The Forest Hymn

by William Cullen Bryant

The groves were God`s first temples. Ere man learned

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,---ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world`s riper years, neglect God`s ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs, That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,

Offer one hymn---thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in the breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp and pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here---thou fill`st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music; thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship;---Nature, here, In the tranquility that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak--- By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated---not a prince, In all that proud old world beyond the deep, E`er wore his crown as lofty as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me---the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity.

Lo! all grow old and die---but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses----ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of earth`s charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death---yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant`s throne---the sepulchre, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them;---and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou Dost scare the world with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the village; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities---who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of the works Learn to conform the order of our lives.

Among the many things that seem to be lost on much of the modern generation is poetry. Like so many other losses, this too is a shame—at least the old grand poetry that I was first taught and then myself taught as an American and English literature teacher. Two of my favorite poets are Robert Frost and William Cullen Bryant—though of the two, only Bryant writes from a Christian perspective. And it is his poem, “The Forest Hymn,” that best captures my feelings about the wooded wild. Below is Bryant’s poem illustrated in part by photos I took recently in the Pacific Northwest. To my shame as a former literature teacher, and for the sake of this Web format and for quicker understanding, I have removed the poetic line breaks and capitalizations found in the original. [Click on the photos to see larger images.]

The Forest Hymn

by William Cullen Bryant

The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned to hew the shaft, and lay the architrave [be

am], and spread the roof above them,—ere he framed the lofty vault, to

gather and roll back the sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down and offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks and supplication. For his simple heart might not resist the sacred influences, which from the stilly twilight of the place and from the gray old trunks that high in heaven mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound of the invisible breath that swayed at once all their green tops, stole over him, and bowed his spirit with the thought of boundless power and inaccessible majesty.

Ah, why should we in the world’s riper years neglect God’s ancient sanctuaries and adore only among the crowd and under roofs that our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least here in the shadow of this aged wood, offer one hymn—thrice happy, if it find acceptance in His ear.

Be it ours to meditate, in these calm shades Thy milder majesty and to the beautiful order of Thy works learn to conform the order of our lives.

Father, thy hand hath reared these venerable columns; thou didst weave this verdant roof; thou didst look down upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose all these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun budded and shook their green leaves in the breeze and shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died among their branches till at last they stood, as now they stand, massy and tall and dark—fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, these winding aisles [report nothing of] human pomp and pride. No fantastic carvings show—the boast of our vain race to change the form of thy fair works. But Thou art here. Thou fill’st the solitude. Thou art in the soft winds that run along the summit of these trees in music. Thou art in the cooler breath that from the inmost

darkness of the place comes scarcely felt. The barky trunks, the ground, the fresh moist ground

are all instinct with Thee.

Here is continual worship. Nature here in the tranquility that Thou dost love enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly around from perch to perch the solitary bird passes; and yon clear spring that, midst its herbs, wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots of half the mighty forest tells no tale of all the good it does.

Thou hast not left thyself without a witness in these shades of Thy perfections: grandeur, strength, and grace are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak—by whose immovable stem I stand and seem almost annihilated—not a prince in all that proud old world beyond the deep ever

wore his crown as lofty as he wears the green coronal of leaves with which thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root is beauty such as blooms not in the glare of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower with scented breath and look so like a smile seems as it issues from the shapeless mould, an emanation of the indwelling Life, a visible token of the

upholding Love that is the soul of t his wide universe.

My heart is awed within me when I think of the great miracle that still goes on in silence around me—the perpetual work of Thy creation–finished, yet renewed forever. Written on Thy works I read the lesson of Thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die but see again how on the faltering footsteps of decay youth presses—-ever gay and beautiful youth in all its beautiful forms. These

lofty trees wave not less proudly that their ancestors moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost one of earth’s charms: upon her bosom yet after the flight of untold centuries the freshness of her far beginning lies and yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate of his arch enemy Death—yea, seats himself upon the tyrant’s throne—the sepulcher, and of the triumphs of his ghastly foe makes his own nourishment. For he came forth from thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

My heart is awed within me when I think of the great miracle that still goes on, in silence, round me—the perpetual work of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed forever.

There have been holy men who hid themselves deep in the woody wilderness and gave their lives to thought and prayer till they outlived the generation born with them, nor seemed less aged than the hoary trees and rocks around them. And there have been holy men who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.

