Elia Wilkinson Peattie

“ Where zephyrs from heaven die softly away,
And the laurel and myrtle tree never decay?
Know’st thou it? Thither, O! thither with thee,
My dearest, my fondest! with thee would I flee.
Know’st thou the hall with its pillared arcades,
Its chambers so vast and its long colonnades?
Where the statues of marble with features so mild
Ask “Why have they used thee so harshly, my child?”
Know’st thou it? Thither, O! thither with thee,
My guide, my protector! with thee would I flee.
Know’st thou the Alp which the vapor enshrouds,
Where the bold muleteer seeks his way thro’ the clouds? ”

“ Of this poem Thomas Wentworth Higginson says (in the Outlook, February, 1890) : “It is so magnificent that it cheapens most of its contemporary literature, and is alone worth a life otherwise obscure. When all else of American literature has vanished, who knows but that some single masterpiece like this may remain to show the high water mark not merely of a poet but of a nation and a civilization?” ”

“ By publishing these poems The Tribune hopes to accomplish two things: first, to inspire a love of poetry in the hearts of many of its readers who have never before taken time or thought to read the best poems of this and other centuries and lands; and, secondly, to remind those who once loved song, but forgot it among the louder voices of the world, of the melody that enchanted them in youth. ”

“ And never a bell in England tolled, and who was it caught his breath
When the Shot o’ the Fleet first dipped his feet in the flooding ford of Death?
Gladder, I think, would the gunner’s soul have passed thro’ the closing dark
Had he known that ye cared with patriot joy when the navy hit the mark;
Gladder, I think, would the gunner’s soul have passed to the farther shore
Had the Mother Land once gripped his hand, and uttered the pride she bore.
Gold is the prize that all men seek, tho’ the mark be honor and fame ”

“ William Knox was a Scottish poet who was born in 1789 at Firth and died in 1825 at Edinburgh. His “Lonely Hearth and Other Poems” was published in 1818, and “The Songs of Israel,” from which “O, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud” is taken, in 1824. Sir Walter Scott was an admirer of Knox’s poems, and befriended the author when his habits brought him into need.
O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. ”

“ They scorned—but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved—but no wail from their slumbers will come;
They joyed—but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
They died—ah! they died—we, things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwelling a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain,
And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other like surge upon surge. ”

“ It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as surely loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look that she turned when he rose.
p. 102THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US.
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in nature that is ours ”

“ She married the Rev. Rochemond Barbauld. A poet as well as an essayist, she wrote “Poems,” “Hymns in Prose for Children,” “The Female Spectator,” and “Eighteen Hundred and Eleven.” She died at Stoke Newington in 1825.
Life! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met
I own to me ’s a secret yet.
Life! we’ve been long together
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
’Tis hard to part when friends are dear—
Perhaps ’t will cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time ”

“ When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the bay?
The broadening flood swells slowly out o’er cattle dotted plains;
The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains;
The laborer looks up to see our shallop speed away.
When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the bay?
Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large,
Slow as an oak to woodman’s stroke, sinks flaming at their marge;
The waves are bright with mirror’d light as jacinths on our way.
When shall the sandy bar be crost? When shall we find the bay? ”

“ Francis William Bourdillon was born in Woolbeding in 1852. Re received his education at Worcester College, Oxford, and was afterwards a private tutor to the sons of the Prince and Princess Christian. A few of his published works are, “Among the Flowers and Other Poems,” 1874; “Ailes d’Alouette,” 1891; “A Lost God,” 1892; and “Sursum Corda,” 1893.
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done. ”

“ No anthology of English verse can be complete, and none can satisfy all. The compiler’s individual taste, tempered and guided by established authority, is almost the only standard. This collection has been compiled not by one but by many thousands, and their selections here appear edited and winnowed as the idea of the series seemed to dictate. The book appears at the wide-spread and almost universal request of those who have watched the bold experiment of a great Twentieth-Century American newspaper giving the place of honor in its columns every day to a selection from the poets. ”

“ Besides those he wrote “The Tragedy of Aella,” “The Battle of Hastings,” “The Tournament,” and several shorter poems. His correspondence with Horace Walpole proved a bitter experience for the precocious poet, who wrote some savage lines on that nobleman author.
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
To thee, my only rock, I fly,
Thy mercy in thy justice praise.
The mystic mazes of thy will,
The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the power of human skill;
But what the Eternal acts is right. ”

“ George Herbert was born at Montgomery Castle in Wales in 1593. He graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, and in 1619 he was made a public orator. Charles I., with whom he was in great favor, gave him the rectory of Bemerton, which has the reputation of being the smallest church in England. It was here that Herbert wrote his religious poems, “The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations.” He died at Bemerton in 1633.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright;
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,
For thou must die. ”

“ They go from strength to strength; every one of them in Zion appeareth before God.
O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer; give ear, O God of Jacob. Selah.
Behold, O God our shield, and look upon the face of thine anointed.
For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than to dwell in the tents of wickedness. ”

