“Emigrant.—Is it thus you should spurn7 all our offers of kindness, and glut8 your appetite with the blood of our countrymen, with no excuse but the mere9 pretence10 of retaliation11? Shall the viper12 sting us and we not bruise13 his head? Shall we not only let your robberies and murders pass unpunished, but give you the possession of our very fireside, while the only arguments you offer are insolence14 and slaughter15? Know ye, the land is ours until you will improve it. Go, tell your 22 ungrateful comrades the world declares the spread of the white people at the expense of the red is the triumph of peace over violence. Tell them to cease their outrages16 upon the civilized17 world or but a few days and they shall be swept from the earth.
“Savage.—Alas! the sky is overcast18 with dark and blustering19 clouds. The rivers run with blood, but never, never will we suffer the grass to grow upon our war-path. And now I do remember that the Initiate20 prophet, in my earlier years, told from his dreams that all our race should fall like withered21 leaves when autumn strips the forest! Lo! I hear sighing and sobbing22: ’tis the death-song of a mighty23 nation, the last requiem24 over the grave of the fallen.”[3]
It is fair to conjecture25 that we may have in this boyish performance the very germ of “Hiawatha,” and also to recall the still more youthful verses which appeared in the Portland “Gazette.” He wrote in college not merely such verses, but some prose articles for the “American Monthly Magazine,” edited in Philadelphia, by Dr. James McHenry, who in his letters praised the taste and talent shown in the article upon “Youth and Age.” More important to the young poet, however, was his connection with a new semi-monthly periodical called the 23 “United States Literary Gazette.” This was published in Boston and New York simultaneously26, having been founded by the late Theophilus Parsons, but edited at that time by James G. Carter, of Boston, well known in connection with the history of public schools. Apparently27 Longfellow must have offered poems to the “Gazette” anonymously28, for one of his classmates records that when he met Mr. Carter in Boston the editor asked with curiosity what young man sent him such fine poetry from Bowdoin College. A modest volume of “Miscellaneous Poems, selected from the ‘United States Literary Gazette,’” appeared in 1826,—the year after Longfellow left college,—and it furnished by far the best exhibit of the national poetry up to that time. The authors represented were Bryant, Longfellow, Percival, Dawes, Mellen, and Jones; and it certainly offered a curious contrast to that equally characteristic volume of 1794, the “Columbian Muse,” whose poets were Barlow, Trumbull, Freneau, Dwight, Humphreys, and a few others, not a single poem or poet being held in common by the two collections.
This was, however, only a volume of extracts, but it is the bound volumes of the “Gazette” itself—beginning with April 1, 1824—which most impress the student of early American 24 literature. There will always be a charm in turning over the pages where one sees, again and again, the youthful poems of Bryant and of Longfellow placed side by side and often put together on the same page, the young undergraduate’s effusions being always designated by his initials and Bryant’s with a perhaps more dignified30 “B.,” denoting one whose reputation was to a certain extent already established, so that a hint was sufficient. Bryant’s poems, it must be owned, are in this case very much better or at least maturer than those of his youthful rival, and are preserved in his published works, while Longfellow’s are mainly those which he himself dropped, though they are reprinted in the appendix to Mr. Scudder’s “Cambridge” edition of his poems. We find thus in the “Literary Gazette,” linked together on the same page, Longfellow’s “Autumnal Nightfall” and Bryant’s “Song of the Grecian Amazon;” Longfellow’s “Italian Scenery” and Bryant’s “To a Cloud;” Longfellow’s “Lunatic Girl” and Bryant’s “The Murdered Traveller.”[4] How the older poet was impressed by the work of the younger we cannot tell, but it is noticeable that in editing a volume of selected American poetry not long after, he assigns to Longfellow, as will presently be seen, a very small 25 space. It is to be remembered that Bryant had previously31 published in book form, in 1821, his earliest poems, and the “Literary Gazette” itself, in its very first number, had pronounced him the first “original poet formed on this side of the Atlantic.” “Our pleasure was equalled by our surprise,” it says, “when we took up Bryant’s poems, listened to the uncommon32 melody of the versification, wondered at the writer’s perfect command of language, and found that they were American poems.” “Though the English critics say of him,” it continues, “that their poets must look to their laurels33 now that such a competitor has entered the ring, yet, let him remember that a few jousts34 in the ring never established the reputation of a knight35.”[5] It is a curious fact that the difference in actual quantity of poetic36 production between the older and younger poets should thus have been unconsciously suggested by the editor when Longfellow was but seventeen.
