Whittier-land Part 12

The hands that hold the sword and purse Ere long shall lose their prey; And they who blindly wrought the curse, The curse shall sweep away!

Then tell the knaves, etc.

The land again in peace shall rest, With blood no longer stained; The virgin beauty of the West Shall be no more profaned.

We 'll teach the knaves, etc.

The snake about her cradle twined, Shall infant Kansas tear; And freely on the Western wind Shall float her golden hair!

So tell the knaves, etc.

Then let the idlers stand apart, And cowards shun the fight; We'll band together, heart to heart, Forget, forgive, unite!

And tell the knaves we are not slaves, And tell them slaves we ne'er will be; Come weal or woe, the world shall know We 're free, we 're free, we 're free!

It was Whittier's habit to freely suggest lines and even whole stanzas for poems submitted to him for criticism, and it may be readily believed that his hand is shown in this campaign song of his sister's:--

FREMONT'S RIDE

As his mountain men followed, undoubting and bold, O'er hill and o'er desert, through tempest and cold, So the people now burst from each fetter and thrall, And answer with shouting the wild bugle call.

Who 'll follow? Who 'll follow?

The bands gather fast; They who ride with Fremont Ride in triumph at last!

Oh, speed the bold riders! fling loose every rein, The race run for freedom is not run in vain; From mountain and prairie, from lake and from sea, Ride gallant and hopeful, ride fearless and free!

Who 'll follow, etc.

The shades of the Fathers for Freedom who died, As they rode in the war storm, now ride at our side; Their great souls shall strengthen our own for the fray, And the glance of our leader make certain the way.

Then follow, etc.

We ride not for honors, ambition or place, But the wrong to redress, and redeem the disgrace; Not for the North, nor for South, but the best good of all, We follow Fremont, and his wild bugle call!

Who 'll follow? Who 'll follow?

The bands gather fast; They who ride with Fremont Ride in triumph at last!

The following poem was written at the close of his last term at the Academy, and was published in the "Haverhill Gazette" of October 4, 1828, signed "Adrian." Probably no other poem written by him in those days was so universally copied by the press of the whole country. Its rather pessimistic tone no doubt caused the poet to omit it from collections made after the great change in his outlook upon life to which reference has been made on another page.

THE TIMES

"Oh dear! oh dear! I grieve, I grieve, For the good old days of Adam and Eve."

The times, the times, I say, the times are growing worse than ever; The good old ways our fathers trod shall grace their children never.

The homely hearth of ancient mirth, all traces of the plough, The places of their worship, are all forgotten now!

Farewell the farmers' honest looks and independent mien, The ta.s.sel of his waving corn, the blossom of the bean, The turnip top, the pumpkin vine, the produce of his toil, Have given place to flower pots, and plants of foreign soil.

Farewell the pleasant husking match, its merry after scenes, When Indian pudding smoked beside the giant pot of beans; When ladies joined the social band, nor once affected fear, But gave a pretty cheek to kiss for every crimson ear.

Affected modesty was not the test of virtue then, And few took pains to swoon away at sight of ugly men; For well they knew the purity which woman's heart should own Depends not on appearances, but on the heart alone.

Farewell unto the buoyancy and openness of youth-- The confidence of kindly hearts--the consciousness of truth, The honest tone of sympathy--the language of the heart-- Now cursed by fashion's tyranny, or turned aside by art.

Farewell the social quilting match, the song, the merry play, The whirling of a pewter plate, the merry fines to pay, The mimic marriage brought about by leaping o'er a broom, The good old blind man's buff, the laugh that shook the room.

Farewell the days of industry--the time has glided by When pretty hands were prettiest in making pumpkin pie.

When waiting maids were needed not, and morning brought along The music of the spinning wheel, the milkmaid's careless song.

Ah, days of artless innocence! Your dwellings are no more, And ye are turning from the path our fathers trod before; The homely hearth of honest mirth, all traces of the plough, The places of their worshiping, are all forgotten now!

