The poetical works of John Greenleaf Whittier in four volumes |
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THE PENNSYLVANIA PILGRIM. |
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The poetical works of John Greenleaf Whittier | ||
THE PENNSYLVANIA PILGRIM.
The beginning of German emigration to America may be traced to the personal influence of William Penn, who in 1677 visited the Continent, and made the acquaintance of an intelligent and highly cultivated circle of Pietists, or Mystics, who, reviving in the seventeenth century the spiritual faith and worship of Tauler and the “Friends of God” in the fourteenth, gathered about the pastor Spener, and the young and beautiful Eleonora Johanna Von Merlau. In this circle originated the Frankfort Land Company, which bought of William Penn, the Governor of Pennsylvania, a tract of land near the new city of Philadelphia.
The company's agent in the New World was a rising young lawyer, Francis Daniel Pastorius, son of Judge Pastorius, of Windsheim, who, at the age of seventeen, entered the University of Altorf. He studied law at Strasburg, Basle, and Jena, and at Ratisbon, the seat of the Imperial Government, obtained a practical knowledge of international polity. Successful in all his examinations and disputations, he received the degree of Doctor of Law at Nuremberg in 1676. In 1679 he was a law-lecturer at Frankfort, where he became deeply interested in the teachings of Dr. Spener. In 1680–81 he travelled in France, England, Ireland, and Italy with his friend Herr Von Rodeck. “I was,” he says, “glad to enjoy again the company of my Christian friends, rather than be with Von Rodeck feasting and dancing.” In 1683, in company with a small number of German Friends, he emigrated to America, settling upon the Frankfort Company's tract between the Schuylkill and the Delaware rivers. The township was divided into
In the year 1688 he drew up a memorial against slaveholding, which was adopted by the Germantown Friends and sent up to the Monthly Meeting, and thence to the Yearly Meeting at Philadelphia. It is noteworthy as the first protest made by a religious body against Negro Slavery. The original document was discovered in 1844 by the Philadelphia antiquarian, Nathan Kite, and published in The Friend (Vol. XVIII. No. 16). It is a bold and direct appeal to the best instincts of the heart. “Have not,” he asks, “these negroes as much right to fight for their freedom as you have to keep them slaves?”
Under the wise direction of Pastorius, the Germantown settlement grew and prospered. The inhabitants planted orchards and vineyards, and surrounded themselves with souvenirs of their old home. A large number of them were linen-weavers, as well as small farmers. The Quakers were the principal sect, but men of all religions were tolerated, and lived together in harmony. In 1692 Richard Frame published, in what he called verse, a Description of Pennsylvania, in which he alludes to the settlement:—
“The German town of which I spoke before,Which is at least in length one mile or more,
Where lives High German people and Low Dutch,
Whose trade in weaving linen cloth is much,—
There grows the flax, as also you may know
That from the same they do divide the tow.
Their trade suits well their habitation.—
We find convenience for their occupation.”
Pastorius seems to have been on intimate terms with William Penn, Thomas Lloyd, Chief Justice Logan, Thomas Story, and other leading men in the Province belonging to his own religious society, as also with Kelpius, the learned Mystic of the Wissahickon, with the pastor of the Swedes' church, and the leaders of the Mennonites. He wrote a description of Pennsylvania, which was published at Frankfort and Leipsic in 1700 and 1701. His Lives of the Saints, etc., written in German and dedicated to Professor Schurmberg, his old teacher, was published in 1690. He left behind him many unpublished manuscripts covering a very wide range of subjects, most of which are now lost. One huge manuscript folio, entitled Hive Beestock, Melliotropheum Alucar, or Rusca Apium, still remains, containing one thousand pages with about one hundred lines to a page. It is a medley of knowledge and fancy, history, philosophy, and poetry, written in seven languages. A large portion of his poetry is devoted to the pleasures of gardening, the description of flowers, and the care of bees. The following specimen of his punning Latin is addressed to an orchard-pilferer:—
“Quisquis in hæc furtim reptas viridaria nostraTangere fallaci poma caveto manu,
Si non obsequeris faxit Deus omne quod opto,
Cum malis nostris ut mala cuncta feras.”