“ For men must work and women must weep,
And the sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep—
And good-by to the bar and its moaning.
p. 231PSALM XLVIII. Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised
In the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness,
Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth,
Is Mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King. ”

“ No love like mother love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures—
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours;
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and world weary brain. ”

“ Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone;
p. 98Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet do not grieve,
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! ”

“ He died in London in 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. His “Canterbury Tales,” founded for the most part upon the same stories that Boccaccio and other writers had made famous in prose, are almost the first evidence of the influence of the Italian Renaissance upon English literature. He wrote many detached pieces as well, although his reputation rests largely upon the “Tales.” He had not only the true poetic instinct, but a deep knowledge and intense love of nature, and he gave a great inspiration to the writers of the golden age which followed his own. ”

“ And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge ”

“ O, Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ”

“ Richard Realf was born in England in 1834 of poor parents and began writing poetry at an early age. His early work attracted the attention of Tennyson, Miss Mitford, Miss Jameson, Miss Martineau, and others, and they secured the publication of his volume, “Guesses at the Beautiful.” He dabbled some in sculpture, and even studied agricultural science. In 1854 he came to New York, where he wrote stories of slum life and assisted in establishing some institutions for the relief of the poor. He joined the first free soil parties moving to Kansas and was arrested. ”

“ The title has carried with it its own standard, and the poems have been kept on a plane above jocularity or mere prettiness of versification; rather have they tried to teach the doctrines of courage, of nature-love, of pure and noble melody. ”

“ Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”—that is all
Ye know on earth, truth, and all ye need to know.
TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.
BY RICHARD LOVELACE.
This lyric of Richard Lovelace’s is, with the “Lucasta,” the best known and most often quoted of his poems. ”

“ Thomas William Parsons was born at Boston in 1818. He spent the greater part of his life in Europe. In 1867 he translated Dante’s “Inferno.” In 1854 he published, under the title “Ghetto di Roma,” a collection of his poems. He died at Scituate, Mass., in 1892.
See, from his counterfeit of him
Whom Arno shall remember long,
How stern of lineament, how grim,
The father was of Tuscan song!
There but the burning sense of wrong,
Perpetual care and scorn abide;
Small friendship for the lordly throng;
Distrust of all the world beside. ”

“ William Makepeace Thackeray was horn at Calcutta in 1811. He was brought up in England, where he went to Charterhouse School and later to Trinity College, Cambridge. He left college after one year’s study and went to Paris, where he studied with the hope of becoming an artist. His first contributions in the way of writing were to Frazer’s Magazine, and among them were his famous “Yellowplush Papers.” He wrote other satires and humorous ballads for Punch. Thackeray was the first editor of the Cornhill Magazine, which is still in publication. He died in London in 1863. ”

“ Little is known of this English poet and musical composer except that he was born near the end of the seventeenth century—about 1693—and that he is supposed to have committed suicide at London in 1743. He wrote several burlesques and farces, but is chiefly noted as the author of “God Save the King” and “Sally in Our Alley.”
Of all the girls that are so smart
There’s none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally ”

“ The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth and even for evermore.
p. 120THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER.
BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.
Francis Scott Key was born in Frederick County, Maryland, in 1780. He was the author of a volume of poems published in 1857, but the poem that will keep him alive in the memory of the nation is his “Star Spangled Banner.” ”

“ But first I would remark that it is not a proper plan
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow man,
And if a member don’t agree with his peculiar whim
To lay for that same member for to “put a head” on him.
Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see
Than the first six months’ proceedings of that same society,
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones. ”

“ Charles Mackay was born at Perth In 1814. He was, from 1844 to 1847, the editor of the Glasgow Argus, and later of the Illustrated London News. During the civil war he was the New York correspondent for the London Times. He died at London in 1889. Several of his writings are “The Salamandrine, or Love and Immortality,” “Voices from the Crowd,” “Voices from the Mountains,” and “History of the Mormons.”
A little stream had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well,
Where weary men might turn ”

“ George Henry Boker, the American poet, was born in Philadelphia in 1823, and died there in 1890. He was educated at Princeton, and studied law, but never practiced. In 1871 he was made Minister Resident to Turkey, and from 1875 to 1879 he was Minister to Russia. He wrote several volumes of verse and the tragedies “Francesca da Rimini,” “Anne Boleyn,” and “Leonore de Guzman.”
Close his eyes; his work is done!
What to him is friend or foeman,
Rise of moon or set of sun,
Hand of man or kiss of woman? ”

“ McCreery has for the past few years been a resident of the national capital and his best poems have been collected into a volume entitled “Songs of Toil and Triumph.”
There is no death, the stars go down
To rise upon some other shore,
And bright in heaven’s jeweled crown
They shine forever more.
There is no death! the forest leaves
Convert to life the viewless air ”