With Bryant and Longfellow, it would therefore seem, the permanent poetic literature of the nation began. “The Rivulet” and “The Hymn37 of the Moravian Nuns” appeared in the “Gazette” collection, and have never disappeared from the poetic cyclop?dias. The volume included fourteen of Longfellow’s youthful effusions, 26 only six of which he saw fit to preserve; dropping behind him, perhaps wisely, the “Dirge Over a Nameless Grave,” “Thanksgiving,” “The Angler’s Song,” “Autumnal Nightfall,” “A Song of Savoy,” “Italian Scenery,” “The Venetian Gondolier,” and “The Sea Diver.” He himself says of those which he preserved that they were all written before the age of nineteen, and this is obvious from the very date of the volume. Even in the rejected poems the reader recognizes an easy command of the simpler forms of melody, and a quick though not profound feeling for external nature. Where he subsequently revises these poems, however, the changes are apt to be verbal only, and all evidently matters of the ear. Thus in reprinting “The Woods in Winter,” he omits a single verse, the following:—
Its tender shoots the hoarfrost nips;
Whilst in the frozen fountain—hark!
It shows the gradual development of the young poet’s ear that he should have dropped this somewhat unmelodious verse. As a rule he wisely forbore the retouching of his early poems. He also contributed to the “Gazette” three articles in prose, quite in Irving’s manner, including a few verses. All these attracted some 27 attention at the time. Mr. Parsons, the proprietor40 of the magazine, was thoroughly41 convinced of the vigor42 and originality43 of the young man’s mind, and informed him that one of his poems, “Autumnal Nightfall,” had been attributed to Bryant, while his name was mentioned in the “Galaxy” on a level with that of Bryant and Percival. The leadership of Bryant was of course unquestioned at that period, and Longfellow many years after acknowledged to that poet his indebtedness, saying, “When I look back upon my early years, I cannot but smile to see how much in them is really yours. It was an involuntary imitation, which I most readily confess.”
Still more interesting as a study in the “Literary Gazette” itself are three prose studies, distinctly after the manner of Irving, and headed by a very un-American title, “The Lay Monastery44.” There is a singular parallelism between this fanciful title and the similar transformation45 in verse, at about the same time, in the “Hymn of the Moravian Nuns” at the consecration46 of Pulaski’s banner. As in that poem a plain Moravian sisterhood, who supported their house by needlework, gave us an imaginary scene amid a chancel with cowled heads, glimmering47 tapers48, and mysterious aisles49, so the solitary51 in this prose article leads us into the society of an old 28 uncle whose countenance52 resembles that of Cosmo on the medallions of the Medici, who has been crossed in love, and who wears a brocade vest of faded damask, with large sprigs and roses. The author thus proceeds in his description of the imaginary uncle and the marvellous surroundings:—
“When my uncle beheld53 my childish admiration54 for his venerable black-letter tome, he fondly thought that he beheld the germ of an antique genius already shooting out within my mind, and from that day I became with him as a favored wine. Time has been long on the wing, and his affection for me grew in strength as I in years; until at length he has bequeathed to me the peculiar55 care of his library, which consists of a multitude of huge old volumes and some ancient and modern manuscripts. The apartment which contains this treasure is the cloister56 of my frequent and studious musings. It is a curious little chamber57, in a remote corner of the house, finished all round with painted panellings, and boasting but one tall, narrow Venetian window, that lets in upon my studies a ‘dim, religious light,’ which is quite appropriate to them.
