These are the concluding lines of a long poem written in 1829, while he was editing the "American Manufacturer." The poem as a whole was never in print; but these lines of it I find in the "Essex Gazette" of August 22, 1829, from which paper they were copied, as were most of his productions of that period, by the newspapers of the country. They were never in any collection of his works:—

A FRAGMENT

Lady, farewell! I know thy heart Has angel strength to soar above The cold reserve—the studied art That mock the glowing wings of love. Its thoughts are purer than the pearl That slumbers where the wave is driven, Yet freer than the winds that furl The banners of the clouded heaven. And thou hast been the brightest star That shone along my weary way— Brighter than rainbow visions are, A changeless and enduring ray. Nor will my memory lightly fade From thy pure dreams, high-thoughted girl;— The ocean may forget what made Its blue expanse of waters curl, When the strong winds have passed the sky; Earth in its beauty may forget The recent cloud that floated by; The glories of the last sunset— But not from thy unchanging mind Will fade the dreams of other years, And love will linger far behind, In memory's resting place of tears!

Many of Whittier's early discarded verses are of a rather gruesome sort, but more are inspired by contemplation of sublime themes, like this apostrophe to "Eternity," which was published in the "New England Review" in 1831:—

ETERNITY

Boundless eternity! the winged sands That mark the silent lapse of flitting time Are not for thee; thine awful empire stands From age to age, unchangeable, sublime; Thy domes are spread where thought can never climb, In clouds and darkness where vast pillars rest. I may not fathom thee: 't would seem a crime Thy being of its mystery to divest Or boldly lift thine awful veil with hands unblest.

Thy ruins are the wrecks of systems; suns Blaze a brief space of age, and are not; Worlds crumble and decay, creation runs To waste—then perishes and is forgot; Yet thou, all changeless, heedest not the blot. Heaven speaks once more in thunder; empty space Trembles and wakes; new worlds in ether float, Teeming with new creative life, and trace Their mighty circles, which others shall displace.

Thine age is youth, thy youth is hoary age, Ever beginning, never ending, thou Bearest inscribed upon thy ample page, Yesterday, forever, but as now Thou art, thou hast been, shall be: though I feel myself immortal, when on thee I muse, I shrink to nothingness, and bow Myself before thee, dread Eternity, With God coeval, coexisting, still to be.

I go with thee till time shall be no more, I stand with thee on Time's remotest age, Ten thousand years, ten thousand times told o'er; Still, still with thee my onward course I urge; And now no longer hear the surge Of Time's light billows breaking on the shore Of distant earth; no more the solemn dirge— Requiem of worlds, when such are numbered o'er— Steals by: still thou art on forever more.

From that dim distance I turn to gaze With fondly searching glance, upon the spot Of brief existence, when I met the blaze Of morning, bursting on my humble cot, And gladness whispered of my happy lot; And now 't is dwindled to a point—a speck— And now 't is nothing, and my eye may not Longer distinguish it amid the wreck Of worlds in ruins, crushed at the Almighty's beck.

Time—what is time to thee? a passing thought To twice ten thousand ages—a faint spark To twice ten thousand suns; a fibre wrought Into the web of infinite—a cork Balanced against a world: we hardly mark Its being—even its name hath ceased to be; Thy wave hath swept it from us, thy dark Mantle of years, in dim obscurity Hath shrouded it around: Time—what is Time to thee!

In 1832 a living ichneumon was brought to Haverhill, and was on exhibition at Frinksborough, a section of Haverhill now known as "the borough," on the bank of the river above the railroad bridge. Three young ladies of Haverhill went to see it, escorted by Mr. Whittier. They found that the animal had succumbed to the New England climate, and had just been buried. One of the ladies, Harriet Minot, afterward Mrs. Pitman, a life-long friend of the poet, suggested that he should write an elegy, and these are the lines he produced:—

THE DEAD ICHNEUMON

Stranger! they have made thy grave By the darkly flowing river; But the washing of its wave Shall disturb thee never! Nor its autumn tides which run Turbid to the rising sun, Nor the harsh and hollow thunder, When its fetters burst asunder, And its winter ice is sweeping, Downward to the ocean's keeping.

Sleeper! thou canst rest as calm As beside thine own dark stream, In the shadow of the palm, Or the white sand gleam! Though thy grave be never hid By the o'ershadowing pyramid, Frowning o'er the desert sand, Like no work of mortal hand, Telling aye the same proud story Of the old Egyptian glory!

Wand'rer! would that we might know Something of thy early time— Something of thy weal or woe In thine own far clime! If thy step hath fallen where Those of Cleopatra were, When the Roman cast his crown At a woman's footstool down, Deeming glory's sunshine dim To the smile which welcomed him.

If beside the reedy Nile Thou hast ever held thy way, Where the embryo crocodile In the damp sedge lay; When the river monster's eye Kindled at thy passing by, And the pliant reeds were bending Where his blackened form was wending, And the basking serpent started Wildly when thy light form darted.

Thou hast seen the desert steed Mounted by his Arab chief, Passing like some dream of speed, Wonderful and brief! Where the palm-tree's shadows lurk, Thou hast seen the turbaned Turk, Resting in voluptuous pride With his harem at his side, Veiled victims of his will, Scorned and lost, yet lovely still.