But let me often to these solitudes retire and in Thy presence reassure my feeble virtue. Here its enemies, the passions, at Thy plainer footsteps shrink and tremble and are still. Oh, God! When Thou dost scare the world with falling thunderbolts or fill with all the waters of the firmament the swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods and drowns the village; when at Thy call uprises the great deep and throws himself upon the continent and overwhelms its cities—who forgets not, at the sight of these tremendous tokens of Thy power,

his pride and lays his strifes and follies by?

Oh, from these sterner aspects of Thy face spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath of the mad unchained elements to teach who rules them. Be it ours to meditate in these calm shades Thy milder majesty and to the beautiful order of Thy works learn to conform the order of our lives.

See you outdoors!

Dean

(born Nov. 3, 1794, Cummington, Mass., U.S. — died June 12, 1878, New York, N.Y.) U.S. poet. At age 17 Bryant wrote "Thanatopsis," a meditation on nature and death that remains his best-known poem; influenced by deism, it in turn influenced Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. Admitted to the bar at age 21, he spent nearly 10 years as an attorney, a profession he hated. His Poems (1821), including "To a Waterfowl," secured his reputation. In 1825 he moved to New York City, where for almost 50 years (1829 – 78) he was editor in chief of the Evening Post, which he transformed into an organ of progressive thought.

The American poet and newspaper editor William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) helped introduce European romanticism into American poetry. As an editor, he championed liberal causes. He was one of the most influential and popular figures of mid-19th-century America.

William Cullen Bryant was born on Nov. 3, 1794, in Cummington, Mass. His well-established New England family was staunchly Federalist in politics and Calvinist in religion. Encouraged to write poetry by his father, a physician of wide learning, the boy reflected in his earliest poems his family's political and religious attitudes. Bryant's Federalist satire on Thomas Jefferson, The Embargo, or Sketches of the Times (1808), by a "Youth of Thirteen" was published through his father's influence. In later years the liberal, democratic, Unitarian Bryant understandably wished to forget this youthful indiscretion, and he did not reprint it in any of his collections.

"Thanatopsis" and Other Poems

Bryant entered Williams College in 1810 and left after a year. In 1811 he wrote the first draft of his best-known poem, "Thanatopsis" (literally, view of death), reflecting the influence of English "graveyard" poets such as Thomas Gray.

Perhaps the most remarkable feature of "Thanotopsis" is its anti-Christian, stoical view of death. There is no heaven or hell beyond the grave; death ends life, and that is all: "Thine individual being, shalt thou go/ To mix forever with the elements,/ To be a brother to the insensible rock/ And to the sluggish clod…. " Published in 1817, the poem was a marked success; it was reprinted in 1821 in the final, revised version familiar today.

A few years later Bryant modified his attitude to death in "To a Waterfowl," in which a "Power" (God) is omnipresent and beneficent. The later English poet Matthew Arnold considered this to be the finest short poem in the English language. As the 1876 poem "The Flood of Years" makes clear, Bryant held this view of death to the end of his life.

Shortly after Bryant wrote the first draft of "Thanotopsis," he came under the influence of the romantic British poets William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. In the opening lines of "Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood," Bryant conveyed a love of nature that he retained throughout his career: "Thou wilt find nothing here [in nature]/ Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men,/ And made thee loathe thy life." However, like Wordsworth and other romantics, Bryant saw the world of nature less as an escape from the evils of life in the city than as a positive, vital force in itself. He explored this idea in other poems of this period, such as "The Yellow Violet," "I Cannot Forget with What Fervid Devotion," "Green River," and "A Winter Piece," and later in "A Forest Hymn," "The Death of Flowers," and "The Prairies."

Following his year at Williams College, Bryant read for the law and in 1815 was admitted to the Massachusetts bar. From 1816 to 1825 he practiced law in Great Barrington, Mass. He also kept up his literary activities, writing poetry

and essays. In 1821 he published his first volume, Poems, and read his Phi Beta Kappa poem "The Ages" at Harvard. That same year he married Frances Fairchild, his "Fairest of the Rural Maids."

In 1826 Bryant became assistant editor of the liberal New York Evening Post and in 1829 editor in chief. He served in this capacity for 50 years.

Poetic Theories

Bryant formulated his poetic theories in a series of four lectures on poetry, which he delivered in 1826 before the New York Athenaeum Society (they were published in 1884). He stressed, "The most beautiful poetry is that which takes the strongest hold of the feelings…. Important, therefore, as may be the office of the imagination [and of understanding, as well] in poetry, the great spring of poetry is emotion." (He expressed a similar view in the 1864 poem "The Poet.") Models from the past which the poet chooses to follow should be used only as guides to his own originality. While acknowledging that America's historical and cultural past was not as rich for the creation of poetry as England's, Bryant nevertheless felt that when America did produce a great poet he would draw on the best the young country had to offer.

