He then repeated the poem, now familiar to the public, commencing, “Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?”
This poem, which was written by William Knox, a young Scotchman, a contemporary of Sir Walter Scott, suits well the thoughtful, melancholy3 mood habitual4 to Mr. Lincoln. It is said{300} that a man may be known by his favorite poem. Whether this can be said of men in general may be doubted. In the case of Abraham Lincoln I think those who knew him best would agree that the sadness underlying5 the poem found an echo in the temperament6 he inherited from his mother. I am sure my readers will be glad to find the poem recorded here, even though they may have met with it before:
Oh! 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,
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow7 shall fade,
Be scattered8 around and together be laid;
And the young and the old, the low and the high,
Shall moulder9 to dust, and together shall lie—
The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant’s affection who proved:
The husband, that mother and infant who blest—
Each, all, are away to their dwellings10 of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye
Shone beauty and pleasure,—her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased11.
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,{301}
The eye of the sage12 and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep,
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint, who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled13 their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes—like the flower or the weed
That withers14 away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes—even those we behold15,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are the same our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, we view the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling,—
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.
They loved—but the story we can not unfold;
They scorned—but the heart of the haughty16 is cold;
They grieved—but no wail17 from their slumber18 will come;
They joyed—but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
They died—ay, they died; we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,{302}
And make in their dwellings a transient abode19,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.
’Tis the wink20 of an eye—’tis the draught21 of a breath—
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded22 saloon to the bier and the shroud:—
Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
The last stanza23 will call to mind the startling suddenness with which Abraham Lincoln, the Chief Magistrate24 of a great nation, passed from the summit of power to the solemn stillness of death. Was it a sad, prophetic instinct that caused the mind of the great martyr25 to dwell so constantly upon these solemn strains?
No man seems to have been more clearly indicated as the instrument of Providence26 than Abraham Lincoln. It seems strange in the eyes of men that a rough youth, born and reared in the backwoods, without early educational advantages, homely27 and awkward, and with no polish of manner save that which proceeded from a good heart, should have been selected as the Guide and Savior of a great nation. But God’s ways are not as our ways, nor is His choice as ours. Mr. Lincoln had this advantage,—coming from the ranks of the people, he never lost sight of his sympathy for{303} his class. His nature and his sympathies were broad and unconfined.
He has been well described by one reared like himself, in the free atmosphere of the West: “Nearly every great figure of history is a kind of great monstrosity. We know nothing about Washington. He is a steel engraving28. No dirt of humanity clings to his boots. Lincoln lived where men were free and equal, and was acquainted with the people, not much with books. Every man is in some sort a book. He lived the poem of the year in the fields, the woods, the blessed country. Lincoln had the advantage of sociability29. He was thoughtful, and saw on the horizon of his future the perpetual star of hope. To him every field was a landscape; every landscape a poem; every poem a lesson, and every grove30 a fairy land. Oaks and elms are far more poetical31 than streets or houses. A country life is in itself an education. It gives the man an idea of home. He hears the rain on the roofs, the rustle32 of the breeze, the music of nature’s fullest control. You have no idea how many men education spoils. Lincoln’s education was derived33 from men and things, and hence he had a chance to develop.{304} He had many sides. He not only had laughter, but he had tears, and never that kind of solemnity which is a wash to hide the features. He was not afraid to seek for knowledge where he had it not. When a man is too dignified34 he ceases to learn. He was always honest with himself. He was an orator35; that is, he was natural. If you wish to be sublime36 you must keep close to the grass. You must sit close to the heart of human experience—above the clouds it is too cold. If you want to know the difference between an orator and a speaker read the oration37 of Lincoln at Gettysburg, and then read the speech of Everett at the same place. One came from the heart, the other was from out of the voice. Lincoln’s speech will be remembered forever. Everett’s no man will read. It was like plucked flowers.
