Lives of Illustrious Shoemakers Part 21

in 1831, and coming down to volumes of verse like "The King's Missive, Mabel Martin, and Later Poems," etc.,[187] published within the last few years. Through all his writings there runs a healthy moral tone, and his poetry is no less distinguished for purity of sentiment than for sweetness of numbers and true poetic fire. No man in New England, nor, indeed, in the States, has earned a better t.i.tle to the thanks and esteem of his fellow-countrymen than the "Quaker Poet," who began the hard work of life by blending the duties of the farm with the occupation of a shoemaker. Whittier College at Salem, Iowa, was established and named in his honor.

[187] In a review of this last volume of Whittier's poems (Macmillan & Co.), a writer in the _Athenaeum_ (February 18th, 1882) gives the following just estimate of Whittier's character and merits as a man and a poet: "The poems in this collection ... show that delicate apprehension of nature, that deep-seated sympathy with suffering mankind, that unwavering love of liberty and all things lovable, that earnest belief in a spirit of beneficence guiding to right issues the affairs of the world, that beautiful tolerance of differences--in a word, all those high qualities which, being fused with imagination, make Mr. Whittier, not indeed an a.n.a.lytical and subtle poet, nor a poet dealing with great pa.s.sions, but what he is emphatically, the apostle of all that is pure, fair, and morally beautiful.

Whittier has never forgotten his connection with the gentle craft in early life; nor has he been ashamed to own fellowship with its humble but worthy members. What he thinks of the craft itself, and of the spirit of the men who have followed it, may be learned from his lines addressed to shoemakers in the "Songs of Labor," published in 1850:

TO SHOEMAKERS.

Ho! workers of the old time, styled The Gentle Craft of Leather!

Young brothers of the ancient guild, Stand forth once more together!

Call out again your long array, In the olden merry manner!

Once more, on gay St. Crispin's Day, Fling out your blazoned banner!

Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone How falls the polished hammer!

Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor.

Now shape the sole! now deftly curl The glossy vamp around it, And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it!

For you, along the Spanish main A hundred keels are ploughing; For you, the Indian on the plain His la.s.so-coil is throwing; For you, deep glens with hemlock dark The woodman's fire is lighting; For you, upon the oak's gray bark The woodman's axe is smiting.

For you, from Carolina's pine The rosin-gum is stealing; For you, the dark-eyed Florentine Her silken skein is reeling; For you, the dizzy goatherd roams His rugged Alpine ledges; For you, round all her shepherd homes Bloom England's th.o.r.n.y hedges.

The foremost still, by day or night, On moated mound or heather, Where'er the need of trampled right Brought toiling men together; Where the free burghers from the wall Defied the mail-clad master, Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, No craftsmen rallied faster.

Let foplings sneer, let fools deride-- Ye heed no idle scorner; Free hands and hearts are still your pride, And duty done your honor.

Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, The jury Time empanels, And leave to truth each n.o.ble name Which glorifies your annals.

Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are living yet, In strong and hearty German; And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit, And patriot fame of Sherman; Still from his book, a mystic seer, The soul of Behmen teaches, And England's priestcraft shakes to hear Of Fox's leathern breeches.

The foot is yours; where'er it falls, It treads your well-wrought leather, On earthen floor, in marble halls, On carpet, or on heather.

Still there the sweetest charm is found Of matron grace or vestal's, As Hebe's foot bore nectar round Among the old celestials!

Rap, rap! your stout and bluff brogan, With footsteps slow and weary, May wander where the sky's blue span Shuts down upon the prairie.

On beauty's foot, your slippers glance By Saratoga's fountains, Or twinkle down the summer dance Beneath the crystal mountains!

The red brick to the mason's hand, The brown earth to the tiller's, The shoe in yours shall wealth command, Like fairy Cinderella's!

As they who shunned the household maid Beheld the crown upon her, So all shall see your toil repaid With heart and home and honor.

Then let the toast be freely quaffed, In water cool and br.i.m.m.i.n.g-- "All honor to the good old Craft Its merry men and women!"

Call out again your long array, In the old time's pleasant manner: Once more, on gay St. Crispin's Day, Fling out his blazoned banner.