Sweetly familiar to both England’s years.
Peaceful by birthright as a virgin lake
The lily’s anchorage which no eyes behold
Save those of stars, yet for thy brother’s sake
That lay in bonds, thou blew’st a blast as bold,
As that wherewith the heart of Roland brake
Far heard through Pyrennean valleys cold.
If there is any one in our age whom all men will admit to have been born a poet, it is Whittier. He is less indebted to art, to scholastic culture, to the influences of literary companionship, than any of his brethren. He is a fiery apostle of human brotherhood, and has chanted anathemas against war, and every form of cruelty and superstition. He is eminently a national poet. His mind is in full sympathy with the progressive ideas of the New World.—Frances H. Underwood.