“Everything about that apartment is old and decaying. The table, of oak inlaid with maple, is worm-eaten and somewhat loose in the 29 joints58; the chairs are massive and curiously59 carved, but the sharper edges of the figures are breaking away; and the solemn line of portraits that cover the walls hang faded from black, melancholy60 frames, and declare their intention of soon leaving them forever. In a deep niche61 stands a heavy iron clock that rings the hours with hoarse62 and sullen63 voice; and opposite, in a similar niche, is deposited a gloomy figure in antique bronze. A recess64, curtained with tapestry65 of faded green, has become the cemetery66 of departed genius, and, gathered in the embrace of this little sepulchre, the works of good and great men of ancient days are gradually mouldering67 away to dust again.”[6]
In view of this essentially artificial and even boyish style, it is not strange that one of his compositions should have been thus declined by the eminently68 just and impartial69 editor of the “North American Review,” Jared Sparks.
Dear Sir,—I return the article you were so good as to send me. In many respects it has a good deal of merit, but on the whole I do not think it suited to the “Review.” Many of the thoughts and reflections are good, but they want maturity70 and betray a young writer. The style, too, is a little ambitious, although not without 30 occasional elegance71. With more practice the author cannot fail to become a good writer; and perhaps my judgment72 in regard to this article would not agree with that of others whose opinion is to be respected; but, after all, you know, we editors have no other criterion than our own judgment.[7]
Nevertheless the young aspirant73 felt more and more strongly drawn74 to a literary life, and this found expression in his Commencement oration on “Our Native Writers.” His brother and biographer, writing of this address in later years, says of it, “How interesting that [theme] could be made in seven minutes the reader may imagine,” and he does not even reprint it; but it seems to me to be one of the most interesting landmarks75 in the author’s early career, and to point directly towards all that followed.
OUR NATIVE WRITERS
To an American there is something endearing in the very sound,—Our Native Writers. Like the music of our native tongue, when heard in a foreign land, they have power to kindle76 up within him the tender memory of his home and fireside; and more than this, they foretell77 that whatever is noble and attractive in our national 31 character will one day be associated with the sweet magic of Poetry. Is, then, our land to be indeed the land of song? Will it one day be rich in romantic associations? Will poetry, that hallows every scene,—that renders every spot classical,—and pours out on all things the soul of its enthusiasm, breathe over it that enchantment78, which lives in the isles50 of Greece, and is more than life amid the “woods, that wave o’er Delphi’s steep”? Yes!—and palms are to be won by our native writers!—by those that have been nursed and brought up with us in the civil and religious freedom of our country. Already has a voice been lifted up in this land,—already a spirit and a love of literature are springing up in the shadow of our free political institutions.
But as yet we can boast of nothing farther than a first beginning of a national literature: a literature associated and linked in with the grand and beautiful scenery of our country,—with our institutions, our manners, our customs,—in a word, with all that has helped to form whatever there is peculiar to us, and to the land in which we live. We cannot yet throw off our literary allegiance to Old England, we cannot yet remove from our shelves every book which is not strictly79 and truly American. English literature is a great and glorious monument, built 32 up by the master-spirits of old time, that had no peers, and rising bright and beautiful until its summit is hid in the mists of antiquity80.
Of the many causes which have hitherto retarded81 the growth of polite literature in our country, I have not time to say much. The greatest, which now exists, is doubtless the want of that exclusive attention, which eminence82 in any profession so imperiously demands. Ours is an age and a country of great minds, though perhaps not of great endeavors. Poetry with us has never yet been anything but a pastime. The fault, however, is not so much that of our writers as of the prevalent modes of thinking which characterize our country and our times. We are a plain people, that have had nothing to do with the mere pleasures and luxuries of life: and hence there has sprung up within us a quick-sightedness to the failings of literary men, and an aversion to everything that is not practical, operative, and thoroughgoing. But if we would ever have a national literature, our native writers must be patronized. Whatever there may be in letters, over which time shall have no power, must be “born of great endeavors,” and those endeavors are the offspring of liberal patronage83. Putting off, then, what Shakespeare calls “the visage of the times,”—we must become hearty84 well-wishers to our native authors:—and 33 with them there must be a deep and thorough conviction of the glory of their calling,—an utter abandonment of everything else,—and a noble self-devotion to the cause of literature. We have indeed much to hope from these things;—for our hearts are already growing warm towards literary adventurers, and a generous spirit has gone abroad in our land, which shall liberalize and enlighten.