And the samiel hath gone O'er thee like a demon's breath, Marking victims one by one For its master—Death. And the mirage thou hast seen Glittering in the sunny sheen, Like some lake in sunlight sleeping, Where the desert wind was sweeping, And the sandy column gliding, Like some giant onward striding.

Once the dwellers of thy home Blessed the path thy race had trod, Kneeling in the temple dome To a reptile god; Where the shrine of Isis shone Through the veil before its throne, And the priest with fixed eyes Watched his human sacrifice; And the priestess knelt in prayer, Like some dream of beauty there.

Thou, unhonored and unknown, Wand'rer o'er the mighty sea! None for thee have reverence shown— None have worshipped thee! Here in vulgar Yankee land, Thou hast passed from hand to hand, And in Frinksborough found a home, Where no change can ever come! What thy closing hours befell None may ask, and none may tell.

Who hath mourned above thy grave? None—except thy ancient nurse. Well she may—thy being gave Coppers to her purse! Who hath questioned her of thee? None, alas! save maidens three, Here to view thee while in being, Yankee curious, paid for seeing, And would gratis view once more That for which they paid before.

Yet thy quiet rest may be Envied by the human kind, Who are showing off like thee, To the careless mind, Gifts which torture while they flow, Thoughts which madden while they glow, Pouring out the heart's deep wealth, Proffering quiet, ease, and health, For the fame which comes to them Blended with their requiem!

The following poem, which I have never seen in print, I find in a manuscript collection of Whittier's early poems, in the possession of his cousin, Ann Wendell, of Philadelphia. It is a political curiosity, being a reminiscence of the excitement caused by the mystery of the disappearance of William Morgan, in the vicinity of Niagara Falls, in 1826. It was written in 1830, three years before Whittier became especially active in the anti-slavery cause. He was then working in the interest of Henry Clay as against Jackson, and the Whigs had adopted some of the watchwords of the Anti-Masonic party:—

THE GRAVE OF MORGAN

Wild torrent of the lakes! fling out Thy mighty wave to breeze and sun, And let the rainbow curve above The foldings of thy clouds of dun. Uplift thy earthquake voice, and pour Its thunder to the reeling shore, Till caverned cliff and hanging wood Roll back the echo of thy flood, For there is one who slumbers now Beneath thy bow-encircled brow, Whose spirit hath a voice and sign More strong, more terrible than thine.

A million hearts have heard that cry Ring upward to the very sky; It thunders still—it cannot sleep, But louder than the troubled deep, When the fierce spirit of the air Hath made his arm of vengeance bare, And wave to wave is calling loud Beneath the veiling thunder-cloud; That potent voice is sounding still— The voice of unrequited ill.

Dark cataract of the lakes! thy name Unholy deeds have linked to fame. High soars to heaven thy giant head, Even as a monument to him Whose cold unheeded form is laid Down, down amid thy caverns dim. His requiem the fearful tone Of waters falling from their throne In the mid air, his burial shroud The wreathings of thy torrent cloud, His blazonry the rainbow thrown Superbly round thy brow of stone.

Aye, raise thy voice—the sterner one Which tells of crime in darkness done, Groans upward from thy prison gloom Like voices from the thunder's home. And men have heard it, and the might Of freemen rising from their thrall Shall drag their fetters into light, And spurn and trample on them all. And vengeance long—too long delayed— Shall rouse to wrath the souls of men, And freedom raise her holy head Above the fallen tyrant then.

This poem, which was published in "The Haverhill Gazette" in 1829, was copied in many papers of that time, but was never in any collection of its author's works:—

THE THUNDER SPIRIT

Dweller of the unpillared air, Marshalling the storm to war, Heralding its presence where Rolls along thy cloudy car! Thou that speakest from on high, Like an earthquake's bursting forth, Sounding through the veiled sky As an angel's trumpet doth.

Bending from thy dark dominion Like a fierce, revengeful king, Blasting with thy fiery pinion Every high and holy thing; Smitten from their mountain prison Thou hast bid the streams go free, And the ruin's smoke has risen, Like a sacrifice to thee!

. . . . .

Monarch of each cloudy form, Gathered on the blue of heaven, When the trumpet of the storm To thy lip of flame is given! In the wave and in the breeze, In the shadow and the sun, God hath many languages, And thy mighty voice is one!

Here is a poem of Whittier's that will remind every reader of the hymn "The Worship of Nature," which first appeared without a title in the "Tent on the Beach." And yet there is no line in it, and scarcely a phrase, which was used in this last named poem. I find it in the "New England Review," of Hartford, under date of January 24, 1831. It would seem that "The Worship of Nature" was a favorite theme of his, for a still earlier treatment of it I have found in the "Haverhill Gazette" of October 5, 1827, written before the poet was twenty years of age. It is a curious fact that while in the version of 1827 there are a few lines and phrases which were adopted forty years afterward, the lines given here are none of them copied in the final revision of the poem.

THE WORSHIP OF NATURE

"The air Is glorious with the spirit-march Of messengers of prayer."

There is a solemn hymn goes up From Nature to the Lord above, And offerings from her incense-cup Are poured in gratitude and love; And from each flower that lifts its eye In modest silence in the shade To the strong woods that kiss the sky A thankful song of praise is made.

