FIRESIDE POETS Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime,3 A Psalm of Life And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Footprints, that perhaps another, Background Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,4 Longfellow wrote “A Psalm of Life” in 1838 after A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, suffering through the tragic death of his first wife, Seeing, shall take heart again. Mary, coupled with the loss of the baby they were Let us, then, be up and doing, happily expecting. Longfellow intended the poem as With a heart for any fate; an inspiration to himself and others to overcome the Still achieving, still pursuing, misfortunes of the past and to live productively in Learn to labor and to wait. the present. In contrast, “The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls” was penned when Longfellow was in his early seventies. That poem reveals the poet’s acceptance of the inevitability of death. The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Tell me not, in mournful numbers,1 The tide rises, the tide falls. Life is but an empty dream! The twilight darkens, the curlew5 calls; For the soul is dead that slumbers, Along the sea sands damp and brown And things are not what they seem. The traveler hastens toward the town, Life is real! Life is earnest! And the tide rises, the tide falls. And the grave is not its goal: Darkness settles on roofs and walls, Dust thou art, to dust returnest, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls: Was not spoken of the soul. The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Efface6 the footprints in the sands, Is our destined end or way; And the tide rises, the tide falls. But to act, that each tomorrow The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Find us farther than today. Stamp and neigh, as the hostler7 calls: Art is long, and Time is fleeting, The day returns, but nevermore And our hearts, though stout and brave, Returns the traveler to the shore, Still, like muffled drums, are beating And the tide rises, the tide falls. Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac2 of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead!

1 numbers verses. 5 curlew (kur loo) n. large wading bird associated with the 2 bivouac (biv wak) n. temporary encampment evening. 3 sublime (suh blime) adj. noble; inspiring 6 efface (uh fays) v. erase; wipe out 4 main open sea. 7 hostler (hahs luhr) n. person who tends horses at an inn or stable. In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round Thanatopsis all, Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste— by Are but the solemn decorations all To him who in the love of Nature holds 45 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, Communion with her visible forms, she speaks The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, A various language; for his gayer hours Are shining on the sad abodes of death, She has a voice of gladness, and a smile Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 5 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides The globe are but a handful to the tribes Into his darker musings, with a mild 50 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 9 10 And healing sympathy, that steals away Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Their sharpness, ere1 he is aware. When thoughts Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 11 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 10 Over thy spirit, and sad images Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 55 And millions in those solitudes, since first And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,2 The flight of years began, have laid them down Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart— In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. Go forth, under the open sky, and list So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 15 To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— In silence from the living, and no friend Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— 60 Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh The all-beholding sun shall see no more When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Plod on, and each one as before will chase 20 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 65 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim And make their bed with thee. As the long train Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, Of ages glide away, the sons of men, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes 25 Thine individual being, shalt thou go In the full strength of years, matron and maid, To mix forever with the elements, 70 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— To be a brother to the insensible rock Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain3 By those, who in their turn shall follow them. Turns with his share,4 and treads upon. The oak 30 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves Yet not to thine eternal resting place 75 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish His chamber in the silent halls of death, Couch5 more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 35 The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 80 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch All in one mighty sepulcher.6 The hills About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun—the vales Stretching in pensive7 quietness between; 8 40 The venerable woods—rivers that move

1 ere before. 8 venerable (ven er uh buhl) adj. worthy of respect 2 narrow house coffin. 9 Take … morning allusion to Psalm 139:9. 3 swain country youth. 10 Barcan (bar kuhn) referring to Barca, a desert region in 4 share plowshare. North Africa. 5 couch bed. 11 Oregon river flowing between Oregon and Washington, 6 sepulcher (sep uhl ker) n. tomb now known as the Columbia River. 7 pensive (pen siv) adj. expressing deep thoughtfulness As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,— Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Old Ironsides by Oliver Wendell Holmes Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Still, as the spiral grew, Long has it waved on high, He left the past year’s dwelling for the new, And many an eye has danced to see Stole with soft step its shining archway through, That banner in the sky; Built up its idle door, Beneath it rung the battle shout, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no And burst the cannons roar;— more. The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood, Cast from her lap, forlorn! Where knelt the vanquished foe, From thy dead lips a clearer note is born When winds were hurrying o’er the flood, Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn! And waves were white below, While on mine ear it rings, No more shall feel the victor’s tread, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that Or know the conquered knee;— 1 sings:— The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea! Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Leave thy low-vaulted past! Should sink beneath the wave; Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Her thunders shook the mighty deep, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, And there should be her grave; Till thou at length art free, Nail to the mast her holy flag. Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea. Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale! The First Snowfall The Chambered Nautilus by The snow had begun in the gloaming,2 By Oliver Wendell Holmes And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, With a silence deep and white. Sails the unshadowed main,— The venturous bark that flings Every pine and fir and hemlock On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings Wore ermine too dear for an earl In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And the poorest twig on the elm tree And coral reefs lie bare, Was ridged inch deep with pearl. Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara3 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Came Chanticleer’s4 muffled crow Wrecked is the ship of pearl! The stiff rails softened to swan’s-down, And every chambered cell, And still fluttered down the snow. Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,

