the most notable thing about it was its unusual correctness of rhyme and meter. ful workmanship always marked Bryant's prose and verse. entered Williams College as a sophomore. At the end of one year he left with an honorable dismissal, intending to enter Yale. Lack of money, however, put a stop to his college career. About this time, 56

when only seventeen years of age, he wrote Thanatopsis, his bestknown poem, and during his long career he never produced anything better. When it was published in the North American Review, it won him instant recognition as a poet. A few months later his justly popular lines To a Waterfowl appeared in the same magazine. In 1821 he read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard a poem called The Ages. It was in this year that he was happily married to Miss Frances Fairchild at Great Barrington, Massachusetts. He now determined to give up the law and to devote his life to letters. In 1825 he was persuaded by friends to move to New York, where for a time he helped to edit an unsuccessful magazine. Then came his connection with the Evening Post, which marked a sharp turn in his life.

The second important period of Bryant's life had now begun. In his hands the Evening Post became a pattern of the purest and most virile English, a literary critic of power and discrimination, and a fearless, independent, and high-minded upholder of all that is best in the civic affairs of the Republic. Bryant wrote poetry during these fifty years of toil as an editor, but it confirmed rather than increased his reputation as a poet. Either his springs had run dry or his energies had been diverted into another channel. As the years went by he was thought of less as a poet and more as a commanding personality in public affairs. To those who saw him in his daily round he seemed a dignified, venerable, and almost majestic figure. Secure in fame and fortune, steadfastly devoted to the greatest good to the greatest number, patiently and modestly laborious, gravely gentle in all the relations of life, he walked among men as the noblest embodiment of democratic citizenship. His last public act was in keeping with his character and career. He delivered the oration in 1878 at the unveiling of a statue in Central Park to Mazzini, the Italian patriot, and suffered a sunstroke which proved fatal.

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Happily," says George William Curtis, "we may believe that he was sensible of no decay. . . . He was hale, erect, and strong to the last. All his life a lover of nature and an advocate of liberty, he stood under the trees in the beautiful park on a bright June day, and paid an eloquent tribute to a devoted servant of liberty in another land. And while his words yet lingered in the ears of those who heard him, he passed from human sight."

As a poet, Bryant holds a place in American letters which is high and secure. He has correctness of form, restraint, delicacy, simplicity,

luminousness, and he rises at times almost to majesty. What he lacked was the heat which kindles the emotions and fires the imagination. The reason for this lay in the man himself. "He was reserved, and in no sense magnetic or responsive," says one who knew him well. "There was something in his manner of the New England hills among which he was born, a little stern and bleak and dry, although suffused with the tender and scentless splendor of the white laurel."

THANATOPSIS

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

When thoughts

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
Comes a still voice:

Yet a few days, and thee

The all-beholding sun shall see no more

In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up

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