And what shall assuage his dark despair, A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. THE VISION OF LIBERTY.* THE evening heavens were calm and bright; No dimness rested on the glittering light [high; That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on Those distant suns burn'd on in quiet ray; The placid planets held their modest way: And silence reign'd profound o'er earth, and sea, and sky. O what an hour for lofty thought! Around me man and nature slept; Till morning dawn'd, and sleep resumed her power. A vision pass'd upon my soul. I still was gazing up to heaven, Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless night. When, lo, upon the plain, Just where it skirts the swelling main, A massive castle, far and high, In towering grandeur broke upon my eye. Proud in its strength and years, the ponderous pile Flung up its time-defying towers; Its lofty gates seem'd scornfully to smile And threats and arms deride. From a poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge, in 1825. In giant masses graced the walls above, And dungeons yawn'd below. Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove, Grave, silent chroniclers of time's protracted flow. Bursting on my steadfast gaze, See, within, a sudden blaze! So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell, Nor makes the wither'd leaf to drop, The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell. But soon it spread- Waving, rushing, fierce, and red From wall to wall, from tower to tower, Till every fervent pillar glow'd, And every stone seem'd burning coal, Instinct with living heat, that flow'd Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole. Beautiful, fearful, grand, Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand. At length a crackling sound began; From side to side, throughout the pile it ran; Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew; Like blazing comets through the troubled sky. Nor even its ruins met my wondering eye. But in their place Bright with more than human grace, Robed in more than mortal seeming, Radiant glory in her face, [ing And eyes with heaven's own brightness beamRose a fair, majestic form, As the mild rainbow from the storm. I mark'd her smile, I knew her eye; How truly it unlock'd the world of fate! That fervent energy must spread, Till despotism's towers be overthrown; And in their stead, Liberty stands alone! Hasten the day, just Heaven! Accomplish thy design; And let the blessings thou hast freely given, Till equal rights be equally enjoy'd And human power for human good employ'd; Till law, and not the sovereign, rule sustain, And peace and virtue undisputed reign. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. [Born 1794.] WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born at Cummington, in Massachusetts, on the third day of November, 1794. His father, a well-educated and popular physician, was familiar with the best English literature, and perceiving in his son early indications of superior genius, he attended carefully to his instruction, taught him the art of composition, and guided his literary taste. He is alluded to in several of our author's poems, especially in "The Hymn to Death," written in 1825,* in which an eloquent tribute is paid to his memory. "Alas, I little thought that the stern power A name of which the wretched shall not think Among instances of literary precocity, there are few recorded more remarkable than that of BRYANT. TASSO, when nine years old, wrote some lines to his mother, which have been praised; COWLEY, at ten, finished his "Tragical History of Pyramus and Thisbe;" POPE, when twelve, the "Ode to Solitude;" and the "wondrous boy CHATTERTON," at the same age, some verses entitled "A Hymn for Christmas Day;" but none of these pieces evidence the possession of more genius than is displayed in BRYANT'S "Embargo" and "Spanish Revolution," written in his thirteenth year. These were printed, in a thin volume, for the author," at Boston, in 1808, and passed to a second edition in 1809.# In 1810, the youthful satirist entered Williams The Hymn to Death was principally written in 1820, but the death of his father occurring afterward, the lines quoted above were added in 1825, and the poem was then published in the New York Review. His earliest attempts in poetry were made when he was between nine and ten years old. One of his pieces, written in this period, appeared in the columns of a country gazette at Northampton. The following advertisement was prefixed to the second edition of the "Embargo," in consequence of the College, where he was distinguished above any of his classmates for his proficiency in languages and polite letters. After remaining in that seminary two years, he solicited and obtained an honourable dismissal, and entered as a student the law office of Mr. Justice Howe, and afterward that of the Honourable WILLIAM BAYLIES. He was admitted to the bar at Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1815, and followed his profession until 1825, when he removed to the city of New York. In 1821, BRYANT published at Cambridge a volume containing The Ages, Thanatopsis,* To a expression of some doubts in regard to the author's age, in one of the magazines : "A doubt having been intimated in the Monthly Anthology of June last, whether a youth of thirteen years could have been the author of this poem-in justice to his merits, the friends of the writer feel obliged to certify the fact from their personal knowledge of himself and his family, as well as his literary improvement and extraordinary talents. They would premise, that they do not come uncalled before the public to bear this testimonythey would prefer that he should be judged by his works, without favour or affection. As the doubt has been suggested, they deem it merely an act of justice to remove it-after which they leave him a candidate for favour in common with other literary adventurers. They, therefore, assure the public, that Mr. BRYANT, the author, is a native of Cummington, in the county of Hampshire, and in the month of November last arrived at the age of fourteen years. The facts can be authenticated by many of the inhabitants of that place, as well as by several of his friends who give this notice; and if it be deemed worthy of further inquiry, the printer is enabled to disclose their names and places of residence. "February, 1809." The following lines, though by no means the most vigorous in the satire, will serve to show its style : "E'en while I sing, see Faction urge her claim, O, might some patriot rise! the gloom dispel, And sues, successful, for each blockhead's vote." The "Embargo" was directed against President