Professor Oswald Seidensticker, to whose papers in Der Deutsche Pioneer and that able periodical the Penn Monthly, of Philadelphia, I am indebted for many of the foregoing facts in regard to the German pilgrims of the New World, thus closes his notice of Pastorius:—
“No tombstone, not even a record of burial, indicates where his remains have found their last resting-place, and the pardonable desire to associate the homage due to this distinguished man with some visible memento cannot
The Pilgrims of Plymouth have not lacked historian and poet. Justice has been done to their faith, courage, and self-sacrifice, and to the mighty influence of their endeavors to establish righteousness on the earth. The Quaker pilgrims of Pennsylvania, seeking the same object by different means, have not been equally fortunate. The power of their testimony for truth and holiness, peace and freedom, enforced only by what Milton calls “the unresistible might of meekness,” has been felt through two centuries in the amelioration of penal severities, the abolition of slavery, the reform of the erring, the relief of the poor and suffering,—felt, in brief, in every step of human progress. But of the men themselves, with the single exception of William Penn, scarcely anything is known. Contrasted, from the outset, with the stern, aggressive Puritans of New England, they have come to be regarded as “a feeble folk,” with a personality as doubtful as their unrecorded graves. They were not soldiers, like Miles Standish; they had no figure so picturesque as Vane, no leader so rashly brave and haughty as Endicott. No Cotton Mather wrote their Magnalia; they had no awful drama of supernaturalism in which Satan and his angels were actors; and the only witch mentioned in their simple annals was a poor old Swedish woman, who, on complaint of
It will be sufficiently apparent to the reader that, in the poem which follows, I have attempted nothing beyond a study of the life and times of the Pennsylvania colonist,—a simple picture of a noteworthy man and his locality. The colors of my sketch are all very sober, toned down to the quiet and dreamy atmosphere through which its subject is visible. Whether, in the glare and tumult of the present time, such a picture will find favor may well be questioned. I only know that it has beguiled
Hail, future men of Germanopolis!
Let the young generations yet to be
Look kindly upon this.
Think how your fathers left their native land,—
Dear German-land! O sacred hearths and homes!—
And, where the wild beast roams,
In patience planned
New forest-homes beyond the mighty sea,
There undisturbed and free
To live as brothers of one family.
What pains and cares befell,
What trials and what fears,
Remember, and wherein we have done well
Follow our footsteps, men of coming years!
Where we have failed to do
Aright, or wisely live,
Be warned by us, the better way pursue,
And, knowing we were human, even as you,
Pity us and forgive!
Farewell, Posterity!
Farewell, dear Germany!
Forevermore farewell!
From the Latin of Francis Daniel Pastorius in the Germantown Records. 1688.
PRELUDE.
I sing the Pilgrim of a softer climeAnd milder speech than those brave men's who brought
To the ice and iron of our winter time
A will as firm, a creed as stern, and wrought
With one mailed hand, and with the other fought.
Simply, as fits my theme, in homely rhyme
I sing the blue-eyed German Spener taught,
Through whose veiled, mystic faith the Inward Light,
Steady and still, an easy brightness, shone,
Transfiguring all things in its radiance white.
The garland which his meekness never sought
I bring him; over fields of harvest sown
With seeds of blessing, now to ripeness grown,
I bid the sower pass before the reapers' sight.
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay
Of purple cloud, on which the evening star
Shone like a jewel on a scimitar,
Hush of the woods a murmur seemed to creep,
The Schuylkill whispering in a voice of sleep.
Rested at last, and from their long day's browse
Came the dun files of Krisheim's home-bound cows.
The rivers like two mighty arms were thrown,
Marked by the smoke of evening fires alone,
With its fair women and its stately men
Gracing the forest court of William Penn,
Of oak and pine the dryads held their claims,
And lent its streets their pleasant woodland names.
Looked city-ward, then stooped to prune again
Her vines and simples, with a sigh of pain.
In the oak clearing, and, as daylight failed,
Slow, overhead, the dusky night-birds sailed.
With low-bent head as if with sorrow weighed,
Daniel Pastorius slowly came and said,
Silent before her, wrestling with the mood
Of one who sees the evil and not good.
A slow, faint smile across his features broke,
Sadder than tears. “Dear heart,” he said, “our folk
Are frail; our elders have their selfish ends,
And few dare trust the Lord to make amends
For the dumb slaves the startled meeting heard
As if a stone its quiet waters stirred;
A ripple of dissent which downward ran
In widening circles, as from man to man.
Of tender fear that some their guide outwent,
Troublers of Israel. I was scarce intent
Of gallery Friends, in dumb and piteous show,
I saw, methought, dark faces full of woe.
They toiled and suffered; I was made aware
Of shame and wrath and anguish and despair!
With cautious phrase, a Voice there seemed to be,
‘As ye have done to these ye do to me!’
