sis," 1817. probably the most remarkable instance of precocity on record. It seems rather a pity, however, that it should be so considered. For it is a great poem, aside from any reference to the time of its composition. It was published in the "North American "ThanatopReview" in September, 1817. There have been a good many dates suggested for the birth of American poetry. Probably no one will ever be agreed upon; for poetry is not born at any one place at any one time, any more than violets. Some morning in the spring we wake up and the violets are here; but it would not be easy to tell on what day and in what place the first violet bloomed. So the American people woke up about that time and found that real poetry was being written. Though we cannot certainly call this the birthday of American poetry, it is a good date to remember. That September, 1817, issue of the "North American Review" marks a very important epoch in our Literature; for it contained the two poems by Bryant which were first published, "Thanatopsis" and "The Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood." In 1825 Bryant went to New York, and for a while was connected with a series of unsuccessful magazines. In his thirtysecond year he became connected with the New York Evening Post," and thus began his life work. For fifty years his was one of the influential pens in the country. Perhaps we should have had more poetry if Bryant had not been so successful a journalist. But it is more probable that the real poetry in a man's soul will express itself, whatever his circumstances; and what we should have gained in quantity we might have lost in quality had Bryant written more. His personality was, if possible, even more influential than his pen. For many years Bryant might well have been called New York's chief citizen. He was prominent on many social and ceremonial occasions. His venerable head, with its abundant snow-white beard, was often conspicuous and always honored. It was just after delivering an address at the dedication of a monument to the Italian patriot and reformer Mazzini that he fell on the steps of a friend's house and received injuries from the effects of which, on June 12, 1878, he died. It cannot be said that there is any marked development in Bryant's poetry. He struck a high note at the beginning, and he sustained it to the end. The verse of the boy of eighteen and that of the man of eighty show substantially the same characteristics. We wish there were more of it. Considering the length of his life and the greatness of his mind and character, the product is sadly small. It is for the most part "meditative." He loves nature in her moods of quiet, and interprets her teaching. The opening lines of "Thanatopsis"— To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks characterize him, except that it might be said his interpretation of nature lacks variety. Bryant is without passion. There is feeling in his work; but the feeling is calm and subdued. He teaches a high His diction and ideal of living and a serene trust. his thought are alike pure. Like all great poets, he is profoundly religious; but it is the religion of confidence and peace, rather than of question, struggle, or consecration. His mastery of form is very perfect. He has taken two of the most difficult of English forms, blank verse and the Spenserian stanza, and has handled them with consummate skill. We shall find no better examples for the study of these forms in our Literature. "Thanatopsis" was written in blank verse; and when in his old age he made a translation of the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" into English, he used the same form. I will call attention to some of the special excellences of his first great poem. THANATOPSIS To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours ΙΟ Over thy spirit, and sad images 15 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 20 25 In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up To mix forever 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 30 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, 35 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 40 The venerable woods - rivers that move 45 50 55 In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Save his own dashings—yet—the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first |