Four American poets : $b William Cullen Bryant, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, Oliver Wendell Holmes : A book for young AmericansCody, Sherwin
General
Four American poets : $b William Cullen Bryant, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, Oliver Wendell Holmes : A book for young Americans
Cody, Sherwin
Bryant, William Cullen, 1794-1878 -- Juvenile literature; Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1809-1894 -- Juvenile literature; Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 1807-1882 -- Juvenile literature; Poets, American -- 19th century -- Biography -- Juvenile literature; Whittier, John Greenleaf, 1807-1892 -- Juvenile lite
Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men,
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt
Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence these shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life. Even the green trees
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the wingèd plunderer
That sucks its sweets. The mossy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o’er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
Like one that loves thee, nor let thee pass
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.[1]
This is one of the hardest things in Bryant’s poetry. When you can see
all its beauties, and take pleasure in reading it, you will have learned
to love both Nature and Nature’s poet-priest.
[1] To help in the mastery of this poem, the student is advised to make
a careful list of all the natural objects mentioned in it, such as birds,
brooks, trees, and flowers, and try to recollect having seen something of
the same sort.
CHAPTER II
BRYANT’S CHILDHOOD
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