X

LIST OF AUTHORS.

LONGFELLOW, HENRY W. A Psalm of Life, 19; Footsteps of Angels, 62; The Village Blacksmith, 81; Excelsior, 139; The Goblet of Life, 180; Endymion, 188; To the River Charles, 195; The Reaper and the Flowers, 233; Midnight Mass for the Dying Year, 262.

LUNT, GEO. "Pass on, Relentless World," 148; The Lyre and Sword, 214. MCLELLAN, I. The Notes of the Birds, 131.

MELLEN, GRENVILLE. The Bugle, 171.

MORRIS, CARTER. Mysterious Music of Ocean, 220.

NOBLE, LEWIS L. To a Flying Swan in the Vale of the Huron, 47. NORTON, ANDREWS. Scene after a Summer Shower, 92; A Winter Morn

ing, 169.

PABODIE, WILLIAM J. "Go forth into the Fields," 111.

PEABODY, EPHRAIM. The Backwoodsman, 216.

PEABODY, WILLIAM B. O. Hymn of Nature, 135.

PERCIVAL, JAMES G. To Seneca Lake, 26; The Coral Grove, 72; The Deserted Wife, 99; The Last days of Autumn, 108; Consumption, 208; To the Eagle, 222.

PIERPONT, JOHN. The Pilgrim Fathers, 25; "Passing Away," 57; My Child, 127; The Exile at Rest, 141.

PIKE, ALBERT. To Spring, 90; To the Mocking Bird, 125.

PINKNEY, EDWARD C. Italy, 248.

ROCKWELL, J. O. The Sum of Life, 189.

SANDS, ROBERT C. Good-Night, 119; Weehawken, 178.

SARGENT, EPES. The Days that are Past, 226.

SIGOURNEY, LYDIA H. The Western Emigrant, 31; Indian Names, 59; Winter, 174; Death of an Infant, 232.

SIMMS, W. G. The Edge of the Swamp, 41; The Shaded Water, 203. SMITH, SEBA Mrs. The Drowned Mariner, 245.

SPRAGUE, CHARLES. Art, 33; The Family Meeting, 51; The Winged

Worshippers, 101; The Traveler's Fate, 122; The Brothers, 162. STREET, ALFRED B. The Lost Hunter, 73; The Gray Forest Eagle, 114. TOWNSEND, ELIZABETH. Incomprehensibility of God, 109.

TUCKERMAN, HENRY T. "Are we not Exiles here?" 164; To an Elm, 260. VERY, JONES. To a Painted Columbine, 66.

WARE, HENRY, JR. To the Ursa Major, 35; Seasons of Prayer, 172. WARD, THOMAS. To an Infant in Heaven, 185.

WELBY, AMELIA B. The Presence of God, 191; To a Sea-Shell, 243. WHITTIER, JOHN G. New England, 94; Pentucket, 153; The Merrimack, 166; The Prisoner for Debt, 211; Democracy, 234.

WILCOX, CARLOS. Spring in New England, 21; Sunset in September, 83. WILLIS, N. P. Spring, 43; April, 60; To a City Pigeon, 133; Lines on Leaving Europe, 182; The Healing of the Daughter of Jairus, 256. WOODWORTH, SAMUEL. The Bucket, 240.

READINGS

IN

AMERICAN POETRY.

(11)

READINGS

IN

UNIV. OF

AMERICAN POETRY.

THANATOPSIS.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

To him who, in the love of nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,

14

THANATOPSIS.

Where thy pale form is laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go

To mix for ever with the elements,-
To be a brother to the insensible rock,

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon.

The oak

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone-nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.-The hills
Rock-ribb'd, and ancient as the sun,—the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods-rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks

That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,―

Are but the solemn decorations all

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe, are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.-Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound