realized when he has come unexpectedly upon a moose that whirled to face him in the twilight silence of a northern wood.
Something of this far-off and gigantic primitivism inheres also in the poetry of William Cullen Bryant
His portrait, with the sweeping white beard and the dark folds of the cloak, suggests the Bard as the Druids might have known him. But in the eighteen-thirties and forties, Mr. Bryant
's alert, clean-shaven face, and energetic gait as he strode down Broadway
to the Evening Post
office, suggested little more than a vigorous and somewhat radical editor of an increasingly prosperous Democratic newspaper.
There was nothing of the Fringed Gentian
or Yellow Violet about him. Like so many of the Knickerbockers, Bryant
was an immigrant to New York; in fact, none of her adopted men of letters have represented so perfectly the inherited traits of the New England Puritan
To understand his long and honorable public life it is necessary to know something of the city of his choice, but to enter into the spirit of his poetry one must go back to the hills of western Massachusetts
had a right to his cold-weather mind.
He came from Mayflower stock.
His father, Dr.