Welcome to the sunny Vineland,
Which thy fathers sought of old.”
To this friend to whom Miss Whittier writes so lovingly, the poet also says in a letter:
“I cannot but feel that thou hast greatly over-rated the benefits derived from my society and friendship. In fact, I feel very much as a debtor in these hard times might be supposed to feel if his creditor should take occasion to thank him for his indebtedness. The obligation is on my side rather than thine. To me and mine thou hast been an ever kind and sympathizing friend—one whom we never met without pleasure or parted with without regret. For myself, as for them, my heart thanks thee. Thou hast cheered us and helped us in many ways by example as well as words. We have read, thought, hoped, feared, enjoyed, and suffered together and the ties of affection and sympathy so woven from the very tissues of our lives are not easily severed. We miss thee greatly in our little circle; we shall often speak of thee in the dark winter days and long to see thy familiar face in the light of our evening fires.
“What beautiful and serene November days we have had! The weather now grows colder with keen premonitions of winter. W—— has gone to Washington. He started on seventh day morning. I saw the poor fellow off. There was a prophecy of home-sickness in his face as he left. We shall miss him. Banks is governor by twenty-four thousand plurality. The morning after election Elizabeth crowned his picture with thy wreath. Mother sends much love. So does Lizzy [his sister Lizzy]. We shall be glad to hear from thee.”
XII
One day in the garden room Whittier spoke laughingly of some early stories of his that he had recently found when rummaging in the garret. He assured his listener—the writer—that they were not so bad! No persuasion, however, could induce him to show them, or even tell her more about them. But not a few of his poems have a dramatic touch which suggests that had he not been reformer and poet, he would have been famous in romance.
It may have been this faculty of romance which has given to “My Playmate,” “In School Days,” and several other of his poems touches which might well be construed into a meaning more tender than friendship alone. Another such is “A Valentine,” written to this same friend of Elizabeth and of the poet himself, and never published. On the envelope was written in the handwriting of the recipient, “Valentine from J. G. W.—1849.” It reads:
“To M——
Long have I sought and vainly have I yearned