Of anise, mint, and cumin, till the sun
Set, leaving still the weightier work undone.
If these be weak? Who shall rebuke the wrong,
If these consent? How long, O Lord! how long!”
With folded arms, and eyes that sought the ground,
Walked musingly his little garden round.
Rare plants of power and herbs of healing grew,
Such as Van Helmont and Agrippa knew.
With the mild mystics of his dreamy age
He read the herbal signs of nature's page,
Fair as herself, in boyhood's happy hours,
The pious Spener read his creed in flowers.
Touching with finger-tip an aloe, rife
With leaves sharp-pointed like an Aztec knife
From the rare gardens of John Evelyn,
Brought from the Spanish Main by merchantmen.
And, year by year, its patient leaves unfold,
Till the young eyes that watched it first are old.
A sudden beauty, brightness, and perfume,
The century-moulded bud shall burst in bloom.
Grow with the years, and, after long delay,
Break into bloom, and God's eternal Yea
Who now, by faith alone, behold its stem
Crowned with the flowers of Freedom's diadem.
Remains for us. The wrong indeed is great,
But love and patience conquer soon or late.”
Than youth's caress upon the head of her
Pastorius laid his hand. “Shall we demur
We dream not of, the slow-grown bud may flower,
And what was sown in weakness rise in power!”
“Procul este profani!” Anna led
To where their child upon his little bed
Must bearers of a heavy burden be,
Our boy, God willing, yet the day shall see
Slave and slave-owner shall no longer meet,
But all sit equal at the Master's feet.”
Set the low walls a-glimmer, showed the cock
Rebuking Peter on the Van Wyck clock,
By side with Fox and Behmen, played at hide
And seek with Anna, midst her household pride
Of costly cloth or silver cup, but where,
Tasting the fat shads of the Delaware,
And quoted Horace o'er her home-brewed beer,
Till even grave Pastorius smiled to hear.
He dwelt in peace with God and man, and gave
Food to the poor and shelter to the slave.
The righteous code by Penn and Sidney framed,
And men withheld the human rights they claimed.
And hardened avarice, on its gains intent,
Stifled the inward whisper of dissent.
On tender hearts. At last Pastorius bore
Their warning message to the Church's door
Wrought ever after in the souls who heard,
And a dead conscience in its grave-clothes stirred
Of Hebrew custom, patriarchal use,
Good in itself if evil in abuse.
Discerning through the decent fig-leaf dress
Of the poor plea its shame of selfishness.
He hid the outcast, and bewrayed him not;
And, when his prey the human hunter sought,
And proffered cheer prolonged the master's stay,
To speed the black guest safely on his way.
His life to some great cause, and finds his friends
Shame or betray it for their private ends?
In childish folly for their seats above;
And that fond mother, blinded by her love,
Might sit on either hand? Amidst his own
A stranger oft, companionless and lone,
Is not alone from scourge and cell and chain;
Sharper the pang when, shouting in his train,
The loud hosannas of their daily cry,
And make their echo of his truth a lie.
Guests, motley-minded, drew his hearth around,
And held armed truce upon its neutral ground.
Strong, hero-limbed, like those whom Homer sung,
Pastorius fancied, when the world was young,
Like bronzes in his friend Von Rodeck's hall,
Comely, if black, and not unpleasing all.
Drew round his board on Monthly Meeting day,
Genial, half merry in their friendly way.
Weak, timid, homesick, slow to understand
The New World's promise, sought his helping hand.
By Wissahickon, maddest of good men,
Dreamed o'er the Chiliast dreams of Petersen.
Snake-like in shade, the Helmstadt Mystic hid,
Weird as a wizard, over arts forbid,
And Behmen's Morning-Redness, through the Stone
Of Wisdom, vouchsafed to his eyes alone,
And saw the visions man shall see no more,
Till the great angel, striding sea and shore,
The warning trump of the Apocalypse,
Shattering the heavens before the dread eclipse.
Leaned o'er the gate; or Ranter, pure within,
Aired his perfection in a world of sin.
Teased the low back-log with his shodden staff,
Till the red embers broke into a laugh
The rugged face, half tender, half austere,
Touched with the pathos of a homesick tear!
As law the Brethren of the Manor heard,
Announced the speedy terrors of the Lord,
Above a wrecked world with complacent face
Riding secure upon his plank of grace!
Manly in thought, in simple ways a child,
His white hair floating round his visage mild,
Pleased from his neighbor's lips to hear once more
His long-disused and half-forgotten lore.
And speak in Bion's Doric, and rehearse
Cleanthes' hymn or Virgil's sounding verse.
