Other quotations, as interesting as those given, might be made from Mrs. Bradstreet's works. Yet it must be admitted that the bulk of her poetry seems to modern taste a dreary waste of moralizing. It should be borne in mind, however, that the level of poetic taste at the time, in England as well as in the New World, was low, and it would have taken a genius to have risen altogether above it. Mrs. Bradstreet was not a genius; but she was unquestionably the best poet America produced for a good many years, probably for more than a century. It is curious that the first American poet should have been a woman. It was perhaps a good augury for the women of succeeding generations that she should have pleaded woman's cause with such clearness and force, while exemplifying a dignity and sweetness of character which disarmed the most captious critic. Whatever one may think of her poetry, she herself remains a significant and wholly attractive personality. It is pleasant to know that Richard Henry Dana and Oliver Wendell Holmes trace descent from her.1

One of the most interesting groups of writings in the Colonial period were the narratives of captivity among the Indians; perhaps the best of them all is

1 The account of Mrs. Bradstreet's life is based on Norton's Introduction, Bradstreet, pp. vi-xxxii.

the earliest, landson.

that written by Mrs. Mary Row

The Reverend Joseph Rowlandson, whom Mary White married in 1657, was the first settled minister of Lancaster, Massachusetts. During King Philip's War the town was alarmed by rumors of an impending attack by the Indians, and Mr. Rowlandson had gone to Boston to beg help from the Council. On February 10, 1675/6, while he was gone, the attack took place. The entire town was burned to the ground, many of the inhabitants were killed, and the rest, about twenty, were captured, among them Mrs. Rowlandson and her three children, fourteen, twelve, and six years old. Mrs. Rowlandson and the youngest child had both been wounded, and the little one died on February 29th. The two older children were not allowed to stay with their mother, and she saw them only a few times during her captivity.

For nearly three months they were kept moving about on long marches through northwestern Massachusetts and southern New Hampshire and Vermont, as their Indian captors wandered to escape from the pursuing English troops, or to plan new attacks. During this time Mr. Rowlandson was trying to get news of his family. One day in April, when near the town of Athol, Mrs.

Rowlandson received her first direct intimation of this, which she tells of thus: 1

I

We began this Remove with wading over Baquag River: the water was up to the knees, and the stream very swift, and so cold that I thought it would have cut me in sunder. Then I sat down to put on my stockins and shoes, with the tears running down mine eyes, and many sorrowfull thoughts in my heart, but gat up to go along with them. Quickly there came up to us an Indian, who informed them, that I must go to Wachusit to my master, for there was a Letter come from the Council to the Saggamores, about redeeming the captives, and that there would be another in fourteen dayes, and that I must be there ready. My heart was so heavy before that I could scarce speak or go in the path; and yet now so light, that I could run. My strength seemed to come again, and recruit my feeble knees, and aking heart; yet it pleased them to go but one mile that night, and there we stayed two days.

The negotiations were somewhat protracted, but were finally concluded on May 2d, through the instrumentality of John Hoar, of Concord. Mrs. Rowlandson was soon reunited to her husband, but their joy was mixed with apprehension for their children. Both these were returned to them before long, however. Mrs. Rowlandson bears grateful testimony to the kindness and generosity of those who helped them—the Boston people who raised 1 Rowlandson, p. 66.