LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. 



457 



I5ut, after tin- shipwreck, ti-ll me, 



What help in its iron iht'WM, 

 Still triit- to the broken hawser, 



l>ccp do\\n aim.! nc.i wood and ooxo t 

 In tin- breaking gulfs of sorrow. 



NVhell tin- In , |'ii -- liit st retell OUt 



Ainl I'm. I in tin- deep* ol darkncKM 



MM_' so solid us doubt, 

 Tin ii better one spar of memory, 



One broken plunk ot the pa>t, 

 That our liuiiuiii heart may cling to, 



Though hoj>eless ofithore ut last ! 



To thr spirit its splendid conjecturcrs, 



;!ic tlcsh it.s sweet despair, 

 It- tears "Yr the thin-worn locket, 



With it.- anguish of deathless hair I 

 lininortal ' I Ii < -1 it iind know it, 



\V In i dpubw it of .such u.s she ) 

 Hut that i> the pane's very secret 



Iniinortul away from mo. 



There's u narrow ridge in the grave-yard 



Would scarce stay u child in ita rueo, 

 But to me und tny thought it in wider 



Than the star-sown vague of space. 

 Console if you will. I can bear it 

 I well-meant nlrns of breath 

 But not all the preach HILT since Adam 



Has imule death other than death. 

 It is paL'an ; but wait till you feel it 



That lar of our earth, that dull shock 

 When tiie plowshare of deeper passion 



Tears down to our primitive rock. 



Two other phases of suffering have found 

 ittcrance in "The Darkened Mind," "The 

 'it-si Sn.iw-fall," und "Threnodin." The first 

 alluded to the insanity of his unusually keen- 

 witted and joyous- hearted mother, the others to 

 the death of his children. Longfellow's poem 

 " The Two Angels " was drawn forth by the fact 

 that one of Longfellow's children was" born the 

 light that Mrs. Lowell died. 



The volume that contains these poems has two 

 >ther notable ones, "Pictures from Appledore" 

 mid the "Ode to Happiness." A long-lined, 

 unewhat heavy movement has hindered these 

 (oral least the former) from becoming the fa- 

 vorites which their beauty of thought'and im- 

 rinatiori would make them. " Appledore" is 

 liflirnlt to select from. but this will perhaps pre- 

 t it best of any extract : 

 A common island, you will say ; 

 But stay a moment : only climb 

 Up to the highest rock of the isle, 

 Stand then- alone for a little while, 

 And with gentle approaches it grows sublime 

 Dilating slowly as you win 

 A -. use from the silence to take it in. 

 So wide the loneneas, so lucid the air, 

 The uranite beneath you so lucidly bare, 

 You well might think: you were looking down 

 From some sky-silenced mountain's crown, 

 Whoso waist-belt of pines is wont to tear 

 Locks of wool from tne topmost cloud. 

 Only le sure you go alone, 

 For Grandeur is inaccessibly proud, 

 And never yet has backward thrown 

 Her veil t<> feed the stare of a crowd; 

 To more than one has never shown 

 That awful front, nor is it fit 

 That she, Cothurnus-shod, stand bowed 

 I'litil the self-approving pit 

 Kn joy the gust of its own wit 

 In babblin.ir plaudits cheaply loud; 

 She hides her mountains and her sea 

 From the harriers of scenery, 



Who hunt down utuete, and huddlo and buy, 



Mouthing and mumbling the dying day. 



To quote the beautiful lines of th.- -Ode to 

 Happiness" would U- t<> <jiiii- them all. The 

 Ix-st that can be done in these limits is to give 

 single linea or expressions: 



And pa--ed from eager hand to hand 

 The onward-dancing torch i life ! 



Thou first rcvealxt to UH thy face 

 Turned o'er the shoulder's parting grace, 



A moment glimpsed, then seen no more 

 Thou whose switt foot step- we <un trace 

 Away IP. m every mortal > 



Nymph of the unrcturning feet 



Souls that with long upward beat 

 Have won an undisturbed retreat 



the cliff 

 Tlmt o'er the abrupt gorge hold* its breath 



Where the frail hair's-breadthof uiiif 

 Is all that sunders lite and death. 



^ Unhistoried as smokes that rise 

 From happy hearths and sight elude 

 In kindred blue of morning skica. 



Yet there is one who seems to be 

 Thine elder sister, in whose eyes 

 A faint, far northern light will rise. 



I am she 



Whom the gods love, Tranquillity : 

 That other whom you seek forlorn 

 Half earthly was ;"but 1 am born 

 Of the immortals, and our race 

 Wears still some sadness on its face. 



For a taste of a totally different quality, we 

 turn to " Without and Within " : 



My coachman, in the moonlight there, 

 Looks through the side-light of the door; 



I hear him with his brethren swear, 

 As I could do but only more. 



Flattening his nose against the pone, 



He' envies me my brilliant lot, 

 Breathes on his aching fists in vain, 



And dooms me to a place more hot 



Meanwhile I inlv curse the bore 

 Of hunting still the same old coon, 



And envy him, outside the door, 

 In golden quiets of the moon. 



The winter wind is not so cold 



As the bright smile he sees me win, 



Nor the host's oldest wine o old 

 As our poor gabble sour and thin. 



Oh, could he have my share of din, 



And I his quiet ! past a doubt 

 'Twould still be one man bored within. 



And just another bored without 



In January, 1855, Mr. Longfellow resigned his 

 professorship in Harvard College, and Mr. Low- 

 ell was elected to take his place. He did not 

 enter upon it immediately, but spent two years 

 abroad, continuing studies in Italian, French. 

 and Spanish, devoting himself especially to old 

 French and Provencal poetry, in which he be- 

 came one of the highest authorities. On his 

 return, he assumed the chair of Belles Lettrc*. 



The " Atlantic Monthly" was founded in this 

 year, IS.")?, and Lowell became its first editor; 

 Holmes, Longfellow, and Emerson being, with 

 him, the projectors of the enterprise, which was 

 planned at meetings of the quartet in Emerson's 

 cheery study in Concord. In 1803 ho became 



