James Russell Lowell, Lawyer, Poet, Abolutionist, Satirist, Diplomat
Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,- In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For our couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,- And hark! How clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing! Everything is happy now, Everything is upward striving; 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,- 'Tis for the natural way of living: Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave not wake, And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; The soul partakes the season's youth, And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. James Russell Lowell James Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on February 22, 1819. He lived there most of his life. He died on Augst 12, 1891, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, He is buried, along with many famous New Englanders, in the Mount Auburn Cemetery also in Cambridge, Massachusetts. James Russell Lowell's achievements are impressive from many points of view. Though his lyrical verse was overrated in his own time, his merits as a critic, a satirist, an essayist, an educator, a diplomat, a journalist, and a letter writer continue to be acknowledged by discriminating and knowledgeable critics. The most versatile of the New Englanders at mid century, Lowell, both in his life and his work, is a vital force in the history of American literature and thought during the nineteenth century. Hailed by such dissimilar groups as pacifists and New Humanists, Lowell's final importance has been hard to measure but impossible to ignore. His range and penetration in literary criticism were unequaled in nineteenthcentury America. He did more than anyone before Mark Twain in elevating the vernacular to a medium of serious artistic expression. The Biglow Papers (1848) ranks among the first of political satires in American literature. In one of his most famous poems, The Vision of Sir Launfal(1848), the Holy Grail turns out to be a wooden cup. That a good one on the DaVinci Code. James Russell Lowell Return from James Russell Lowell to Love Poems
|