JEFFERSON and his measures, and caused considerable amusement at the time of its publication. It has recently been quoted to prove an inconsistency in the political course of Mr. BRYANT; but the absurdity of contrasting the opinions of thirteen with those of forty-eight is so apparent, that it is necessary only to allude to it. See note on page 64. Thanatopsis was written in his eighteenth year. Water-fowl, Green River, The Yellow Violet, Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood, and other pieces, which established his reputation as one of the first poets of the time. In The Ages, from a survey of the past eras of the world, and of the successive advances of mankind in knowledge, virtue, and happiness, he endeavours to justify and confirm the hopes of the philanthropist for the future destinies of man. Lo! unveil'd, The scene of those stern ages! What is there! The kingly circlet, rise, amid the gloom, O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallow'd in its womb. Those ages have no memory--but they left On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft, And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled- Like the night heaven when clouds are black with rain. This is the only poem he has written in the stanza of SPENSER. In its versification it is not inferior to the best passages of the Faerie Queene or Childe Harold, and its splendid imagery and pure philosophy are as remarkable as the power it displays over language. About the time of the publication of The Ages, Mr. BRYANT was married, and in 1825, he removed to New York, where he has ever since resided. Soon after his arrival in that city, he became one of the editors of the New York Monthly Review, in which he first published many of his most admired poems; and, in 1826, an editor of the Evening Post, one of the oldest and most influential political and commercial gazettes in this country, with which he has ever since been connected. In 1827, 1828, and 1829, he was associated with Mr. VERPLANCK and the late Mr. SANDS, in the production of the Talisman, an annual; and he wrote two or three of the "Tales of Glauber Spa," to which, besides the abovenamed authors, the late Mr. LEGGETT and Miss SEDGWICK were contributors. An intimate friend * *These authors wrote all the Talisman, with the exception of Red Jacket, by HALLECK, and one or two articles from other pens. ship subsisted between him and Mr. SANDS, and when that brilliant writer died, in 1832, he assisted Mr. VERPLANCK in editing his works. In 1832, an edition of all the poems BRYANT had then written was published in New York; it was soon after reprinted in Boston, and a copy of it reaching WASHINGTON IRVING, who was then in England, he caused it to be republished in London. Since that time it has passed through several editions, the last of which contains seventeen poems not in any previous impression. The Winds, The Old Man's Counsel, and An Evening Reverie, in this volume, have not appeared in any collection of his works. In the summer of 1834, he visited Europe, with his family, intending to devote a few years to literary pursuits, and to the education of his children. He travelled through France, Germany, and Italy, and resided several months in each of the cities of Florence, Pisa, Munich, and Heidelberg. The dangerous illness of his partner and associate, the late WILLIAM LEGGETT, compelled him to return hastily in the early part of 1836; and he has since devoted all his time, except a few weeks in the summer of 1840, passed in the Valley of the Mississippi, to his duties as editor of the New York Evening Post. Mr. BRYANT is a close observer of Nature. Hill and valley, forest and open plain, sunshine and storm, the voices of the rivulet and the wind, have been familiar to him from his early years; and, though he has not neglected books, they have been less than these the subjects of his study, and the sources of his pleasure. No poet has described with more fidelity the beauties of the creation, nor sung in nobler song the greatness of the Creator. He is the translator of the silent language of the universe to the world. His poetry is pervaded by a pure and genial philosophy, a solemn, religious tone, that influence the fancy, the understanding, and the heart. He is a national poet. His works are not only American in their subjects and their imagery, but in their spirit. They breathe a love of liberty, a hatred of wrong, and a sympathy with mankind. His genius is not versatile; he has related no history; he has not sung of the passion of love; he has not described artificial life. Still, the tenderness and feeling in The Death of the Flowers, Rizpah, The Indian Girl's Lament, and other pieces, show that he might have excelled in delineations of the gentler passions, had he made them his study. The melodious flow of his verse, and the vigour and compactness of his language, prove him a perfect master of his art. But the loftiness of his imagination, the delicacy of his fancy, the dignity and truth of his thoughts, constitute a higher claim to our admiration than mastery of the intricacies of rhythm, and of the force and graces of expression. THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of nature holds Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, To Nature's teachings, while from all around- In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, So shalt thou rest,-and what if thou withdraw His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave To that mysterious realm, where each shall take FOREST HYMN. THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learn'd To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, Father, thy hand That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left In all that proud old world beyond the deep, My heart is awed within me, when I think Lo! all grow old and die-but see, again, There have been holy men who hid themselves The swift, dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. THE sad and solemn night Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires; Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they: And thou dost see them rise, Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set. Thou keep'st thy old, unmoving station yet, There, at morn's rosy birth, Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air, And eve, that round the earth Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. Alike, beneath thine eye, The deeds of darkness and of light are done; High towards the star-lit sky Towns blaze--the smoke of battle blots the sunThe night-storm on a thousand hills is loudAnd the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. |