The Editor

As an editor espousing liberal causes, Bryant had considerable impact on the life of New York and of the nation. Typical of his editorials was "The Right of Workmen to Strike" (1836), in which he upheld the workers' right to collective bargaining and ridiculed the prosecution of labor unions: "Can any thing be imagined more abhorrent to every sentiment of generosity or justice, than the law which arms the rich with the legal right to fix … the wages of the poor? If this is not slavery, we have forgotten its definition."

Similarly, Bryant was firmly committed to many other liberal causes of the day, including the antislavery movement, the "free-soil" concept, and free trade among nations. He also helped in the formation of the new Republican party in 1855.

Bryant published nine volumes of poetry from 1832 on. He also translated the Iliad (1870) and the Odyssey (1871-1872). He died in New York City on June 12, 1878.

Though Bryant was not a great poet, his poems were much admired in his own time, and a number of them are eminently readable today. As the guiding force of the Evening Post, he left his mark not only on the city his liberal paper served but on the nation as well.

Further Reading

Parke Godwin, Bryant's son-in-law, edited the standard editions of both The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant (2 vols., 1883) and Bryant's Prose Writings (2 vols., 1884). The best one-volume edition of the poems is Henry C. Sturges and Richard Henry Stoddard, eds., The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant (1903). The standard biography of Bryant is Parke Godwin, A Biography of William Cullen Bryant, with Extracts from His Private Correspondence (2 vols., 1883). A more balanced assessment is Harry H. Peckham, Gotham Yankee: A Biography of William Cullen Bryant (1950). Tremaine McDowell edited and wrote an excellent introduction to William Cullen Bryant: Representative Selections (1935). Allan Nevins, The Evening Post: A Century of Journalism (1922), discusses Bryant as an editor. Recommended for general background are Roy Harvey Pearce, The Continuity of American Poetry (1961), and Hyatt H. Waggoner, American Poets, from the Puritans to the Present (1968).

Quotes:

"Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign."

"Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness."

"The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear."

"Weep not that the world changes -- did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep."

"Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger."

"Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness --a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster-children into strength and athletic proportion."

See more famous quotes by William C. Bryant

Youth and education

Bryant was born on November 3, 1794,[1] in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts; the home of his birth is today marked with a plaque.[2] He was the second son of Peter Bryant, a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell. His maternal ancestry traces back to passengers on the Mayflower; his father's, to colonists who arrived about a dozen years later. His paternal father's line goes from Peter, to Phillip, to Icabod and Mr. Stephen Bryant who came to America and married Mehitable Standish the granddaughter of Capt. Myles Standish also of the Mayflower.

Bryant and his family moved to a new home when he was two years old. The William Cullen Bryant Homestead, his boyhood home, is now a museum. After just two years at Williams College, he studied law in Worthington and Bridgewater in Massachusetts, and he was admitted to the bar in 1815. He then began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl".[3]

Bryant developed an interest in poetry early in life. Under his father's tutelage, he emulated Alexander Pope and other Neo-Classic British poets. The Embargo, a savage attack on President Thomas Jefferson published in 1808, reflected Dr. Bryant's Federalist political views. The first edition quickly sold out—partly because of the publicity earned by the poet's young age—and a second, expanded edition, which included Bryant's translation of Classical verse, was printed. The youth wrote little poetry while preparing to enter Williams College as a sophomore, but upon leaving Williams after a single year and then beginning to read law, he regenerated his passion for poetry through encounter with the English pre-Romantics and, particularly, William Wordsworth.

Poetry

Although "Thanatopsis", his most famous poem, has been said to date from 1811, it is much more probable that Bryant began its composition in 1813, or even later[citation needed]. What is known about its publication is that his father took some pages of verse from his son's desk and submitted them, along with his own work, to the North American Review in 1817. The Review was edited by Edward Tyrrel Channing at the time and, upon receiving it, read the poem to his assistant, who immediately exclaimed, "That was never written on this side of the water!"[4] Someone at the North American joined two of the son's discrete fragments, gave the result the Greek-derived title Thanatopsis ("meditation on death"), mistakenly attributed it to the father, and published it. With all the errors,[clarification needed] it was well-received, and soon Bryant was publishing poems with some regularity, including "To a Waterfowl" in 1821.