Argued as Quaker and as Lutheran,
Ending in Christian love, as they began.
Where Sommerhausen over vales of shade
Looked miles away, by every flower delayed,
Who loved, like him, to let his memory run
Over old fields of learning, and to sun
And dream with Philo over mysteries
Whereof the dreamer never finds the keys;
For doubt of truth, but let the buckets drop
Deep down and bring the hidden waters up.
Of tender souls; to differ was not crime;
The varying bells made up the perfect chime.
The white, clear light, tradition-colored, stole
Through the stained oriel of each human soul.
His old beliefs, adjusting to the thought
That moved his soul the creed his fathers taught.
Within themselves its secret witness find,
The soul's communion with the Eternal Mind,
Scholar and peasant, lord and serf, allied,
The polished Penn and Cromwell's Ironside.
By face in Flemish detail, we may trace
How loose-mouthed boor and fine ancestral grace
Broad market-dame, and simple serving-girl
By skirt of silk and periwig in curl!
Made all men equal, none could rise above
Nor sink below that level of God's love.
The homespun frock beside the scholar's gown,
Pastorius to the manners of the town
The bookless wisdom by experience taught,
And learned to love his new-found home, while not
Their rounds, and somewhat to his spirit lent
Of their own calm and measureless content.
His song of welcome to the Western spring,
And bluebird borrowing from the sky his wing.
And all the woods with many-colored flame
Of splendor, making summer's greenness tame,
Spake to him from each kindled bush around,
And made the strange, new landscape holy ground!
Swept the white street and piled the dooryard drift,
He exercised, as Friends might say, his gift
Of corn and beans in Indian succotash;
Dull, doubtless, but with here and there a flash
Of quiet fancies, meet to while away
The slow hours measuring off an idle day.
Of love's endurance, from its niche he took
The written pages of his ponderous book.
His “Rusca Apium,” which with bees began,
And through the gamut of creation ran.
In gray Altorf or storied Nürnberg penned
Dropped in upon him like a guest to spend
The fair Von Merlau spake as waters fall
And voices sound in dreams, and yet withal
Over the roses of her gardens blown
Brought the warm sense of beauty all her own.
Of spiritual influx or of saving grace
In the wild natures of the Indian race.
From Talmud, Koran, Veds, and Pentateuch,
Sought out his pupil in his far-off nook,
Of bird, beast, reptile, in his forest range,
Of flowers and fruits and simples new and strange.
Across the water, and the friendly lands
Talked with each other from their severed strands.
Sent from his new home grew to flower and fruit
Along the Rhine and at the Spessart's foot;
Smiled at his door, the same in form and hue,
And on his vines the Rhenish clusters grew.
He set his hand to every honest work,—
Farmer and teacher, court and meeting clerk.
Grapes, flax, and thread-spool on a trefoil ground,
With “Vinum, Linum et Textrinum” wound.
Where Paul and Grotius, Scripture text and saw,
Assured the good, and held the rest in awe.
He kept the Sermon on the Mount in view,
And justice always into mercy grew.
Nor ducking-stool; the orchard-thief grew pale
At his rebuke, the vixen ceased to rail,
The slanderer faltered at the witness-stand,
And all men took his counsel for command.
Of tenderer skies than German land knew of,
Green calm below, blue quietness above,
That, with a sense of loving Fatherhood
And childlike trust in the Eternal Good,
Hushed strife, and taught impatient zeal to wait
The slow assurance of the better state?
O'er jagged ice, relieved by granite gray,
Blew round the men of Massachusetts Bay?
What hints of pitiless power and terror spoke
In waves that on their iron coast-line broke?
The sectary yielded to the citizen,
And peaceful dwelt the many-creeded men.
The air to madness, and no steeple flung
Alarums down from bells at midnight rung.
Washed all his war-paint off, and in the place
Of battle-marches sped the peaceful chase,
Giving to kindness what his native pride
And lazy freedom to all else denied.
Traditions that his swarthy neighbors told
By wigwam-fires when nights were growing cold,
Its dreams, and held their childish faith more true
To God and man than half the creeds he knew.
Beneath the warm wind waves of green and gold;
The planted ear returned its hundred-fold.
Than that which by the Rhine stream shines upon
The purpling hillsides with low vines o'errun.
Tried with light bill, that scarce a petal stirred,
The Old World flowers to virgin soil transferred;
The young boughs down, their gold and russet blending,
Made glad his heart, familiar odors lending
Life-everlasting, bay, and eglantine,
And all the subtle scents the woods combine.