There is no solitude on earth— "In every leaf there is a tongue"— In every glen a voice of mirth— From every hill a hymn is sung; And every wild and hidden dell, Where human footsteps never trod, Is wafting songs of joy, which tell The praises of their maker—God.

Each mountain gives an altar birth, And has a shrine to worship given; Each breeze which rises from the earth Is loaded with a song of Heaven; Each wave that leaps along the main Sends solemn music on the air, And winds which sweep o'er ocean's plain Bear off their voice of grateful prayer.

When Night's dark wings are slowly furled And clouds roll off the orient sky, And sunlight bursts upon the world, Like angels' pinions flashing by, A matin hymn unheard will rise From every flower and hill and tree, And songs of joy float up the skies, Like holy anthems from the sea.

When sunlight dies, and shadows fall, And twilight plumes her rosy wing, Devotion's breath lifts Music's pall, And silvery voices seem to sing. And when the earth falls soft to rest, And young wind's pinions seem to tire, Then the pure streams upon its breast Join their glad sounds with Nature's lyre.

And when the sky that bends above Is lighted up with spirit fires, A gladdening song of praise and love Is pealing from the sky-tuned lyres; And every star that throws its light From off Creation's bending brow, Is offering on the shrine of Night The same unchanging subject-vow.

Thus Earth 's a temple vast and fair, Filled with the glorious works of love When earth and sky and sea and air Join in the praise of God above; And still through countless coming years Unwearied songs of praise shall roll On plumes of love to Him who hears The softest strain in Music's soul.

There was a remarkable display of the aurora borealis in January, 1837, and this poem commemorates the phenomenon:—

THE NORTHERN LIGHTS

A light is troubling heaven! A strange dull glow Hangs like a half-quenched veil of fire between The blue sky and the earth; and the shorn stars Gleam faint and sickly through it. Day hath left No token of its parting, and the blush With which it welcomed the embrace of Night Has faded from the blue cheek of the West; Yet from the solemn darkness of the North, Stretched o'er the "empty place" by God's own hand, Trembles and waves that curtain of pale fire,— Tingeing with baleful and unnatural hues The winter snows beneath. It is as if Nature's last curse—the fearful plague of fire— Were working in the elements, and the skies Even as a scroll consuming.

Lo, a change! The fiery wonder sinks, and all along A dark deep crimson rests—a sea of blood, Untroubled by a wave. And over all Bendeth a luminous arch of pale, pure white, Clearly contrasted with the blue above, And the dark red beneath it. Glorious! How like a pathway for the Shining Ones, The pure and beautiful intelligences Who minister in Heaven, and offer up Their praise as incense, or like that which rose Before the Pilgrim prophet, when the tread Of the most holy angels brightened it, And in his dream the haunted sleeper saw The ascending and descending of the blest!

And yet another change! O'er half the sky A long bright flame is trembling, like the sword Of the great angel of the guarded gate Of Paradise, when all the holy streams And beautiful bowers of Eden-land blushed red Beneath its awful wavering, and the eyes Of the outcasts quailed before its glare, As from the immediate questioning of God.

And men are gazing at these "signs in heaven," With most unwonted earnestness, and fair And beautiful brows are reddening in the light Of this strange vision of the upper air: Even as the dwellers of Jerusalem Beleaguered by the Romans—when the skies Of Palestine were thronged with fiery shapes, And from Antonia's tower the mailed Jew Saw his own image pictured in the air, Contending with the heathen; and the priest Beside the temple's altar veiled his face From that fire-written language of the sky.

Oh God of mystery! these fires are thine! Thy breath hath kindled them, and there they burn Amid the permanent glory of Thy heavens, That earliest revelation written out In starry language, visible to all, Lifting unto Thyself the heavy eyes Of the down-looking spirits of the earth! The Indian, leaning on his hunting-bow, Where the ice-mountains hem the frozen pole, And the hoar architect of winter piles With tireless hand his snowy pyramids, Looks upward in deep awe,—while all around The eternal ices kindle with the hues Which tremble on their gleaming pinnacles And sharp cold ridges of enduring frost,— And points his child to the Great Spirit's fire.

Alas for us who boast of deeper lore, If in the maze of our vague theories, Our speculations, and our restless aim To search the secret, and familiarize The awful things of nature, we forget To own Thy presence in Thy mysteries!

This imitation of "The Old Oaken Bucket" was written in 1826, when Whittier was in his nineteenth year, and except a single stanza, no part of it was ever before in print. The willow the young poet had in mind was on the bank of Country Brook, near Country Bridge, and also near the site of Thomas Whittier's log house. Mr. Whittier once pointed out this spot to me as one in which he delighted in his youth. On a grassy bank, almost encircled by a bend in the stream, stood, and perhaps still stands, just such a "storm-battered, water-washed willow" as is here described:—

THE WILLOW

Oh, dear to my heart are the scenes which delighted My fancy in moments I ne'er can recall, When each happy hour new pleasures invited, And hope pictured visions more lovely than all. When I gazed with a light heart transported and glowing On the forest-crowned hill, and the rivulet's tide, O'ershaded with tall grass, and rapidly flowing Around the lone willow that stood by its side— The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed willow, that grew by its side.

