Looking Backward

Looking Backward.
175.1

Nicholson, began a home. Including lahed at that time,
many sportive s lah poems by who spent som ded months
In he was editing e editing the Pennsylvania collection was mak It.
WRI and gave no help of Whittier wa noyed when a handsomely
He was naturally bound manuscript was wa handed him, he would write & preface for it.
He had hoped th the “vain draains and had been consigned volume of neat
with a request that consigned to obitvion and did not relish follies of his early times
the ratsing of their cabitvion and didenga hosts whil in serious work.
But it was in manuserine consentod for the perunal of
Intimate friend with only, and to furnish the desired showing given below.
The lines have a value the result the attitude preface,
of the poet in toward the less unseinen tanultions of his youth. middie life
The tion unique volume referred to. In Whittier’s handwriting, ten with its introdue- session of
Miss Nicholson’s relatives, and the poem
Is now in the pos is made pubile in this week’s independent.)
Sins of my luckless boyhood: Ghosts of rhymes!
Vain dreams and follies of my early times!
Fruits of brief respite from the student’s lore,
Or conned at intervals of labor o’er.
When stretched at ease where oaken shad- ows lay,
And the stream winded at my feet away:
The unconscious ox that panted at my side,
The dog that fondly his young master eyed,
And, on the hough above the
Sins of my luckless boyhood: Ghosts of
Vain dreams and follien of my early times! rhymes!
Fruits of brief respite from the student’s lore,
Or conned at intervals of labor o’er,
When stretched at ease where onken shad- ows lay,
And the stream winded at my feet away;
The unconscious ox that panted at my side,
The dog that fondly his young master eyed,
And, on the boughs above, the forest bird
Alone rude snatches of their measure heard-
Or uttered when the world’s enchantment first
On dazzled eye or kindling spirit burst;
When flattery’s voice in woman’s gentiest tone
Woke thoughts and feelings heretofore un- known:
When halls where wealth and beauty, wit and mirth,
And taste refined, and eloquence and worth
Felt and diffused the Intellect’s high joy,
Opened to welcome even a rustic boy;
Or where ambition’s lip of flame and fear
Burned like the Tempter’s at my listening ear,
And a proud spirit, hidden deep and long.
Rose up for strife, stern, resoluto, and
strong. Conscious of power, and proudly looking up
To the high places of the land with hope.
The idle dreams of the enthusiast boy, Imagination’s sorrow and its joy-
Woes upon paper, misery in reams,
Distress in albums, and despair in dreams-
The dim world of the ideal-all in vain
And shadowy tribulation of the brain-
The Berkleyism of poetry, which sees
The real a dream, and dreams realities-
Thoughts born of feelings now disowned and
spurned, Breathings of hopes for which my spirit earned-
I look upon ye with no kindly gaze-
Ye frall mementos of my boyish days!
I love not now, with manhood’s soberer eye,
To read the lessons of your vanity.
Record of time misspent, of mind abused,
Of God given powers in folly’s service used!
Oh, for the power to dedicate anew
Heart, soul, and spirit to the right and true-
To offer up on Duty’s holy shrine
The morning Incense of a heart like mine!
But vain the wish! Let the time past suffice
For Idle thoughts and worse than vanities.
Thy will, Oh, Father! hath it not been known?
Thy gentle teachings, have they not been known?
Have I not heard amid life’s stormy din
The voice of bland entreaty entering in,
When ‘midst my selfish atms of power and fame.
The mournful sighing of the captive came,
And a proud heart through all its triple steel
Molted at others’ woe, and learned to feel?
Oh, for thine ald to bend anew the knee,
And turn my spirit wholly unto thee;
To give up all-nay, cease to claim as mine
In pride of of heart, powers which alone are thine;
To thee the abused and wasted gifts restore,
Nor dare abuse thy holy bounty more!
And thou whose partial hand bath kindly
penned These frall and wayside offerings of a friend-
Who, cold and calm in outward seeming, yet
Hath never learned a kindness to forget-
Thou unto whom is given that gift of mind
Which, pure itself, delighteth still
Beauty In all things, anxious to find to make known
Another’s gifts, while careless of thine own-
Forgive me if, in gazing coolly now,
With manhood’s cautious eye and thought worn brow,
Even with a grateful sense of secret gladness,
There blends the shadow of regretful sad-ness.