Warm, tender, restful, sweet with woodland balm,
Came to him, like some mother-hallowed psalm
Of labor, winding off from memory's reel
A golden thread of music. With no peal
The scattered settlers through green forest-ways
Walked meeting-ward. In reverent amaze
Shade of the alders on the rivulet's rim,
Seek the Great Spirit's house to talk with Him.
And made intense by sympathy, outside
The sparrows sang, and the gold-robin cried,
Breathed through the open windows of the room
From locust-trees, heavy with clustered bloom.
Whose fervor jail nor pillory could tame,
Proud of the cropped ears meant to be their shame,
In Indian isles; pale women who had bled
Under the hangman's lash, and bravely said
And gray old soldier-converts, seamed with scars
From every stricken field of England's wars.
Each waiting heart, till haply some one felt
On his moved lips the seal of silence melt.
Of a diviner life from soul to soul,
Baptizing in one tender thought the whole.
The friendly group still lingered at the door,
Greeting, inquiring, sharing all the store
Down the green vistas of the woodland strayed,
Whispered and smiled and oft their feet delayed.
Did light girl laughter ripple through the bushes,
As brooks make merry over roots and rushes?
The ear of silence heard, and every sound
Its place in nature's fine accordance found.
Old kindly faces, youth and maidenhood
Seemed, like God's new creation, very good!
Pastorius went his way. The unscared bird
Sang at his side; scarcely the squirrel stirred
And, wheresoe'er the good man looked or trod,
He felt the peace of nature and of God.
He loved all beauty, without fear of harm,
And in his veins his Teuton blood ran warm.
He made his own no circuit-judge to try
The freer conscience of his neighbors by.
Gracious and sweet, the better way was shown,
The joy of one, who, seeking not his own,
The thorns and shards of duty overpast,
And daily life, beyond his hope's forecast,
And flowers upspringing in its narrow round,
And all his days with quiet gladness crowned.
He hummed what seemed like Altorf's Burschensong;
His good wife smiled, and did not count it wrong.
His Memory, while he trod the New World's strand,
A double-ganger walked the Fatherland!
Shone on his quiet hearth, he missed the sight
Of Yule-log, Tree, and Christ-child all in white;
Old wait-songs sounding down his native street,
And watched again the dancers' mingling feet;
He held the plain and sober maxims fast
Of the dear Friends with whom his lot was cast.
He loved the bird's song in his dooryard trees,
And the low hum of home-returning bees;
Down the long street, the beauty and perfume
Of apple-boughs, the mingling light and gloom
With sun-threads; and the music the wind drew,
Mournful and sweet, from leaves it overblew.
And through the common sequence of events,
He felt the guiding hand of Providence
And lo! all other voices far and near
Died at that whisper, full of meanings clear.
The wandering lights, that all-misleading run
Went out like candles paling in the sun.
It led, as in the vision of the seer
The wheels moved as the spirit in the clear
Watching the living splendor sink or rise,
Its will their will, knowing no otherwise.
He walked by faith and not the letter's sight,
And read his Bible by the Inward Light.
Frozen in their creeds like fish in winter's pool,
Tried the large tolerance of his liberal school,
He welcomed all the seeking souls who came,
And no man's faith he made a cause of blame.
His own dear Friends sit by him knee to knee,
In social converse, genial, frank, and free.
Who owned it first) upon the circle fell,
Hushed Anna's busy wheel, and laid its spell
To solemnize his shining face of mirth;
Only the old clock ticked amidst the dearth
In that soul-sabbath, till at last some word
Of tender counsel or low prayer was heard.
And take love's message, went their homeward way;
So passed in peace the guileless Quaker's day.
A truer idyl than the bards have told
Of Arno's banks or Arcady of old.
And century-rooted mosses o'er it creep,
The Nürnberg scholar and his helpmeet sleep.
In Bartram's garden, did John Woolman cast
A glance upon it as he meekly passed?
That tender soul, and for the slave's redress
Lend hope, strength, patience? It were vain to guess.
Set in the fresco of tradition's wall
Like Jotham's bramble, mattereth not at all.
And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,
And every duty pays at last its cost.
God sent the answer to his life-long prayer;
The child was born beside the Delaware,
Guided his people unto nobler ends,
And left them worthier of the name of Friends.
And over all the exile's Western home,
From sea to sea the flowers of freedom bloom!
But not for thee, Pastorius! Even so
The world forgets, but the wise angels know.
The poetical works of John Greenleaf Whittier | ||