Dear scenes of past years, when the objects around me Seemed forms to awaken the transports of joy; Ere yet the dull cares of experience had found me, The dearly-loved visions of youth to destroy,— Ye seem to awaken, whene'er I discover The grass-shadowed rivulet rapidly glide, The green verdant meads of the vale wandering over And laving the willows that stand by its side— The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed willow, that stands by its side;—

How oft 'neath the shade of that wide-spreading willow I have laid myself down from anxiety free, Reclining my head on the green grassy pillow, That waved round the roots of that dearly-loved tree; Where swift from the far distant uplands descending, In the bright sunbeam sparkling, the rivulet's tide With murmuring echoes came gracefully wending Its course round the willow that stood by its side— The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed willow that stood by its side.

Haunts of my childhood, that used to awaken Emotions of joy in my infantile breast, Ere yet the fond pleasures of youth had forsaken My bosom, and all the bright dreams you impressed On my memory had faded, ye give not the feeling Of joy that ye did, when I gazed on the tide, As gracefully winding, its currents came stealing Around the lone willow that stood by its side— The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed willow, that stood by its side.

This is a fragment of a poem written in the album of a cousin in Philadelphia, in 1838. It was never before in print:—

THE USES OF SORROW

It may be that tears at whiles Should take the place of folly's smiles, When 'neath some Heaven-directed blow, Like those of Horeb's rock, they flow; For sorrows are in mercy given To fit the chastened soul for Heaven; Prompting with woe and weariness Our yearning for that better sky, Which, as the shadows close on this, Grows brighter to the longing eye. For each unwelcome blow may break, Perchance, some chain which binds us here; And clouds around the heart may make The vision of our faith more clear; As through the shadowy veil of even The eye looks farthest into Heaven, On gleams of star, and depths of blue, The fervid sunshine never knew!

In the summer of 1856, Charles A. Dana, then one of the editors of the New York "Tribune," wrote to Whittier, calling upon him for campaign songs for Fremont. He said: "A powerful means of exciting and maintaining the spirit of freedom in the coming decisive contest must be songs. If we are to conquer, as I trust in God we are, a great deal must be done by that genial and inspiring stimulant." Whittier responded with several songs sung during the campaign for free Kansas, but the following lines for some reason he desired should appear without his name, either in the "National Era," in which they first appeared, August 14, 1856, or with the music to which they were set. A recently discovered letter, written by him to a friend in Philadelphia who was intrusted to set the song to music, avows its authorship, and also credits to his sister Elizabeth another song, "Fremont's Ride," published in the same number of the "Era." As the brother probably had some hand in the composition of this last-mentioned piece, it is given here. This is Whittier's song:—

WE 'RE FREE

The robber o'er the prairie stalks And calls the land his own, And he who talks as Slavery talks Is free to talk alone. But 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.

Oh, watcher on the outer wall, How wears the night away? I hear the birds of morning call, I see the break of day! Rise, tell the knaves, etc.

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 tassel 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 shore to shore, 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 classmate of Whittier's. He knew that his wife was a classmate 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.]

[Footnote 6: This house is now cared for by the Josiah Bartlett chapter of the Daughters of the Revolution.]

[Footnote 7: The house of these brothers and the barn in which the husking was held may be seen near the West Ossipee station of the Boston and Maine Railroad. The Bearcamp House was burned many years ago, and never rebuilt.]

[Footnote 8: There was a forest fire on a shoulder of Chocorua at this time.]

[Footnote 9: She was knitting at the time.]

[Footnote 10: She had refused to sing that evening.]

[Footnote 11: Lucy Larcom was then suffering from hay fever.]

[Footnote 12: The papers had an item to the effect that some one had given Whittier a cottage at the Isles of Shoals.]

[Footnote 13: The only lawyer present.]

[Footnote 14: A line is here missing. I had the copy of this poem from Mr. Weld himself when he was ninety years of age. He had accidentally omitted it in copying for me; and his death occurred before the omission was noticed.]



INDEX



INDEX

"Abram Morrison," 86.

"Adrian," 152.

Agamenticus, 86, 89.

Aldrich, T. B., 75.

Allinson, Francis Greenleaf, 39.

Allinson, W. J., 39.

American Manufacturer, 69, 71, 102, 136.

Amesbury, 3, 42, 55-89.

Amesbury public library, 95.

Ancient desk, 20.

Andover, 5.

Anecdotes as told by Whittier: Aunt Mercy's vision, 22, 23; Country Bridge ghost, 15; conscience stirred by thunderstorm, 27; Elizabeth's practical joke, 28; the "tipsy wife," 31, 32; cold drives to Amesbury, 33; "Old Butler," 36; the Morse boys, 36; Garrison's first visit, 37; a Quaker swaps cows, 37; "the power of figures," 40-42; instance of guidance of spirit, 82, 83; legend of Po Hill, 85, 86; Chase characterizes Lincoln's stories, 98; Hiram Collins and Emerson, 98, 99.