I find among Mr. Whittier's papers the first draft of a poem that he does not seem to have prepared for publication. As it was written on the back of a note he received in March, 1890, that was probably the date of its composition:--

A SONG OF PRAISES

For the land that gave me birth; For my native home and hearth; For the change and overturning Of the times of my sojourning; For the world-step forward taken; For an evil way forsaken; For cruel law abolished; For idol shrines demolished; For the tools of peaceful labor Wrought from broken gun and sabre; For the slave-chain rent asunder And by free feet trodden under; For the truth defeating error; For the love that casts out terror; For the truer, clearer vision Of Humanity's great mission;-- For all that man upraises, I sing this song of praises.

The following poem is a variant of the "Hymn for the Opening of Thomas Starr King's House of Worship," and was contributed in 1883 to a fair in aid of an Episcopal chapel at Holderness, N. H.

UNITY

Forgive, O Lord, our severing ways, The separate altars that we raise, The varying tongues that speak Thy praise!

Suffice it now. In time to be Shall one great temple rise to Thee, Thy church our broad humanity.

White flowers of love its walls shall climb, Sweet bells of peace shall ring its chime, Its days shall all be holy time.

The hymn, long sought, shall then be heard, The music of the world's accord, Confessing Christ, the inward word!

That song shall swell from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, One faith, one love, one hope restore The seamless garb that Jesus wore!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This story is told more fully in _Life and Letters_, pp.

53, 54.]

[Footnote 2: This picture is reproduced from a drawing by Miss Francesca Alexander in her exquisite volume, _Tuscan Songs_. It is the face of an Italian peasant, but bears so extraordinary a resemblance to Harriet Livermore (as testified by several who knew her) that it is here given as representing her better than any known portrait.]

[Footnote 3: This letter has been published in full in a limited edition, by Mr. Goodspeed, together with a New Year's Address referred to in it as having given offense to some of the citizens of Rocks Village. A portion of this Address (which appeared in the _Haverhill Gazette_, January 5, 1828) is given in _Life and Letters_, pp. 62, 63.

The lines that seem to have given offense are these:--

"_Rocks_ folks are wide awake--their old bridge tumbled Some years ago, and left them all forsaken; But they have risen, tired of being humbled, And the first steps towards a new one taken.

They're all alive--their trade becomes more clever, And mobs and riots flourish well as ever."

Thirty-five years later, perhaps remembering the offense he had given in his youth by his portrayal of the _liveliness_ of the place, he shaded his picture in _The Countess_ with a different pencil, and we have a "stranded village" sketched to the life.]

[Footnote 4: It is of curious interest that although the poem _Memories_ was first published in 1841, the description of the "beautiful and happy girl" in its opening lines is identical with that of one of the characters in _Moll Pitcher_, published nine years earlier, and I have authority for saying that Mary Smith was in mind when that portrait was drawn. Probably the reason why Whittier never allowed _Moll Pitcher_ to be collected was because he used lines from it in poems written at later dates.]

[Footnote 5: This is how it happened: Mr. Downey saw a newspaper item to the effect that Mrs. S. F. Smith was a cla.s.smate of Whittier's. He knew that his wife was a cla.s.smate of Mrs. Smith, and "put this and that together." Without saying anything to her about it, he sent a tract of his to Whittier, and with it a note about his work as an evangelist; in a postscript he said, "Did you ever know Evelina Bray?"

Whittier wrote a criticism of the tract, which was against Colonel Ingersoll, in which he said, "It occurs to me to say that in thy tract there is hardly enough charity for that unfortunate man, who, it seems to me, is much to be pitied for his darkness of unbelief." He added as a postscript, "What does _thee_ know about Evelina Bray?" Downey replied that she was his wife, but did not let her know of this correspondence, or of his receipt of money from her old schoolmate. He was not poor, only eccentric.]