WIHTTIKK. .InllN (JREENLEAF. 



803 



'Hn> echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering 



still 



In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill. 



And when the prowling man-thief came hunting 



for his prey 



Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of gray, 

 llo\\, through the free lips of the son, the father's 



warning spoke, 

 How. from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim 



city broke ! 



Four years later " Barclay of Uri.'' another 

 characteristic historical ballad, on the wrongs 

 suffered by the Friends, appeared, and became 

 widely jiopular at once. 



In 1847 a new edition of Whittier's poems was 

 brought out. From it he excluded many things 

 that were restored in final collections, not be- 

 cause the author desired to have it so, but 

 because the early work was familiar, and was 

 requested by publishers. The poet always 

 seemed genuinely unconscious of his power, and 

 surprised at the extent of his reputation. In the 

 preface to his last edition he says : 



Perhaps a word of explanation may be needed 

 in regard to a class of poems written between 1832 

 and 18(55. Of their defects from an artistic point of 

 view it is not necessary to speak. They were the 

 earnest and often vehement expression of the 

 writer's thought and feeling at critical periods in 

 the great conflict between Freedom and Slavery. 

 They were written with no expectation that they 

 would survive the occasions that called them forth : 

 they were protests, alarm signals, trumpet-calls to 

 action, words wrung from the writer's heart, forged 

 at white heat, and of course lacking the finish and 

 careful word-selection which reflection and patient 

 brooding over them might have given. Such as 

 they are, they belong to the history of the Anti- 

 Slavery movement, and may serve as way-marks of 

 its progress. If their language at times seems 

 severe and hnrsh, the wrong of slavery which pro- 

 voked it must be its excuse, if any is needed. In 

 attacking it, we did not measure our words. 



In the proem he says : 



I love the old melodious lays 



Which softly melt the ages through, 



The songs of Spenser's golden days, 

 Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 



Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest, morning 

 dew. 



Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 

 To breathe their marvellous notes I try ; 



I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 

 In silence feel the dewy showers, 

 And drink with glad slill lips Hie blessing of the 

 sky. 



The rigor of a frozen clime, 



The harshness of an untaught ear, 



The jarring words of one whose rhyme 

 Beat often Labor's hurried time, 



Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife, 

 are lu-iv. 



Yet here at least an earnest sense 

 Of human right and weal is shown ; 



A hate of tyranny intense, 



And hearty in its vehemence, 

 As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 



Thrice familiar is the close of " The Crisis, " 

 written on learning the terms of the treaty with 

 Mexico: 



The Crisis presses on us ; face to face with us It 



stands, 

 With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx In 



Egypt's sands ! 

 This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we 



spin ; 



This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin ; 

 Even now from starry Gerizlm, or Ebal's cloudy 



crown, 

 We call the dews of blessing or the bolts of cursing 



down ! 



By all for which the martyrs bore their agony and 

 shame ; 



By all the warning words of truth with which the 

 prophets came ; 



By the Future which awaits us; by all the hopes 

 which cast 



Their faint and trembling beams across the black- 

 ness of the Past ; 



And by the blessed thought of Him who for Earth's 

 freedom died, 



O my people ! O my brothers ! let us choose the 

 righteous side. 



So shall the Northern pioneer go joyful on his way ; 

 To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay ; 

 To make the rugged places smooth, and sow the 



vales with grain ; 

 And bear, with Liberty and Law, the Bible in his 



train : 

 The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall 



answer sea, 

 And mountain unto mountain call, PRAISE GOD, FOR 



WE ARE FREE ! 



In "Randolph of Roanoke," Whittier gave 

 one of the best instances of his capacity to be 

 just to men who widely differed with him in 

 nature and conduct. Holmes, in a tribute after 

 Whittier's death, said : " The next poem that I 

 remember as having deeply impressed me was 

 that vigorous and impassioned burst of feeling, 

 'Randolph of Roanoke.' I can never read it 

 now without an emotion which makes my eyes 

 fill and my voice tremble." Two stanzas char- 

 acterize Randolph : 



Bard, Sage, and Tribune ! in himself 



All moods of mind contrasting, 

 The tendcrest wail of human woe, 



The scorn-like lightning blasting; 

 The pathos which from rival eyes 



Unwilling tears could summon, 

 The stinging taunt, the fiery burst 



Of hatred scarcely human ! 



Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower 



From lips of life-long sadness ; 

 Clear picturings of majestic thought 



Upon a ground of madness ; 

 And over all Romance and Song 



A classic beauty throwing, 

 And laurelled Clio at his side 



Her storied pages showing. 



In "Ichabod" Whittier gave vent to a tre- 

 mendous burst of feeling on learning that Daniel 

 Webster had spoken in Congress, in favor of the 

 Fugitive Slave Law. The poem also furnishes a 

 noble specimen of many in which he distin- 

 guished between the deed and the actor : 



So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 



Which once he wore ! 

 The glory from his gray hairs gone 



Forevermore ! 



Revile him not, the Tempter bath 



A snare for all ; 

 And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath. 



Befit his fall ! 