Anecdotes related of Whittier: Last visit to birthplace, 24-38; the fire on the hearth, 26; attempt at levitation, 28; visits site of "In School Days," 32; cherry-tree incident, 34; story of Evelina Bray, 68-72; receives lightning stroke, 73; taking notes at Quaker meeting, 82; sees mirage at Salisbury Beach, 91; Miss Phelps describes first meeting, 102; thirteen at table, 93, 94; clock strikes mysteriously, 95; the May Quarterly Meeting, 96; saving money for funeral expenses, 96; the pet parrot, 97, 98; husking at West Ossipee, 111-114; an evening at Bearcamp, 114-118; Alice Freeman Palmer's story, 118, 119; contract of perpetual bachelorhood, 119; his English Quaker guest, 122; escapes dedication of Bartlett statue, 122.

Anti-Masonic poem, 141.

Appledore, 92.

Artichoke River, 57, 58.

"A Sea Dream," 69.

"A Song of Praises," 153, 154.

Ayer, Capt. Edmund, 29, 30.

Ayer, Lydia, 26, 30.

Ayer, Lydia Amanda (Mrs. Evans), 30.

Ayer, Mrs., 117.

Bagley, Valentine, 84.

Bailey, Mary, 116.

Bailey's Hill, 83.

Bancroft, George, 64.

Barnard, Mary, 96.

Bartlett, Josiah, 84, 122-125.

Bearcamp House, 110-117.

Beecher, Catherine, 70.

Beecher, Henry Ward, 76.

Birchy Meadow, 44.

Birthplace of Whittier, 8, 9-40.

Blaine, James G., 64, 77, 78.

Boar's Head, 86, 89.

Bonny Beag, 86.

Boon Island, 86.

Boston "Statesman," 102.

Boutelle, Thomas E., 99.

Boyd, Rev. P. S., 4.

Boynton, E. Moody, 122-124.

Bradbury, Judge, and wife, 56.

Bradford, 3.

Bradstreet, Anne, 5.

Bray, Evelina, 68, 71.

Brown's Hill, 84.

Burnham, Thomas E., 38.

Burroughs, George, 101.

Butler, Benjamin F., 36.

Butler, Philip, 76.

Butters, Charles, 38.

Byron, Lord, 134-136.

Caldwell, Adelaide, 112, 113, 117.

Caldwell, Louis, 113.

Caldwell, Mary (Whittier), 25, 74.

Cape Ann, 86.

Captain's Well, The, 83, 84.

Carleton, James H., 38.

Cartland, Gertrude (Whittier), 20, 104, 113.

Cartland house, Newburyport, 20, 101.

Cartland, Joseph, 82, 85, 92, 104, 113.

Catalogue of father's library, 24, 25.

Cate, George W., 101.

Centre Harbor, N. H., 99, 110, 113.

Chain Bridge, 59, 60.

Chamber in which Whittier died, 94.

"Changeling, The," 92.

Chase, Aaron, 30, 32.

Chase, Mrs. Moses, 32.

Chase, Salmon P., 98.

Child, Lydia Maria, 75.

Chocorua, 110-115.

Churchill, J. W., 123.

Claflin, William, 102, 118.

Clarkson, Thomas, 25.

Clay, Henry, 77, 141.

"Cobbler Keezar's Vision," 86.

Coffin, Joshua, 26, 30, 31, 103, 104.

Coggswell, William, 64.

Collier, Rev. William R., 102.

Collins, Hiram, 124.

"Common Question, The," 97.

Corliss Hill, 30-32.

"Countess, The," 47, 51.

Country Bridge, 14, 15, 46.

Country Brook, 14-17, 104.

Crane Neck, 86.

Currier, Horace, 117.

Curson's Mill, 57, 58.

Cushing, Caleb, 5.

Dana, Charles A., 149.

Danvers, 86.

Daughters of the Revolution, 84.

Davis, Robert T., 122.

Deer Island, 5, 58-60.

Dickens, Charles, 108.

"Division, The," 109.

Douglass, Frederick, 64.

Downey, Evelina (Bray), 71.

Downey, W. S., 70.

Duncan, Sarah M. F., 38.

Dustin, Hannah, 40.

East Haverhill, 3.

East Haverhill church, 51.

Ela, Amelia, 19.

"Eleanor," 46.

Ellwood's "Drab-Skirted Muse," 25.

Emerson, Nehemiah, 66.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 65, 99.

Emmons, "Ginger-Pop," 124.

Essex Club, 64.

"Eternal Goodness, The," 63, 107.

"Eternity," 137, 138.

"Exiles, The," 84.

Fernside Brook, 9, 11, 12, 16, 17.

Ferry, the, 75.

Fields, Annie, 102.

Fields, James T., 46, 102.

Fletcher, Rev. J. C., 58, 89, 92.

Ford, Miss, 112, 116.

"Fountain, The," 87.

Fox, George, 25, 47.

"Fragment, A," 136.

Frankle, Annie W., 38.

Fremont, J. C., 149.

Friend Street, 58.

Friends' meeting-house, 33, 80, 81.

Frietchie, Barbara, 65.

Frinksborough, 138.

"Gail Hamilton's Wedding," 120-122.

Garden at birthplace, 18.

Garden room, Amesbury, 32, 62-71.

Garrison, William Lloyd, 37, 76, 103, 104.

Garrison's birthplace, 103.

