CHAPTER IX JOHN G. WHITTIER, 1807-1892 "There is a rush of passion in his verse which sweeps everything along with it." - E. P. WHIPPLE. "His poetry bursts from the soul with the fire and energy of an ancient prophet. His noble simplicity of character is the delight of all who know him."- W. ELLERY CHANNING. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, the celebrated Quaker poet, was born in Haverhill, Mass., in 1807. His parents belonged to that middle class of New England farmers who are neither rich nor poor. By incessant toil and self-denial a good and honest living was gained, and an honorable name established. Like so many sons of poor farmers, Whittier worked on the farm until he was eighteen, after which he attended the Haverhill Academy for several years. He always had a keen desire to improve himself by private study and reading; and, although his educational opportunities were meager, he trained himself to write well and acceptably for the local newspapers. By his youthful contributions to the press he gained the friendship of William Lloyd Garrison, the well-known antislavery speaker and editor, and through his influence Whittier began to edit a political paper in Boston. Afterwards he took charge of a literary weekly at Hartford, Conn., and, later, an antislavery journal at Philadelphia. He was for many years associate editor of the "National Era" at Washington. In 1831 he returned to his native town, and devoted himself for several years to farming, and in the meantime served several terms in the Massachusetts Legislature as a representative from Haverhill. He was one of the original members of the American Antislavery Society, and, JOHN G. WHITTIER having been chosen its secretary, took up his residence in Philadelphia, and resided there until 1840, when he returned home. In this same year he settled in Amesbury, a flourishing town a few miles from Haverhill, and continued to make this place his home for the rest of his life. During his last years Mr. Whittier resided most of his time with friends at "Oak Knolls" in Danvers, Mass. His first volume, "Legends of New England in Prose and Verse," was published in 1831, soon followed by "Voices of Freedom," which gave him his first reputation. These volumes were followed, at frequent intervals, by many works, mostly poems. "His poems," says one of his critics, are among the æsthetic treasures of every intelligent family as far as the English language is spoken. They are recited in every school, and quoted from many a platform and pulpit. Their influences range widely, and always for good." Usually it was not long after he idea before he reduced it to writing. conceived a poetical He wrote only when the mood seized him, and then he wrote as if fired with inspiration, losing all consciousness of time and things, going out of himself as it were, and becoming part and parcel of his subject. His first draft suffered little subsequent alteration, and the various editions of his works represent little or no time spent in revision. In stature Mr. Whittier was like his ancestors, tall, measuring six feet or more, of slender build, but straight as an arrow; a fine-looking man, with high forehead, a fine face, a quiet smile, dark, piercing eyes, and hair once black, but in age thinned and gray. He dressed in a suit of black, cut in Quaker fashion, and his speech was characterized to a slight extent by the peculiarities of the people whose form of service and creed he preferred to any other. Mr. Whittier died in 1892. On the naked woods, and the blasted fields, and the brown hill's withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth, And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down to earth. From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er, — Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the atmosphere into marble statues grow! And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath went past. ΙΟ With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of Hecla glow On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below. he comes the Frost Spirit comes! and the quiet He comes The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, 15 Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pass. He comes - he comes the Frost Spirit comes ! let us meet him as we may, And turn with the light of the parlor fire his evil power away; high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing goes by! 20 LINES ON A PORTRAIT How beautiful! That brow of snow, Half shadowed by a falling curl Which on the temple's light reposes Contrasted with the cheek's pure roses! The woman's warmth the angel's grace! Well I can gaze upon it now, As on some cloud of autumn's even, Bathing its pinions in the glow And glory of the sunset heaven So holy and so far away 5 1Ο 15 20 |