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Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.), Chapter 1: Whitman (search)
with unequal success. This period was also important because of the friendships that it made or fostered. Perhaps the most important was that with William Douglas O'Connor. When, in 1865, Whitman had been employed for several months in the Interior Department under Secretary Harlan, the latter, on learning that he was the author of Leaves of Grass, had him summarily dismissed; then O'Connor came to his friend's defence in a brilliant and passionate, though ill-advised, polemic, The good Gray poet, the title of which gave the bard a fit and enduring sobriquet. The advertising value of such a polemic, or of such an incident, though it was rated highly by Whitman and by some of his friends, may now be questioned. Thanks to such staunch friends, however, Whitman was soon settled, for the eight following years, in a comfortable clerkship in the Attorney-General's Department. Another close friend and enthusiastic disciple then and later was John Burroughs, who published in 1867 the
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.), Index (search)
our hand, Johnny bull, 286 Gladstone, 224, 314, 320 God in Christ, 212 Globe (Washington), The, 183 God save the South, 305 Godey, Louis A., 60, 168 Godey's lady's Book, 164, 168, 371 God's acre, 36 Godwin, William, 197, 205 Goethe, 102, 133, 211 Goff (Regicide), 202 Gold Bug, the, 59, 68, 351, 371 Golden legend, the, 37, 38, 39 Goldsmith, 96, 148, 225, 234, 237, 349, 368 Gomara, 129 Gooch, C. P., 128 Good-bye, My Lover, Good-bye, 408 Good Gray poet, the, 270 Goodrich, Samuel Griswold, 19, 154, 173, 399, 403, 404, 405, 406 Goose pond School, the, 389 Gordon, John Brown, 318, 320 Gordon, Rev., William, 104 Gottingen, 33, 110, 112, 133 Gould, Judge, 215 Goulding, F. R., 403 Gower, 3 Grady, Major, 321 Grady, Henry Woodfin, 321-323, 324, 326, 346 Graham, George R., 61, 168 Graham's magazine, 59, 63, 168, 170, 371, 372 Grandfather's chair, 21, 401, 406 Grandissimes, 359 Grandmother's Story of Bunker-Hi
Revolution. But our Revolution, in truth, never had an adequate poet. The prose-men, such as Jefferson, rose nearer the height of the great argument than did the men of rhyme. Here and there the struggle inspired a brisk ballad like Francis Hopkinson's Battle of the Kegs, a Hudibrastic satire like Trumbull's McFingal, or a patriotic song like Timothy Dwight's Columbia. Freneau painted from his own experience the horrors of the British prison-ship, and celebrated, in cadences learned from Gray and Collins, the valor of the men who fell at Eutaw Springs. There was patriotic verse in extraordinary profusion, but its literary value is slight, and it reveals few moods of the American mind that are not more perfectly conveyed through oratory, the pamphlet, and the political essay. The immediate models of this Revolutionary verse were the minor British bards of the eighteenth century, a century greatly given to verse-writing, but endowed by Heaven with the prose-reason mainly. The re
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1, Chapter 6: Law School.—September, 1831, to December, 1833.—Age, 20-22. (search)
eized and steadily retained every thing he acquired. English poetry was also a constant subject of our talks; and he used to quote and read favorite passages which we earnestly discussed together. Among all the poets, at this time certainly, Gray was his favorite; W. W. Story gave Sumner, Jan. 1, 1834, a copy of Milton, inscribed with, From is grateful friend. and I have still a copy of his poems, presented to me by him, and full of annotations, many of which are due to these conversati interest and instruction. Then, as afterwards, his judgment in respect to poetry was not a keen one. The higher flights of the imagination, or the rapid ranges of fancy, were above him; and I think his noblest idea of poetry was embodied in Gray's Elegy, which he would repeat with sonorous tones. But poetry was with him more all acquired taste than a natural one. He had himself little imagination or fancy, and better loved strong manly sentiments and thoughts within the range of the und
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1, Chapter 8: early professional life.—September, 1834, to December, 1837.—Age, 23-26. (search)
t I hear spoken. To-morrow (Tuesday, Sept. 13, anniversary of Wolfe's great victory and death), I shall leave Montreal for the South, commencing or rather continuing my journey homeward. Steamer Wolooski, Lake Champlain. Six o'clock, P. M., Tuesday, Sept. 18. . . .In a paper which I have just found on board the boat I have read with infinite delight the debate in the British Parliament on Texas. A blow has been struck which will resound. Yours, Chas. S. P. S. I have studied Gray's poetry during my wanderings. His fame is a tripod, resting on those three wonders,—the Elegy, Bard, and Progress of Poesy. The ode on Eton and Hymn to Adversity are fine, but comparatively inferior. How my blood boils at the indignity to S. E. Sewall! Mr. Sewall had been assaulted in Boston by a Southern slaveholder, on account of his appearing as counsel for fugitive slaves, ante, p. 25. To Charles S. Daveis. 4 Court St., Oct. 13, 1836. my dear Mr. Daveis,—Behold me again in
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1, Chapter 9: going to Europe.—December, 1837.—Age, 26. (search)