Golden Hill, 8.

Goodspeed, C. E., 51 note. (TR: now Footnote 3)

"Goody" Martin, 56, 57, 84.

Gordon, "Chinese," 65.

Gove, Sarah Abby, 92, 93.

"Grave of Morgan, The," 142, 143.

Green, Ruth, 29.

Greene, Nathaniel, 102.

Greenleaf, Sarah, 20, 22, 29, 103.

Grimke, Angelina, 119.

Group at Sturtevant's, 113.

Groveland, 3.

"Hamilton, Gail," 108, 120-122.

Hampton Beach, 86, 88.

Hampton Falls, 92, 93.

Hampton marshes, 92.

Hampton River, 88.

Haskell, George, 40.

"Haunted Bridge of Country Brook," 15.

Haverhill, 3, 7.

Haverhill Academy, 6, 129.

"Haverhill Gazette," 24, 48, 136, 143, 152.

Hawkswood, 58.

Hay, John, 75.

Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, 78.

Hines, Peter, 117.

Hoar, George F., 64.

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 108.

"Homecoming of the Bride, The," 15, 104.

How, George C., 38.

"How they climbed Chocorua," 111.

Howe, Julia Ward, 75.

Hume, Isabel, 116.

Huntington, Jacob R., 84, 122.

Hussey, Mercy Evans, 22, 26, 61, 62, 85.

Ichneumon, the living, 138.

"In School Days," 26, 30, 32.

Ipswich, 86.

Ireson, Capt. Benjamin, 72.

Isles of Shoals, 86, 89, 91, 117.

"I would not lose that Romance Wild," 130.

Jackson, Andrew, 141.

Job's Hill, 9, 12, 17, 36.

Johnson, Caroline, 101.

Johnson, Mary, 101.

"June on the Merrimac," 58.

"Justice and Expediency," 22.

Kansas, 150, 151.

Kearsarge, 86.

Kelley, Clarence E., 38.

Kimball's Pond, 95.

Kitchen at birthplace, 17, 19, 21, 23

Knox brothers, 110-115.

Ladd, "Squire," 32.

Lake Kenoza, 8, 10.

Lansing, Miss, 111, 116.

Larcom, Lucy, 111, 114, 116.

"Last Walk in Autumn, The," 56.

"Last Will of Man in Bear-Trap, The," 116-118.

"Laurels, The," 58.

Lee, N. H., 100.

Little Boar's Head, 86.

Livermore, Harriet, 39, 101.

Lloyd, Elizabeth, 34.

Longfellow, Henry W., 65, 108.

Lowell, James Russell, 108.

"Mabel Martin," 56, 84.

Macy house, 84.

Macy, Thomas, 84.

"Maids of Attitash, The," 95.

Map of Whittier-Land, xii.

Marlboro Hotel, 102.

"Memorial, A," 98.

"Memories," 66.

Menahga, 46.

Merrimac, town, 3, 44, 82.

Merrimac River, 3, 4, 44, 56, 58, 60.

Millvale, 15, 46, 104.

Minot, Harriet (Mrs. Pitman), 138.

"Miriam," 86.

Mitford, Mary Russell, 75.

"Moll Pitcher," 66 note (TR: now Footnote 4), 131.

Monadnock, 33, 86.

Morgan, William, 141.

Morrill, Jettie, 116.

Morse, "Goody," 104.

Mother's room, 22, 23.

Moulton house, Hampton, 92.

Moulton's Hill, 58.

Mount Washington, 86.

Mundy Hill, 84, 87.

"My Double," 123-125.

"My Namesake," 39.

"My Playmate," 44, 46, 67.

"Name, A," 74.

"National Era," 76, 150.

Newbury, 3, 14, 32, 44, 56, 58, 86, 103.

Newburyport, 3, 86.

"New England," 131-134.

"New England Review," 43, 76, 131, 137.

New York "Tribune," 149.

"New Wife and the Old, The," 92.

Niagara Falls, 141.

Nicholson, Elizabeth, 34.

"Northern Lights, The," 146, 147.

Nottingham, N. H., 96.

Oak Knoll, Danvers, 99, 101, 122, 123.

Ode for dedication of Academy, 7.

"Old Burying Ground, The," 51.

"Old Oaken Bucket, The," 147.

Old South meeting-house, Newburyport, 103, 104.

"One of the Signers," 122.

Ordway, Alfred A., 17-19, 35, 38, 46.

Ossipee range, 86.

"Our River," 58.

"Ours," 79, 80.

Palmer, Alice Freeman, 118, 119.

Passaconaway, 86.

Pawtuckaway range, 95.

Peaslee house, "Old Garrison," 46, 47, 55.

Peaslee, Joseph, 47.

Peaslee, Mary, 29, 46.

"Pennsylvania Freeman," 61, 70, 76.

Pennsylvania Hall, 119.

Pickard, Elizabeth (Whittier), 20, 22, 39, 71, 74, 75, 85, 90, 94, 109, 116.

Pickard, Greenleaf Whittier, 74, 94.

Pickard, S. T., 116, 117.

Pillsbury, Mary, 35.

Pleasant Valley, 55, 58.

Plum Island, 86.

Plummer, Celeste, 112, 116.

