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Updated: May 9, 2025
College will be a different place to her if she can live up here somewhere near things." "It will be nicer for her, I think," said Eleanor, simply. "But Betty, I'm not doing much, just making her a little present of the difference between Mrs. Bryant's prices and the very cheapest ones up here.
They aim to draw us out at one end, so they can come in at the other. But we'll fool 'em." "We can't march to Hoy's, this day." "No. We'll need help, ourselves. Somebody'll have to go for it." "And water! How about water? The bloody redskins have seized the spring." For the spring, sixty yards distant, was the nearest water. Bryant's Station had been blindly located.
Bryant's greater reputation at that time made his contribution more valuable from a publishing point of view, especially in New York, where Lowell had as yet little reputation, while Bryant was, by many, regarded as the first of living American poets.
Of the poetical extracts all the users of this book will remember Southey's "Cataract of Lodore" with its exacting drill on the ending, "ing," Longfellow's "Village Blacksmith" and the "Reaper and the Flowers;" Bryant's "Thanatopsis" and "Song of the Stars;" Wolfe's "Burial of Sir John Moore;" Gray's "Elegy;" Mrs.
America has never lacked for versifiers, and Bryant's success encouraged a greater throng than ever to "lisp in numbers"; but few of them grew beyond the lisping stage, and it was not until the middle of the century that any emerged from this throng to take their stand definitely beside the author of "Thanatopsis."
The two men were destined to meet again in 1860, when Bryant presided at that Cooper Union address of Lincoln's which revealed to New York and to the country that the former captain of volunteers was now a king of men. Lincoln was embarrassed on that occasion, it is said, by Bryant's fastidious, dignified presence. Not so Nathaniel Hawthorne, who had seen the poet in Rome, two years before.
He knew him slightly, and knew his reputation better, and, in consequence, the two words "drunkard" and "crook" drifted through his mind, and left him regretfully wondering. Somehow he felt sorry, inexpressibly sorry, for this great big babe of a man whom he found himself unusually glad to have met. The valley of Leaping Creek gaped at Bill Bryant's feet and the man's ready delight bubbled over.
Next year a man will come along with "Bryant's Popular History of the United States of America," and the year after, for aught I know, with "Specimens of American Literature," by W. C. B. I do seriously beseech you, my friend, to look into this. These people take advantage of your good-nature; and ill-nature will spring up about it, if this kind of thing goes on.
I recollect how delighted I was when Rogers sent me an invitation the second time to breakfast with him. On that occasion the poet spoke of being in Paris on a pleasure-tour with Daniel Webster, and he grew eloquent over the great American orator's genius. He also referred with enthusiasm to Bryant's poetry, and quoted with deep feeling the first three verses of "The Future Life."
If a poet adds neither to my knowledge nor to my love, of what use is he? For instance, Poe does not make me know more or love more, but he delights me by his consummate art. Bryant's long poem "The Ages" has little value, mainly because it is charged with no philosophy, and no imaginative emotion. His "Lines to a Waterfowl" will last because of the simple, profound human emotion they awaken.
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