Bryant, William Cullen
William Cullen (1794-1878), an eminent American poet and journalist. He was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. He died in New York City, January 12, 1878. The standard life of Bryant is that in two volumes by Godwin. His father was a physician with decidedly literary tastes. His mother was a descendant of John Alden. The son was educated for the law, but did not practice. Thanatopsis was written in 1811 and was found in a pigeon-hole of an old desk by the father, who was so overcome that he is said to have wept for very joy and pride. When later the editor of the North American Review asked Doctor Bryant for something written by his talented son, he sent the manuscript of this poem. It appeared in the September number for 1816. At first literary people refused to believe that any poem so able had been written on this side of the Atlantic, and accused the editor of having allowed himself to be imposed upon. Stoddard says that it is "the greatest poem ever written by so young a man." The success of this and other poems determined Bryant to be a writer. In 1825 he went to New York City, where he founded a paper, but abandoned it for an interest in the Evening Post with which he was connected in an editorial capacity during the rest of his life. Among his more extensive works are translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey.
The lines, To a Waterfowl, were inspired by wild fowl seen winging their way against the sky as he neared a village where he proposed to practice law. No doubt he was weary and lonesome. A number of his poems are favorites with young people. The Song of Marion's Men, Robert-of-Lincoln, The Fringed Gentian, The Death of the Flowers, are of this class. Some of his sober pieces, Thanatopsis always first, are the Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood and A Forest Hymn.
His New York life at the age of seventy-seven is thus described by himself: "I rise early . . . about half-past five; in summer half an hour, or even an hour, earlier. Immediately, ... I begin a series of exercises. . . These are performed with dumb-bells, . . . with a pole, and a light chair swung around my head. After a full hour. . . passed in this manner, I bathe from head to foot. . . Animal food I never take at breakfast. Tea and coffee I never touch at any time. . . . After breakfast I occupy myself for a while with my studies; and when in town I walk down to the office of the Evening Post, nearly three miles distant, and after about three hours return, always walking whatever be the weather or the state of the streets. . . . In the country I dine early, . . . making my dinner mostly of vegetables."
Those who met Bryant considered him a cold, reserved, austere man. In old age he had a remarkably patriarchal appearance. Without a doubt he chafed for the woods and streams of his native state. The following lines from his Green River give a glimpse of this desire:
Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear,
And mark them winding away from sight,
Darkened with shade or flashing with light,
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings,
And the Zephyr stoops to freshen his wings,
But I wish that fate had left me free
To wander these quiet haunts with thee,
Till the eating cares of earth should depart,
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart;
And I envy thy stream, as it glides along
Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song.
Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men,
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,
And mingle among the jostling crowd,
Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud--
I often come to this quiet place,
To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face,
And gaze upon thee in silent dream,
For in thy lonely and lovely stream
An image of that calm life appears
That won my heart in my greener years.
OTHER QUOTATIONS.
To Nature's teachings.
All that tread
That slumber in its bosom.
The groves were God's first temples.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again.
SAID OF BRYANT.
His poetry overflows with natural religion--with what Wordsworth calls "the religion of the woods."--Christopher. North.
One remarked at once the exceeding gentleness of his manner, and a rare sweetness in the tone of his voice, as well as an extraordinary purity in his selection and pronunciation of English.--Parke Godwin.
We saw in his life the simple dignity which we associate with the old republics. So Lycurgus may have ruled in Sparta, so Cato may have walked in Rome--an uncrowned regality in that venerable head.--George William Curtis.
His name will endure as that of the poet who first gave large utterance to the voice of Nature in the New World.--W. C. Bronson.