Poems hitherto uncollected: Ode sung at dedication of Academy, 7; Catalogue of his father's library, 22; Lines in album, 30; "A Retrospect," 35; "The Plaint of the Merrimac," 59, 60; "The Division," 109; "How they climbed Chocorua," 111-114; "To the Unknown and Absent Author of 'How they climbed Chocorua,'" 114, 115; "Last Will of Man in Bear-Trap," 116-118; Weld epithalamium, 119, 120; "Gail Hamilton's Wedding," 120-122; "My Double," 123-125; "I would not lose that Romance Wild," 130; "New England," 131-133; "That Vow of Thine," 133, 134; "The Spectre," 135, 136; "A Fragment," 136, 137; "Eternity," 137, 138; "Dead Ichneumon," 139-141; "Grave of Morgan," 142, 143; "The Thunder Spirit," 143; "Worship of Nature," 144, 145; "Northern Lights," 146, 147; "The Willow," 148, 149; "Uses of Sorrow," 149; "We're Free," 150, 151; "Fremont's Ride," 151, 152; "The Times," 152, 153; "Song of Praises," 153, 154.

Po Hill, 33, 57, 84, 87.

Pond Hills, 44.

Porter, Dudley, 38.

Porter, J. S., 25, 71.

Portland, 20, 22, 118.

Powow River, 56, 57, 60, 79, 83, 84, 86-87, 88.

"Preacher, The," 84.

"Pressed Gentian, The," 64.

Purchase of birthplace, 38.

Ramoth Hill, 46, 67.

"Relic, The," 64.

"Revisited," 58.

Reunion of schoolmates, 70.

River Path, picture of, 5.

"River Path, The," 49, 55, 56.

River valley, near grave of Countess, 49.

Rocks Bridge, 48.

Rocks Village, 32, 44, 46, 51, 55.

Rocky Hill, 84.

Rocky Hill meeting-house, 87, 89.

Rogers, John, 125.

Rowley, 86.

Salisbury, 3, 14.

Salisbury Beach, 86, 88, 89.

Salisbury Point, 77.

Saltonstall mansion, 45.

Sanders, Susan B., 38.

"Sea Dream, A," 69.

Scene on Country Brook, 43.

Sewel's "Painful History," 25.

Silver Hill, 8, 10.

Smith, Joseph Lindon, 26.

Smith, Mary Emerson, 66, 67.

Smith, S. F., 71, 72.

Smith, Mrs. S. F., 71, 72.

"Snow-Bound," 12, 20, 24, 39, 48, 63, 74.

Snow-Bound barn, 12.

Snow-Bound kitchen, 12, 17-52.

Somersworth, N. H., 22.

"Song of Praises, A," 153, 154.

Sparhawk, Dr. Thomas, 76.

"Spectre, The," 135, 136.

Spofford, Harriet Prescott, 5, 59.

Stanton, Edwin M., 84.

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 75.

Sturge, Joseph, 61, 63-65.

Sturtevant, Miss, 112.

Sturtevant, Mrs., 117.

Sturtevant's, 110, 113.

Sumner, Charles, 108.

Sycamores, the, 8, 45.

Tallant, Hugh, 45.

Tappan, Lewis, 62.

Taylor, Bayard, 65.

Taylor, Henry, 98, 99.

Taylor, Marie, 66.

"Telling the Bees," 17.

"Tent on the Beach, The," 74, 87, 90, 91.

"That Vow of Thine," 133, 134.

Thaxter, Celia, 92.

Thayer, Abijah W., 24.

Thayer, Sarah S., 24.

Thomas, Mary Emerson (Smith), 66, 67.

Thoreau, Henry D., 5.

Thornton, Sir Edward, 58.

"Times, The," 152, 153.

"To My Old Schoolmaster," 30, 104.

Tracy, Mrs., 49.

Trowbridge, J. T., 28, 40.

Turner, Judge, 77.

Union Cemetery, 29, 57, 84, 85.

"Unity," 154.

"Up and Down the Merrimac," 4.

"Uses of Sorrow, The," 149.

Wachusett, 33, 86.

Wade, Mrs., 113.

Wakeman, Rev. Mr., 94.

Ward, Elizabeth Phelps, 102.

Washington, George, 45, 60.

Weld, Dr. Elias, 48-50, 66.

Weld, Theodore D., 51, 119.

Wendell, Ann, 141.

"We 're Free," 150, 151.

West, Mary S., 46.

West Ossipee, N. H., 110, 111.

Whiteface, 86.

Whitefield church, 103.

Whitefield, George, 103, 104.

Whittier, Abigail, 22-24, 26, 74, 78.

Whittier, Elizabeth H., 28, 34, 61, 62, 74, 75, 78, 85, 90-92, 150.

Whittier Hill, 14, 84.

Whittier home, Amesbury, 61-79, 86.

Whittier, John, 12, 20, 24, 85.