1 harpies In Greek mythology, hideous half-woman, half-bird 3 Carrara fine white marble monsters. 4 Chanticleer’s referring to a rooster 2 gloaming evening dusk; twilight I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, from Snowbound And the sudden flurries of snowbirds. by Like brown leaves whirling by. A Winter Idyll I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn1 Where a little headstone stood; The sun that brief December day How the flakes were folding it gently, Rose cheerless over hills of gray, As did robins the babes in the wood. And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. 5 Slow tracing down the thickening sky Up spoke our own little Mabel, 2 Saying, “Father, who makes it snow?” Its mute and ominous prophecy, And I told of the good All-Father Who cares for us here below. A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. Again I looked at the snowfall, A chill no coat, however stout, And thought of the leaden sky 10 Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, That arched o’er our first great sorrow, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, When that mound was heaped so high. That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of lifeblood in the sharpened face, I remembered the gradual patience The coming of the snowstorm told. That fell from that cloud like snow, 15 The wind blew east; we heard the roar Flake by flake, healing and hiding Of Ocean on his wintry shore, The scar that renewed our woe. And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. And again to the child I whispered, “The snow that husheth all, Meanwhile we did our nightly chores— Darling, the merciful Father 20 Brought in the wood from out of doors, Alone can make it fall!” Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows: Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her: Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, And she, kissing back, could not know 3 That my kiss was given to her sister, 25 Impatient down the stanchion rows Folded close under deepening snow. The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch, The cock his crested helmet bent 4 30 And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 35 As zigzag, wavering to and fro, Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window frame, And through the glass the clothesline posts 40 Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

1 Auburn Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts 3 stanchion restraining device fitted around the neck of a cow 2 ominous threatening to confine it to its stall. 4 querulous complaining So all night long the storm roared on: And forth his speckled harem led; The morning broke without a sun; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, In tiny spherule1 traced with lines And mild reproach of hunger looked; Of Nature’s geometric signs, The horned patriarch7 of the sheep, 2 8 46 In starry flake, and pellicle, 90 Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep, All day the hoary meteor fell; Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot. And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, All day the gusty north wind bore On nothing we could call our own. The loosening drift its breath before: 50 Around the glistening wonder bent 95 Low circling round its southern zone, The blue walls of the firmament, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No cloud above, no earth below— No church bell lent its Christian tone A universe of sky and snow! To the savage air, no social smoke The old familiar sights of ours Curled over woods of snow-hung oak 55 Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towers 100 A solitude made more intense Rose up where sty or corncrib stood, By dreary-voiced elements, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; The shrieking of the mindless wind, A smooth white mound the brush pile showed, The moaning tree boughs swaying blind, A fenceless drift what once was road; And on the glass the unmeaning beat 60 The bridle post an old man sat 105 Of ghostly fingertips of sleet. With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; Beyond the circle of our hearth The wellcurb had a Chinese roof; No welcome sound of toil or mirth And even the long sweep,3 high aloof, Unbound the spell, and testified In its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of human life and thought outside. 4 65 Of Pisa’s leaning miracle. 110 We minded that the sharpest ear The buried brooklet could not hear, A prompt, decisive man, no breath The music of whose liquid lip Our father wasted: “Boys, a path!” Had been to us companionship, Well pleased (for when did farmer boy And, in our lonely life, had grown Count such a summons less than joy?) 115 To have an almost human tone. 5 70 Our buskins on our feet we drew; With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, As night drew on, and, from the crest To guard our necks and ears from snow, Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, We cut the solid whiteness through. The sun, a snow-blown traveler, sank And, where the drift was deepest, made From sight beneath the smothering bank, 75 A tunnel walled and overlaid 120 We piled, with care, our nightly stack With dazzling crystal: we had read Of wood against the chimney back— Of rare Aladdin’s6 wondrous cave, The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, And to our own his name we gave, And on its top the stout backstick; With many a wish the luck were ours The knotty forestick laid apart, 80 To test his lamp’s supernal powers. 125 And filled between with curious art We reached the barn with merry din, The ragged brush; then, hovering near, And roused the prisoned brutes within, We watched the first red blaze appear, The old horse thrust his long head out, Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam And grave with wonder gazed about; On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 85 The cock his lusty greeting said, 130 Until the old, rude-furnished room

1 spherule small sphere 6 Aladdin’s referring to Aladdin, a boy in The Arabian Nights 2 pellicle thin film of crystals who found a magic lamp and through its powers discovered a 3 sweep pole with a bucket at one end, used for raising water treasure in a cave. from a well. 7 patriarch the father and ruler of a family or tribe. 4 Pisa’s leaning miracle famous leaning tower of Pisa in Italy. 8 Amun Egyptian god with a ram’s head. 5 buskins high-cut leather shoes or boots. Burst, flowerlike, into rosy bloom; While radiant with a mimic flame Outside the sparkling drift became, And through the bare-boughed lilac tree 135 Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. The crane and pendent trammels1 showed, The Turks’ heads2 on the andirons glowed; While childish fancy, prompt to tell The meaning of the miracle, 140 Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree, When fire outdoors burns merrily, There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern wood Shone at its full; the hill range stood 145 Transfigured in the silver flood, Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, Dead white, save where some sharp ravine Took shadow, or the somber green Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 150 Against the whiteness at their back. For such a world and such a night Most fitting that unwarming light, Which only seemed where’er it fell To make the coldness visible.

155 Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth3 about, Content to let the north wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat 160 The frost line back with tropic heat; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draft The great throat of the chimney laughed; 165 The house dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head. The cat’s dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger’s seemed to fall: And, for the winter fireside meet, 170 Between the andirons’ straddling feet. The mug of cider simmered slow. The apples sputtered in a row. And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October’s wood.

1 trammels adjustable pothooks hanging from the movable 3 clean-winged hearth a turkey wing was used for the hearth arm, or crane, attached to the hearth. broom. 2 Turk’s heads turbanlike knots at the top of the andirons.