In the vanity of scholarship, England has reproached us that we have no finished scholars. But there is reason for believing that men of mere learning—men of sober research and studied correctness—do not give to a nation its great name. Our very poverty in this respect will have a tendency to give a national character to our literature. Our writers will not be constantly toiling85 and panting after classical allusions86 to the Vale of Tempe and the Etrurian river, nor to the Roman fountains shall—
“The emulous nations of the West repair
We are thus thrown upon ourselves: and thus shall our native hills become renowned89 in song, like those of Greece and Italy. Every rock shall become a chronicle of storied allusions; and the tomb of the Indian prophet be as hallowed as the sepulchres of ancient kings, or the damp vault90 and perpetual lamp of the Saracen monarch91.
34
Having briefly92 mentioned one circumstance which is retarding93 us in the way of our literary prosperity, I shall now mention one from which we may hope a happy and glorious issue: It is the influence of natural scenery in forming the poetical94 character. Genius, to be sure, must be born with a man; and it is its high prerogative95 to be free, limitless, irrepressible. Yet how is it moulded by the plastic hand of Nature! how are its attributes shaped and modulated96, when a genius like Canova’s failed in the bust97 of the Corsican, and amid the splendor98 of the French metropolis99 languished100 for the sunny skies and vine-clad hills of Italy? Men may talk of sitting down in the calm and quiet of their libraries, and of forgetting, in the eloquent101 companionship of books, all the vain cares that beset102 them in the crowded thoroughfares of life; but, after all, there is nothing which so frees us from the turbulent ambition and bustle103 of the world, nothing which so fills the mind with great and glowing conceptions, and at the same time so warms the heart with love and tenderness, as a frequent and close communion with natural scenery. The scenery of our own country, too, so rich as it is in everything beautiful and magnificent, and so full of quiet loveliness or of sublime104 and solitary awe29, has for our eyes enchantment, for our ears an impressive and unutterable 35 eloquence105. Its language is in high mountains, and in the pleasant valleys scooped106 out between them, in the garniture which the fields put on, and in the blue lake asleep in the hollow of the hills. There is an inspiration, too, in the rich sky that “brightens and purples” o’er our earth, when lighted up with the splendor of morning, or when the garment of the clouds comes over the setting sun.
Our poetry is not in books alone. It is in the hearts of those men, whose love for the world’s gain,—for its business and its holiday,—has grown cold within them, and who have gone into the retirements107 of Nature, and have found there that sweet sentiment and pure devotion of feeling can spring up and live in the shadow of a low and quiet life, and amid those that have no splendor in their joys, and no parade in their griefs.
Thus shall the mind take color from things around us,—from them shall there be a genuine birth of enthusiasm,—a rich development of poetic feeling, that shall break forth108 in song. Though the works of art must grow old and perish away from earth, the forms of nature shall keep forever their power over the human mind, and have their influence upon the literature of a people.
We may rejoice, then, in the hope of beauty 36 and sublimity109 in our national literature, for no people are richer than we are in the treasures of nature. And well may each of us feel a glorious and high-minded pride in saying, as he looks on the hills and vales,—on the woods and waters of New England,—
“This is my own, my native land.”
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1
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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6
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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glut
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| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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civilized
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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sobbing
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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anonymously
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| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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jousts
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| （骑士）骑着马用长矛打斗( joust的名词复数 )； 格斗，竞争 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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retarding
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| 使减速( retard的现在分词 )； 妨碍； 阻止； 推迟 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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100
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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103
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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104
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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105
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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106
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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107
retirements
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| 退休( retirement的名词复数 )； 退职； 退役； 退休的实例 | |
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108
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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109
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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