your room with How fare ye? on my tongue; but alas, the executor and the appraisers were there; your writing table was dissected, and the disjecta membra scattered on the floor, ready to be taken into the sanctum of Mr. Hillard, which they now adorn. One morn I miss'd him at the customed court (scil. Law Library), Along the (side) walk, and near his fav'rite tree; Another came,—nor at his known resort, Nor at the Albion, nor the Dane was he. I am almost tempted to murder the rest of Gray's Elegy, and apply the epitaph, mutatis mutandis. Thus left his home to wander o'er the earth A youth, to fortune and to fame well known: Fair Science frowned not on his generous birth, And Jurisprudence mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty and his soul sincere, Heaven did . . . coetera desunt. . . . Here am I at the end of my paper, without saying any thing. But this is not composed for publication among the correspondence to be interlarded in your biography; nor is it writte
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1, Chapter 11: Paris.—its schools.—January and February, 1838.—Age, 27. (search)
oy Europe. They need it, and their minds are ripe for it. How often have I thought of the thrill with which they would survey the objects I daily see. Tell Felton to come out immediately and pass a good half-year at Paris; there is enough to consume all that time in one round of pleasant study. There is no news stirring at Paris. You know that the Warrens and Cabots are in Italy, to return to Paris or London in May; and the Farrars are there also. Mrs. Sears is here. The Ticknors and Mr. Gray leave for London in a week or fortnight. Walsh and his family of daughters are here. Walsh himself has been quite sick, having been confined to his chamber for some time. Thiers says he is engaged upon a history of Florence at present; but he is notoriously so immersed in politics that I should doubt if he had time or inclination for writing a quiet book. Mrs. Fry has been at Paris, exciting some attention on the subject of prisons. The French, by the way, are just waking up on that su
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2, Chapter 20: Italy.—May to September, 1839.—Age, 28. (search)
ith a little round table near, well-covered with books, read undisturbed till about ten, when the servant brought on a tray my breakfast,—two eggs done sur le plat,a roll, and cup of chocolate; some of the books were pushed aside enough to give momentary place to the tray. The breakfast was concluded without quitting the sofa; rang the bell, and my table was put to rights, and my reading went on often till five and six o'clock in the evening, without my once rising from the sofa. Was it not Gray's heaven? I did not read Crebillon and his school; but I will tell you soon what I did read, and you shall say if it was not as good. At five or six got up, stretched myself, dressed to go out; dined in a garden under a mulberry tree, chiefly on fruits, salads, and wine, with the occasional interjection of a soup or steak: the fruits were apricots, green almonds, and figs; the salads, those of the exception under the second declension of nouns in our old Latin Grammar; the wines, the light
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2, Chapter 25: service for Crawford.—The Somers Mutiny.—The nation's duty as to slavery.—1843.—Age, 32. (search)
ues; pieces that will live to be worn near the hearts of men when the thrilling war-notes of Campbell and Korner will be forgotten. You and I admire the poetry of Gray. There are few things in any language which give me more pleasure than the Elegy in a Country Churchyard, the Progress of Poesy, and the Bard. On these his reputd will stand for ever. But I had rather be the author of A Psalm of Life, The Light of Stars, The Reaper and the Flowers, and Excelsior, than those rich pieces of Gray. I think Longfellow without rival near his throne in America. I might go further: I doubt if there is any poet now alive, and not older than he, who has written tly in picturing those magical successes by which Cortez overthrew the Aztec Empire. It is in your pages that I first felt the beauty and fitness of an epithet of Gray in that stanza of the Progress of Poesy, which Dugald Stewart thought the finest in the English language,— Their feather-cinctured chiefs and dusky loves. I beg
know of Uhland or Korner calculated to do more good, to touch the soul to finer issues; pieces that will live to be worn near the hearts of men when the thrilling war-notes of Campbell and Korner will be forgotten. You and I admire the poetry of Gray. There are few things in any language which give me more pleasure than the Elegy in a Country Churchyard, the Progress of Poesy, and the Bard. On these his reputation rears itself, and will stand for ever. But I had rather be the author of A Psalm of Life, The Light of Stars, The Reaper and the Flowers, and Excelsior, than those rich pieces of Gray. I think Longfellow without rival near his throne in America. I might go further: I doubt if there is any poet now alive, and not older than he, who has written so much and so well. . . . Longfellow is to be happy for a fortnight in the shades of Cambridge; then to visit his wife's friends in Berkshire; then his own in Portland. I am all alone,—alone. My friends fall away from me. Eve
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