"Cedarmere", William Cullen Bryant's estate in Roslyn, NY

On January 11, 1821,[5] Bryant, still striving to build a legal career, married Frances Fairchild. Soon after, having received an invitation to address the Harvard University Phi Beta Kappa Society at the school's August commencement, Bryant spent months working on "The Ages", a panorama in verse of the history of civilization,

culminating in the establishment of the United States. That poem led a collection, entitled Poems, which he arranged to publish on the same trip to Cambridge. For that book, he added sets of lines at the beginning and end of "Thanatopsis." His career as a poet was launched. Even so, it was not until 1832, when an expanded Poems was published in the U.S. and, with the assistance of Washington Irving, in Britain, that he won recognition as America's leading poet.

His poetry has been described as being "of a thoughtful, meditative character, and makes but slight appeal to the mass of readers."[6]

Editorial career

Writing poetry could not financially sustain a family. From 1816 to 1825, he practiced law in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, and supplemented his income with such work as service as the town's hog reeve. Distaste for pettifoggery and the sometimes absurd judgments pronounced by the courts gradually drove him to break with the legal profession.

With the help of a distinguished and well-connected literary family, the Sedgwicks, he gained a foothold in New York City, where, in 1825, he was hired as editor, first of the New-York Review, then of the United States Review and Literary Gazette. But the magazines of that day usually enjoyed only an ephemeral life-span. After two years of fatiguing effort to breathe life into periodicals, he became Assistant Editor of the New-York Evening Post under William Coleman, a newspaper founded by Alexander Hamilton that was surviving precariously. Within two years, he was Editor-in-Chief and a part owner. He remained the Editor-in-Chief for half a century (1828–78). Eventually, the Evening-Post became not only the foundation of his fortune but also the means by which he exercised considerable political power in his city, state, and nation.

Photograph of Bryant by Mathew Brady, c. 1860–65

Ironically, the boy who first tasted fame for his diatribe against Thomas Jefferson and his party became one of the key supporters in the Northeast of that same party under Jackson. Bryant's views, always progressive though not quite populist, in course led him to join the Free Soilers, and when the Free Soil Party became a core of the new

Republican Party in 1856, Bryant vigorously campaigned for John Frémont. That exertion enhanced his standing in party councils, and in 1860, he was one of the prime Eastern exponents of Abraham Lincoln, whom he introduced at Cooper Union. (That "Cooper Union speech" lifted Lincoln to the nomination, and then the presidency.)

Bryant edited the very successful Picturesque America which was published between 1872 and 1874. This two-volume set was lavishly illustrated and described scenic places in the United States and Canada.[7]

Later years

In his last decade, Bryant shifted from writing his own poetry to a blank verse translation of Homer's works. He assiduously worked on the Iliad and The Odyssey from 1871 to 1874. He is also remembered as one of the principal authorities on homeopathy and as a hymnist for the Unitarian Church—both legacies of his father's enormous influence on him.

Bryant died in 1878 of complications from an accidental fall suffered after participating in a Central Park ceremony honoring Italian patriot Giuseppe Mazzini.

Critical response

Portrait by Wyatt Eaton, ca 1878 (Brooklyn Museum)

Poet and literary critic Thomas Holley Chivers said that the "only thing [Bryant] ever wrote that may be called Poetry is 'Thanatopsis', which he stole line for line from the Spanish. The fact is, that he never did anything but steal—as nothing he ever wrote is original."[8] Contemporary critic Edgar Allan Poe, on the other hand, praised Bryant and specifically the poem "June" in his essay "The Poetic Principle":

The rhythmical flow, here, is even voluptuous—nothing could be more melodious. The intense melancholy which seems to well up, perforce, to the surface of all the poet's cheerful sayings about his grave, we find thrilling us to the soul—while there is the truest poetic elevation in the thrill... the impression left is one of a pleasurable sadness.[9]

Editor and children's writer Mary Mapes Dodge wrote that Bryant's poems "have wrought vast and far-reaching good in the world." She predicted, "You will admire more and more, as you grow older, the noble poems of this great and good man."[10]

Bryant's poetry is tender and graceful, pervaded by a contemplative melancholy, and a love of solitude and the silence of the woods. Though he was brought up to admire Pope, and in his early youth imitated him, he was one of the first American poets to throw off his influence. He had a high sense of duty, was a prominent and patriotic citizen, and enjoyed the esteem and even the reverence of his fellow-countrymen.

Legacy

Asher Durand's Kindred Spirits depicts William Cullen Bryant with Thomas Cole, in this quintessentially Hudson River School work.

