His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields Are not a spoil for him, - thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee, Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, 1 Note the bad grammar 2 This line refers to two historical naval battles in which the British were victorious. Dark-heaving ;-boundless, endless, and sublime, — The image of Eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; e'en from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made: each zone Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy BRYANT 1794-1878 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born in Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794, and died in New York City in 1878, from the effects of a sunstroke. At the age of ten he made translations from the Latin poets, which were published, and three years later wrote "The Embargo," a satirical poem of much merit. He studied law, and practiced that profession for some time in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. His early productions were regarded as the work of a precocious genius which would surely spend itself in these premature efforts; but the appearance of "Thanatopsis," which was written in his nineteenth year, and was published in the North American Review, proved conclusively that he was not a mere youthful prodigy. In 1825 he removed to New York, and, with a partner, established the New York Review and Athenæum Magazine, to which he contributed some of his best poems. The next year he became editor of the Evening Post, which place he held at the time of his death. In England his poetry is held in high esteem; "Thanatopsis," "To a Waterfowl," and "Green River " have received especial praise from leading English critics. Bryant was distinctively a student and interpreter of Nature; all her aspects and voices were familiar to him, and are reproduced in his poetry with a solemn and ennobling beauty which has never been attained by any other American poet. Washington Irving says: "Bryant's writings transport us into the depths of the solemn primeval forest; to the shores of the lonely lake; the banks of the wild, nameless stream; or the brow of the rocky upland rising like a promontory from amidst a wide ocean of foliage; while they shed around us the glories of a climate fierce in its extremes, but splendid in all its vicissitudes." In many respects his verse resembles Wordsworth's, but its spirit is less introspective. Another striking characteristic of Bryant's poetry is its lofty moral tone, - the eloquence of a great intellect warmed and controlled by high and pure impulses. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, THANATOPSIS To him who in the love of Nature holds |