“If you want to find out what a man is to the bottom, give him power. Any man can stand adversity—only a great man can stand prosperity. It is the glory of Abraham Lincoln that he never abused power only on the side of mercy. When he had power he used it in mercy. He loved to see the tears of the wife whose husband he had snatched from death.”{305}
I draw near the close of my task, having given, as I hope, some fair idea of one whose memory will always remain dear to the hearts of his countrymen. In that chequered life there is much to imitate, much to admire, little to avoid or censure38. Happy will be the day when our public men copy his unselfishness, his patriotic40 devotion to duty!
Within a few months, on the eighteenth anniversary of Mr. Lincoln’s assassination41, a poem was read at his grave by John H. Bryant, of Princeton, which will fitly close my story of the Backwoods Boy:
Not one of all earth’s wise and great
Hath earned a purer gratitude42
Than the great Soul whose hallowed dust
This structure holds in sacred trust.
How fierce the strife43 that rent the land,
When he was summoned to command;
With what wise care he led us through
The fearful storms that ’round us blew.
Calm, patient, hopeful, undismayed,
He met the angry hosts arrayed
For bloody44 war, and overcame
Their haughty power in Freedom’s name.
’Mid taunts45 and doubts, the bondsman’s chain
With gentle force he cleft46 in twain,{306}
And raised four million slaves to be
The chartered sons of Liberty.
No debt he owed to wealth or birth;
By force of solid, honest worth
He climbed the topmost height of fame
And wrote thereon a spotless name.
Oh! when the felon47 hand laid low
That sacred head, what sudden woe48
Shot to the Nation’s farthest bound,
And every bosom49 felt the wound.
Well might the Nation bow in grief,
And weep above the fallen chief,
Who ever strove, by word or pen,
For “peace on earth, good-will to men.”
The people loved him, for they knew,
Each pulse of his large heart was true
To them, to Freedom, and the right,
Unswayed by gain, unawed by might.
This tomb, by loving hands up-piled,
To him, the merciful and mild,
From age to age shall carry down
The glory of his great renown50.
As the long centuries onward51 flow,
As generations come and go,
Wide and more wide his fame shall spread,
And greener laurels52 crown his head.
And when this pile is fall’n to dust,
Its bronzes crumbled53 into rust,{307}
Thy name, O Lincoln! still shall be
Revered54 and loved from sea to sea.
India’s swart millions, ’neath their palms,
Shall sing thy praise in grateful psalms55,
And crowds by Congo’s turbid56 wave
Bless the good hand that freed the slave.
Shine on, O Star of Freedom, shine,
Till all the realms of earth are thine;
And all the tribes, through countless57 days,
Shall bask58 in thy benignant rays.
Lord of the Nations! grant us still
Another patriot39 sage, to fill
The seat of power, and save the State
From selfish greed. For this we wait.
The End
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1 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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2 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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3 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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4 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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5 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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6 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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7 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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8 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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9 moulder | |
v.腐朽,崩碎 | |
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10 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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11 erased | |
v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;清除 | |
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12 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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13 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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14 withers | |
马肩隆 | |
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15 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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16 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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17 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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18 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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19 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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20 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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21 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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22 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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23 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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24 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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25 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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26 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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27 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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28 engraving | |
n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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29 sociability | |
n.好交际,社交性,善于交际 | |
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30 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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31 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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32 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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33 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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34 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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35 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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36 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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37 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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38 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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39 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
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40 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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41 assassination | |
n.暗杀;暗杀事件 | |
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42 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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43 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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44 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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45 taunts | |
嘲弄的言语,嘲笑,奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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46 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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47 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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48 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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49 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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50 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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51 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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52 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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53 crumbled | |
(把…)弄碎, (使)碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 衰落; 坍塌; 损坏 | |
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54 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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56 turbid | |
adj.混浊的,泥水的,浓的 | |
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57 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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58 bask | |
vt.取暖,晒太阳,沐浴于 | |
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