The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics Part 1

The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics.

by Various.

PREFACE.

The numerous collections of American verse share, I think, one fault in common: they include too much. Whether this has been a bid for popularity, a concession to Philistia, I cannot say; but the fact remains that all anthologies of American poetry are, so far as I know, more or less uncritical. The aim of the present book is different. In no case has a poem been included because it is widely known. The purpose of this compilation is solely that of preserving, in attractive and permanent form, about one hundred and fifty of the best lyrics of America.

I am quite aware of the danger attending such exacting honor-rolls. At best, an editor's judgment is only personal, and the realization of this fact gives me no small diffidence in attempting to decide what American lyrics are best worthy of preservation. That every reader of the "American Treasury" will find some favorite poem omitted, there can be little doubt. But the effort made in this book towards a careful estimate of our lyrical poetry is at any rate, I feel sure, in a good direction.

There appear in the index of Mr. Stedman's "Poets of America" the names of over three hundred native writers. American verse in the last half century has been extraordinarily prolific. It would seem that the time has come, in the course of our national literature, for proving all things and holding fast that which is good.

The fact that the t.i.tle of this compilation instantly calls to mind that of Mr. Palgrave's scholarly collection of English lyrics need not prove a disadvantage to the book if the purpose which led to the choice of name is understood. The verse of a single century produced in a new country should not be expected to equal the poetic wealth of an old and intellectual nation. But if American poetry cannot hope to rival the poetry of the mother country, it may at least be compared with it; and the fact of such a comparative point of view will aid rather than hinder the student of our native poetry in estimating its value.

American verse has suffered at the hands both of its admirers and its enemies. Injudicious praise, no less than supercilious contempt, has reacted unfavorably on the fame of our poets. Again and again has some minor versifier been hailed as the "American Keats" or the "American Burns." Really excellent poets, though distinctly poets of second rank, have been elevated amid the blare of critical trumpets to the company of Wordsworth and Milton. All this is unprofitable and silly. But not much better is the att.i.tude of certain critics who patronize everything in the English language which has been written outside of England. Though America has added--leaving Poe out of account--no distinctly new notes to English poetry, it has added certainly not a few true ones. A nation need never apologize for its literature when it has produced such lyrics--to go no further--as "On a Bust of Dante," "Ichabod," "The Chambered Nautilus," and the "Waterfowl."

My method of arrangement is roughly chronological. The First Book, which is shorter than the others, might be called the book of Bryant; the Second, of Longfellow; and the Third, of Aldrich. Since the periods must of course overlap, this division of the poems can be at most only suggestive.

I have made it no part of my design to grant to the better known poets a larger number of lyrics than those given later and younger men. I have paid no regard to that purely conventional idea of proportion, that would a.s.sign to five or six writers a dozen selections each, and to another set of poets, in proportion to their popular fame, half that number. We can safely leave the final adjustment of all rival claims to Time, the best critic; in the meanwhile having the more modest aim of selecting, irrespective of contemporary judgments, whatever is best suited to our purpose.

A word more should be said about the t.i.tle. I have not interpreted the term lyric so rigidly as to exclude sonnets, ballads, elegiac verse, or even pieces of almost pure description. If I had held to the strictest sense of lyric, this book would never have been compiled; for I suspect nothing will strike the reader more forcibly than the fact that, despite the excellence of the poems included, there is a notable lack of unconsciousness--of pure singing quality. Such things as Pinkney's "Health" and Holmes's "Old Ironsides" are the exception. The poems are composed cleverly, but they do not quite sing themselves to their own music. The best American verse, while not insincere, is seldom wholly spontaneous. This is not saying that much spontaneous verse has not been written in this country; much has been, but the singer's voice has too often been uncultivated, and the product inartistic.

The names of many popular poets are entirely omitted. In no case, however, was this probably due to oversight. I have gone over carefully a wide field of verse, not without finding much to admire, but never quite happening upon that final touch of successful achievement where art and inspiration join. I am especially sorry to leave unrepresented a writer--more imaginative, possibly, than any American poet except Poe--whose utter contempt for technique in the ordinary sense places him wholly outside my present purpose.

I wish to acknowledge various favors kindly shown by Professor C.T.

Winchester, Professor Barrett Wendell, and Mr. H.E. Scudder. Thanks are also due Mr. T.B. Aldrich for the privilege of including the six poems from his pen, which were kindly selected for the book by the poet himself. The following firms deserve thanks for permitting the use of copyrighted poems:

_Houghton, Mifflin & Co.:_

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Christopher Pea.r.s.e Cranch, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Annie Adams Fields, Louise Imogen Guiney, Oliver Wendell Holmes, William Dean Howells, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, Thomas William Parsons, John James Piatt, Lizette Woodworth Reese, Hiram Rich, Edward Rowland Sill, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Edmund Clarence Stedman, Bayard Taylor, Henry David Th.o.r.eau, Maurice Thompson, John Greenleaf Whittier, George Edward Woodberry.

Selections from the works of the foregoing writers are included "by permission of and by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of the works of said authors."

_D. Appleton & Co.:_ Fitz-Greene Halleck, William Cullen Bryant.

_Lee & Shepard:_ Julia Ward Howe.

_Porter & Coates:_ Charles Fenno Hoffman.

_Roberts Brothers:_ Emily d.i.c.kinson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise Chandler Moulton.

_Copeland & Day:_ John Banister Tabb, Richard Hovey.

_W.A. Pond & Co.:_ Stephen Collins Foster.

_Clark & Maynard:_ Nathaniel Parker Willis.

_The Ca.s.sell Publis.h.i.+ng Co.:_ John Boyle O'Reilly.

_The Century Co.:_ Richard Watson Gilder, James Whitcomb Riley (Poems in the _Century Magazine_).

_Estes & Lauriat:_ Lloyd Mifflin.

_Lamson & Wolffe:_ Bliss Carman.

_Charles Scribner's Sons:_ Henry Cuyler Bunner, Eugene Field, Sidney Lanier, Richard Henry Stoddard, Henry Van d.y.k.e.

BOOK FIRST.

AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS

The Wild Honeysuckle.

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honey'd blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet; No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by; Thus quietly thy summer goes,-- Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died--nor were those flowers more gay-- The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews At first thy little being came; If nothing once, you nothing lose, For when you die you are the same; The s.p.a.ce between is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower.

P. FRENEAU.

Song.

Who has robbed the ocean cave, To tinge thy lips with coral hue?

Who from India's distant wave For thee those pearly treasures drew?

Who from yonder orient sky Stole the morning of thine eye?

Thousand charms, thy form to deck, From sea, and earth, and air are torn; Roses bloom upon thy cheek, On thy breath their fragrance borne.

Guard thy bosom from the day, Lest thy snows should melt away.

But one charm remains behind, Which mute earth can ne'er impart; Nor in ocean wilt thou find, Nor in the circling air, a heart.

Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be, Take, oh, take that heart from me.

J. SHAW.