Whittier, John Greenleaf, reviews Boyd's "Up and Down the Merrimac," 4; interest in psychical research, 23; catalogues his father's library, 24, 25; his early pessimism, 42-44, 129; letter to Dr. Weld, 50, 51; carrier's address quoted, 51 note; (TR: now Footnote 3) removal to Amesbury, 60, 61; tribute of Essex Club, 64; friendship for schoolmates, 66-72; reason why never married, 68; portrait at age of twenty-two, 69; prostrated by lightning, 73; person referred to in "Memories" and "My Playmate," 67; receives bullet wound, 76; at town meeting, 77; home life sketched by Higginson, 78; plans Friends' meeting-house, 80; preferred silent meetings, 81, 82; interest in psychical research, 83; his cemetery lot, 85; care for Amesbury public library, 96; portrait at age of forty-nine, 97; his Boston homes, 102; letter to Newbury celebration, 103, 104; radical change in his spirit, 129; peculiarity of his laugh, 108.

Whittier, Joseph, 20, 29, 47.

Whittier, Joseph, 2d, 29.

Whittier, Mary, 26, 29.

Whittier, Matthew Franklin, 26, 37, 65, 74, 85, 100.

Whittier mill, 18.

Whittier, Moses, 12, 20, 75, 85.

Whittier, Obadiah, 75.

Whittier, Thomas, 14, 15, 29, 46.

"Willow, The," 148, 149.

Winthrop Hotel, 102.

Winthrop, Robert C., 64.

"Witch's Daughter, The," 56.

"Wood Giant, The," 99, 100.

Woodman, Mrs. Abby, 101.

"Worship of Nature, The," 144, 145.

"Wreck of Rivermouth, The," 88.



A LIST OF THE WORKS

OF

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER



Writings of JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

No edition of the Poetical and Prose Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier is complete and authorized which does not bear the imprint of Houghton Mifflin Company.

COMPLETE WORKS

Riverside Edition. In 7 volumes.

POETRY

1. Narrative and Legendary Poems.

2. Poems of Nature; Poems Subjective and Reminiscent; Religious Poems.

3. Anti-Slavery; Songs of Labor and Reform.

4. Personal Poems; Occasional Poems; Tent on the Beach; Appendix.

PROSE

1. Margaret Smith's Journal; Tales and Sketches.

2. Old Portraits and Modern Sketches; Personal Sketches and Tributes; Historical Papers.

3. The Conflict with Slavery; Politics and Reform; The Inner Life; Criticism.

Each volume, crown 8vo, gilt top; the set, $10.50. With "Life of Whittier" (2 vols.) by SAMUEL T. PICKARD, 9 vols., $14.50.

PROSE WORKS

Riverside Edition. With Notes by the Author, and etched Portrait. 3 vols. crown 8vo, gilt top, $4.50.

POEMS

Riverside Edition. With Portraits, Notes, etc. 4 vols., crown 8vo, gilt top, $6.00.

Handy-Volume Edition. With Portraits, and a View of Whittier's Oak Knoll Home. 4 vols., 16mo, gilt top, in cloth box, $4.00. Bound in full, flexible leather, $10.00.

Cambridge Edition. With a Biographical Sketch, Notes, Index to Titles and First Lines, a Portrait, and an engraving of Whittier's Amesbury Home. Large crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.00.

Library Edition. With Portrait and 8 full-page Photogravures. 8vo, gilt top, $2.50.

Household Edition. With Portrait and Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.50.

Cabinet Edition. From new plates, with numbered lines, and Portrait. 16mo, gilt top, $1.00.

SEPARATE POEMS

Snow-Bound. A Winter Idyl. Holiday Edition. With eight Photogravures and Portrait. 16mo, gilt top, $1.50.

The Tent on the Beach. Holiday Edition. With rubricated Initials and 12 full-page Photogravure Illustrations by CHARLES H. WOODBURY and MARCIA O. WOODBURY. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.

At Sundown. With Portrait and 8 Photogravures. 16mo, gilt top, $1.50.

Legends and Lyrics. 16mo, gilt top, 75 cents.

COMPILATIONS

Birthday Book. With Portrait and 12 Illustrations. 18mo, $1.00.

Calendar Book. 32mo, parchment-paper, 25 cents.

Year Book. With Portrait. 18mo, $1.00.

Text and Verse. For Every Day in the Year. Scripture Passages and Parallel Selections from WHITTIER'S Writings. 32mo, 75 cents.

EDITED BY MR. WHITTIER

Songs of Three Centuries. Library Edition. With 40 full-page Illustrations. 8vo, gilt top, $2.50.

Household Edition. Much enlarged. Crown 8vo, $1.50.

Child-Life. A Collection of Poems for and about Children. New Edition. Finely Illustrated. 4to, $1.50.

Child-Life in Prose. A Volume of Stories, Fancies, and Memories of Child-Life. Finely Illustrated. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.00.

Many of the above editions may be had in leather bindings of various styles.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

4 Park Street, Boston. 85 Fifth Ave., New York



* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes

Contents: Added listing for Footnotes.

Some illustrations have been moved to avoid breaking up poems and paragraphs of text. The List of Illustrations displays the original page numbers.

Spaced contractions have been retained from the original book.

Omitted lines of poetry are indicated by a row of 5 dots.

Bold text is indicated by =.

Italic text is indicated by _.

Index: Corrected page references for: Hussey, Mercy Evans, from 21 to 22. Whittier, John Greenleaf, portrait at age of forty-nine, from 95 to 97.

THE END