JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 373 



poems. Superficially commonplace in their simplicity, they 

 really express a character in which the simple virtues of New 

 England are so firmly rooted that by very force of its unassum- 

 ing strength it becomes strongly individual. It is pervaded, 

 however, with true Yankee melancholy, for which, so far as we 

 have yet seen, there was no help but what might be found in 

 fervent religion and its accompanying duties. But Whittier 

 had throughout life another resource. To quote once more from 

 the poem to his Namesake, from which I have already quoted 

 much: 



" Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird 

 And there a flower beguiled his way; 

 And, cool, in summer noons, he heard 

 The fountains plash and play. 



" On all his sad or restless moods 



The patient peace of Nature stole; 

 The quiet of the fields and woods 

 Sank deep into his soul." 



In other words, Whittier found in the contemplation of New 

 England landscape the most constant, lasting pleasure of his 

 long life. 



In his collected works, the poems he classifies as "of Nature " 

 fill only eighty-six pages. In reality, poetry of Nature per- 

 vades his whole work. Under this head, for example, may 

 clearly fall the first lines to the Merrimac which I quoted, and 

 the passage concerning nightfall on Hampton Beach, as well as 

 a great part of "Snow-Bound." Yet all these are classified else- 

 where. So are numberless passages like the following, which is 

 apparently to his mind either narrative or legendary: 



" Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold 

 The tawny Incas for their gardens wrought, 

 Heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rod, 

 And the red pennons of the cardinal-flowers 

 Hang motionless upon their upright staves. 

 The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind, 

 Wing-weary with its long flight from the south, 

 Unfelt; yet, closely scanned, yon maple leaf 

 With faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, 

 Confesses it. The locust by the wall 

 Stabs the noon-silence with his sharp alarm. 

 A single hay-cart down the dusty road 



