THE first book of poetry issued by Lowell, if we except the pamphlet containing his Class Poem, was A Year's Life, published in 1841 by C. C. Little and J. Brown, Boston. It contained thirty-two poems and songs and thirtyfive sonnets, besides a l'envoi headed" Goe, Little Booke," and a dedication addressed, though not formally, to Miss Maria White, to whom he had become engaged in the fall of 1840.

The gentle Una I have loved,

The snowy maiden, pure and mild,
Since ever by her side I roved

Through ventures strange, a wondering child,
In fantasy a Red Cross Knight
Burning for her dear sake to fight.

If there be one who can, like her,
Make sunshine in life's shady places,
One in whose holy bosom stir

As many gentle household graces, —
And such I think there needs must be,-
Will she accept this book from me?

The poems which filled the volume had appeared in The Knickerbocker, The Southern Literary Messenger, and some of the Boston

THRENODIA

As first printed in The Knickerbocker maga zine for May, 1839, this poem bore the title Threnodia on an Infant, and was signed H. P., the initials for Hugh Perceval, a pseudonym which Lowell used occasionally at the outset of his career. In a letter to G. B. Loring, upon the appearance of the poem, Lowell says that his brother Robert animadverted on the irregular metre of the Threnodia; "but as I think," he adds, "very unphilosophically and without much perception of the true rules of poetry. In my opinion no verse ought to be longer than the writer can sensibly make it. It has been this senseless stretching of verses to make them octo- or deka-syllabic or what not, that has brought such an abundance of useless epithets on the shoulders of poor English verse."

GONE, gone from us! and shall we see Those sibyl-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore?

newspapers. How little value the author set upon the contents of this first volume is evident when one discovers that on making his first general collection of poems in 1849, he retained but seven of those printed in A Year's Life. He continued to contribute to the magazines of his time, especially to The Democratic Review, Graham's Magazine, The Boston Miscellany, and The Pioneer, the last named being a very short-lived magazine which he conducted in company with Mr. Robert Carter, and in 1843 he issued a second volume of Poems, in which he gathered the product of the intervening time, whether printed or in manuscript. The division Earlier Poems, first used in the collection dated 1877, contains but seven of the poems, two of them being sonnets included in A Year's Life. Of the thirty-five poems and thirty-seven sonnets printed in the 1843 volume of Poems, seven poems and thirteen sonnets were silently dropped from later collections, and the poems included in the two volumes were distributed mainly between the two divisions Earlier Poems and Miscellaneous Poems.

And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
Oh stern word-Nevermore !

The tongue that scarce had learned to
claim

An entrance to a mother's heart
By that dear talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!
I loved to see the infant soul
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness !)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,

Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole
And snatched him to her breast!

Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, That would have soared like strong-winged birds

Far, far into the skies,
Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,

Had he but tarried with us long!
Oh stern word-Nevermore !

As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, So from his spirit wandered out Tendrils spreading all about, Knitting all things to its thrall With a perfect love of all: Oh stern word-Nevermore !

He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripple play,

Or hearkening their fairy chime;
His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And, putting to the shore
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his shallop's keel;
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land
Where he was seen no more:

Oh stern word Nevermore!

Look how the gray old Ocean
From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,
When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,
That murmurs over the weary sea,
And seems to sing from everywhere,
"Here mayst thou harbor peacefully,
Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar;
Turn thy curved prow ashore,
And in our green isle rest forevermore !
Forevermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,
And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still,
"Evermore!"

Thus, on Life's weary sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,
Ever singing low and clear,
Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,
Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,

Lean over the side and see

The leaden eye of the sidelong shark
Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee:

Look down and see those shapeless forms,
Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,
Rising like islands from beneath,
And snorting through the angry spray,
As the frail vessel perisheth

In the whirls of their unwieldy play;
Look down! Look down!
Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,
That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark
Into the cold depth of the sea!

Look down! Look down!
Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sad, from far and near,
Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing dreadfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream;

The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,
The green grass floweth like a stream
Into the ocean's blue;

Listen! Oh, listen!
Here is a gush of many streams,
A song of many birds,
And every wish and longing seems
Lulled to a numbered flow of words,
Listen! Oh, listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,

At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned;

So smooth the sand, the yellow sand,
That thy keel will not grate as it touches

the land;

All around with a slumberous sound,
The singing waves slide up the strand,
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,
The waters gurgle longingly,

As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest forevermore,

Forevermore.

Thus, on Life's gloomy sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,

Ever singing in his ear,

"Here is rest and peace for thee !"

IRENÉ

The indirect as well as direct references to Maria White are frequent in these early poems. Lowell, in a letter to G. B Loring shortly after this poem appeared, wrote: "Maria fills my ideal and I satisfy hers, and I mean to live as one beloved by such a woman should live. She is every way noble. People have called Irené a beautiful piece of poetry. And so it is. It owes all its beauty to her."

HERS is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear; Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, Free without boldness, meek without a fear,

Quicker to look than speak its sympathies;
Far down into her large and patient eyes
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,

As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,
I look into the fathomless blue skies.

But such as are revealed to the eyes Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly

Before the face of daily mysteries;

light,

That from the shade of self she walketh

free;

The garden of her soul still keepeth she An Eden where the snake did never enter; She hath a natural, wise sincerity,

A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her

A dignity as moveless as the centre;

So that no influence of our earth can stir Her steadfast courage, nor can take away The holy peacefulness, which night and day,

Unto her queenly soul doth minister.

Most gentle is she; her large charity (An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) Not freer is to give than meek to bear; And, though herself not unacquaint with

slowly

To the full goldenness of fruitful prime,
Enduring with a firmness that defies
All shallow tricks of circumstance and
time,

By a sure insight knowing where to cling,
And where it clingeth never withering;-
These are Irene's dowry, which no fate
Can shake from their serene, deep-builded
state.

In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chas

teneth

No less than loveth, scorning to be bound With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth

To pour the balm of kind looks on the

wound,

If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes,

Giving itself a pang for others' sakes;
No want of faith, that chills with sidelong

eye,

Hath she; no jealousy, no Levite pride
That passeth by upon the other side;
For in her soul there never dwelt a lie.
Right from the hand of God her spirit

came

Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten

whence

It came, nor wandered far from thence, But laboreth to keep her still the same,