Statue of William Cullen Bryant in Bryant Park adjacent to the New York Public Library

In 1884, New York City's Reservoir Square, at the intersection of 42nd Street and Sixth Avenue, was renamed Bryant Park in his honor. The city later named a public high school in Long Island City, Queens in his honor.

Although he is now thought of as a New Englander[citation needed], Bryant, for most of his lifetime, was thoroughly a New Yorker—and a very dedicated one at that. He was a major force behind the idea that became Central Park, as well as a leading proponent of creating the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He was one of a group of founders of New York Medical College.[11] He had close affinities with the Hudson River School of art and was an intimate friend of Thomas Cole. He defended immigrants and, at some financial risk to himself, championed the rights of workers to form labor unions.

As a writer, Bryant was an early advocate of American literary nationalism, and his own poetry focusing on nature as a metaphor for truth established a central pattern in the American literary tradition.

A recently-published book,[12] however, argues that a reassessment is long overdue. It finds great merit in a couple of short stories Bryant wrote while trying to build interest in periodicals he edited. More importantly, it perceives a poet of great technical sophistication who was a progenitor of Walt Whitman, to whom he was a mentor.[12]

Martin Luther King, Jr quoted Bryant in his speech "Give Us the Ballot", when he says: There is something in this universe which justifies William Cullen Bryant in saying: “Truth crushed to earth will rise again.”[13]

Further reading

Muller, Gilbert H. William Cullen Bryant: Author of America. New York: State University of New York Press, 2008. ISBN 978-0-7914-7467-9

Symington, Andrew James. William Cullen Bryant: a biographical sketch : with selections from his poems and other writings. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1880. Google Books.

References

William Cullen Bryant: An American Voice by Frank Gado (ISBN 978-1-58465-619-7) William Cullen Bryant by Charles H. Brown (ISBN 978-0-684-12370-7) This article incorporates public domain text from : Cousin, John William (1910). A Short

Biographical Dictionary of English Literature. London, J. M. Dent & Sons; New York, E. P. Dutton.

Notes

1. ̂ Nelson, Randy F. The Almanac of American Letters. Los Altos, California: William Kaufmann, Inc., 1981: 48. ISBN 0-86576-008-X

2. ̂ Ehrlich, Eugene and Gorton Carruth. The Oxford Illustrated Literary Guide to the United States. New York: Oxford University Press, 1982: 46. ISBN 0-19-503186-5

3. ̂ Ehrlich, Eugene and Gorton Carruth. The Oxford Illustrated Literary Guide to the United States. New York: Oxford University Press, 1982: 56. ISBN 0-19-503186-5

4. ̂ Brooks, Van Wyck. The Flowering of New England. New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1952: 116.

5. ̂ Vital Records of Great Barrington, Massachusetts, to the Year 1850. Gt Barrington, MA: NEHGS. 1904(Google Books) His 1878 biographer, Parke Godwin, confused the issue of the marriage date through a typographical error, as explained at Genealogy.com

6. ̂ Alexander K. McClure, ed (1902). Famous American Statesmen & Orators. VI. New York: F. F. Lovell Publishing Company. pp. 62.

7. ̂ Antiquemapsandprints.com8. ̂ Parks, Edd Winfield. Ante-Bellum Southern Literary Critics. Athens, GA: University of Georgia

Press, 1962: 175.9. ̂ Sova, Dawn B. Edgar Allan Poe: A to Z. New York: Checkmark Books, 2001: 37. ISBN 0-8160-

4161-X10. ̂ Sorby, Angela. Schoolroom Poets: Childhood, Performance, and the Place of American Poetry,

1865–1917. Durham, NH: University of New Hampshire Press, 2005: 77. ISBN 1-58465-458-911. ̂ NYMC.edu12. ^ a bFrank Gado, ed (1996). Famous American Statesmen & Orators. New York: Antoca. pp. 198.13. ̂ http://mlk-kpp01.stanford.edu/index.php/encyclopedia/documentsentry/

doc_give_us_the_ballot_address_at_the_prayer_pilgrimage_for_freedom

External links

Wikiquote has a collection of quotations related to: William Cullen Bryant

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Works

Works by William Cullen Bryant at Project Gutenberg Selected Poems and Songs by William Cullen Bryant Works by or about William Cullen Bryant in libraries (WorldCat catalog) Bryant's edition of the Odyssey

Other

Essay on William Cullen Bryant by Wynn Yarborough Mr. Lincoln and Friends: William Cullen Bryant William Cullen Bryant Homestead in Cummington, Mass. William Cullen Bryant at Find a Grave "Perspectives in American Literature - A Research and Reference Guide - An Ongoing Project" by

Paul P. Reuben