“She is not that for which youth hoped,
But she hath blessings all her own,
Thoughts pure as lilies newly oped,
And faith to sorrow given alone:
. . . . . . . .
‘I am she
Whom the gods love, Tranquillity:
That other whom you seek forlorn
Half earthly was: but I am born
Of the immortals, and our race
Wears still some sadness on its face:
He wins me late, but keeps me long,
Who, dowered with every gift of passion,
In that fierce flame can forge and fashion
Of sin and self the anchor strong;
Can thence compel the driving force
Of daily life’s mechanic course,
Nor less the nobler energies
Of needful toil and culture wise;
Whose soul is worth the tempter’s lure,
Who can renounce, and yet endure,
To him I come, not lightly wooed,
But won by silent fortitude.’”[101]
From this time forward, however he might be subject to transient moods, as one with so much sensibility would inevitably be, Lowell was yet free from the violent and tempestuous fluctuations of mood which heretofore had marked his course. The first desolation over, that influence which during Mrs. Lowell’s lifetime had always been accompanied by the dark shadow of a threatened loss, now became, paradoxical as the phrase may be, permanent and profound. No human accident could affect it, and as Lowell’s own powers had passed through the experimental stage, there came a steadiness of aim and a maturity of expression which thenceforth were registered in successive sure and firm-footed performances. It may truly be said that Lowell had now found himself, and that from this period dates the full orbit of a course which had heretofore been more or less eccentric, but now could be reasonably calculated. Surprises there were to be, but surprises of excellent achievement, rather than of new ventures.
It is therefore with special interest that one notes the character of the work which occupied Lowell in this eventful season of 1854-1855. Some time before he had been asked by his kinsman who directed the Lowell Institute to give a course of lectures before it, and had been paid in advance; he had made some movement toward preparation, but now he set about it in earnest, and began the delivery 9 January, 1855. There were to be twelve lectures, and he was to discourse on poetry in general and English poetry in particular. Something of the exhilaration with which he entered upon the engagement may be seen in a note written to Mr. Norton three days before the first lecture, and inclosing a ticket to the course.
“This will admit you to one of the posti distinti to witness the celebrated tableau vivant of the sacrifice of Iphigenia (Iphigenia, by particular request, Mr. J. R. Lowell). It is well known that this interesting ceremony was originally performed for the sake of raising the wind, and Mr. L. will communicate a spirit of classic reality to the performance by going through it with the same end in view.
“I write this by the hand of an amanuensis whom I have had in my employment for some time, and who has learned how to catch my ideas without my being obliged to speak—a great gain.
“(A great gain indeed! the greatest bore in the world! He thinks I am writing what he dictates at this moment because he hears the pen scratch. He pretends to be a good-natured fellow—but if you only knew him as I do! He has no more feeling than a horseradish.)
“I should have come last Saturday to Shady Hill—but you may guess how busy I have been. (It is I who have had all the work, and only my board and tobacco for wages: he pretend to hate slavery!)
“I have only just got the flood on, and feel as if I might deliver a course that will not disgrace me.
“(I almost hope they will, for what right has he to keep me shut up here? I get no walks, and he begins to keep me awake at nights with his cursed ideas as he calls them. What is an idea, I should like to know?)
“I have only one private entrance ticket to spare—but I suppose you do not want any more.