Join the Friends of Mount Auburn Cemetery in celebrating the poetry of some of Mount Auburn’s resident poets: Thomas Bailey Aldrich Gamaliel Bradford Christopher Pearse Cranch Oliver Wendell Holmes David McCord Louise Chandler Moulton Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Amy Lowell James Russell Lowell Maria White Lowell Frances Sargent Osgood Fanny Parnell Nathaniel Parker Willis
from
The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer‟s lingering blooms delayed, Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o‟er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age, and whispering lovers made! How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train from labour free Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o‟er the ground, And slights of art and feats of strength went round; And still as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; The dancing pair that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place; The bashful virgin‟s side-long looks of love, The matron‟s glance that would those looks reprove! These were thy charms sweet village…
When Mount Auburn’s founders looked for a picturesque site for the creation of a landscaped cemetery in the vicinity of Boston they found it nestled between Cambridge and Watertown. Here were seventy-two acres of rolling, wooded land known to Harvard students as ―Sweet Auburn.‖ Harvard students had named this land after the fictitious town in Oliver Goldsmith’s poem ―The Deserted Village.‖ When making the decision about what to call the new cemetery, the founders chose the name Mount Auburn, a simple change from what most already called the area. Many of the early lot owners, familiar with ―Sweet Auburn‖ from their days at Harvard, thought the name perfectly symbolized the ideals of the new Cemetery.
APRIL is National Poetry Month! In 1996 the Academy of American Poets launched the first annual National Poetry Month. Since its creation the impact of National Poetry Month has grown immensely. The yearly celebration now reaches an estimated audience in the tens of millions. The Academy of American Poets established a series of goals for National Poetry Month. The first and main goal of the month is to highlight the legacy and ongoing accomplishments of American poets. In order to achieve this goal, Poetry Month is dedicated to introducing more Americans to poetry, bringing poets and poetry to the public in more immediate and innovative ways and increasing the attention paid to poetry by the local and national media. The Academy is also helping to make poetry a more integral part of school curriculum, encouraging the publication, distribution and sales of poetry books and helping to increase public and private philanthropic support for poets and poetry. The Friends of Mount Auburn Cemetery is helping to support the goals of National Poetry Month by celebrating the words of some of our resident poets. It is our hope that you will be able to visit the graves of at least a few of these noted individuals. On the following pages you will find a brief biographical sketch of each poet along with a sample of their work. Also included is a map highlighting the location of the grave of each poet. Key to Map on opposite page: 1 Thomas Bailey Aldrich Lot #6109, Grapevine Path 2 Gamaliel Bradford Lot #1070, Magnolia Avenue 3 Christopher Pearse Cranch Lot #5116, Vesper Path 4 Oliver Wendell Holmes Lot #2147, Lime Avenue 5 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Lot #580, Indian Ridge Path 6 Amy Lowell Lot #3401, Bellwort Path
7 James Russell Lowell & Maria White Lowell Lot #323, Fountain Avenue 8 David McCord Lot #7012, Chestnut Avenue 9 Louise Chandler Moulton Lot #5319, Vesper Avenue 10 Frances Sargent Osgood Lot #280, Orange Path 11 Fanny Parnell Lot #167, Violet Path 12 Nathaniel Parker Willis Lot #972, Spruce Avenue
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Thomas Bailey Aldrich 1836 – 1907 # Lot 6109, Grapevine Path At the age of sixteen, Thomas Bailey Aldrich moved to New York City to pursue a career with a bank, but quickly became part of the city’s literary scene. By the time he was nineteen he was a published poet, essayist, critic and editor. In 1865 Aldrich moved to Boston and quickly found a place of his own in what was at the time the literary capital of the United States. Aldrich’s novel Story of a Bad Boy earned him the title ―father of the American novel‖ and made him a nationally known literary figure. Mark Twain even cited Aldrich’s novel as his inspiration for Tom Sawyer.
“Before the Rain” from http://www.poets-corner.org.
Before The Rain We knew it would rain, for all the morn A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst. Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens— Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind—and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!
Gamaliel Bradford 1863 – 1932 # Lot 1070, Magnolia Path
The Riot You may think my life is quiet. I find it full of change, An ever-varied diet, As piquant as „tis strange. Wild thoughts are always flying, Like sparks across my brain, Now flashing out, now dying, To kindle soon again. Fine fancies set me thrilling, And subtle monsters creep Before my sight unwilling: They even haunt my sleep. One broad, perpetual riot Enfolds me night and day. You think my life is quiet? You don‟t know what you say.
Gamaliel Bradford, a direct descendant of Governor William Bradford, had a passion for poetry from an early age. Bradford spent many years trying unsuccessfully to establish himself as a poet and writer. Bradford eventually found his niche in the literary world as a biographer of Civil War figures. He achieved success with the publication of his biography of Robert E. Lee, Lee, The American. After establishing his name as an author, Bradford’s poetry received a second look.
“The Riot” from http://www.poets-corner.org.
Christopher Pearse Cranch 1831 – 1892 # Lot 5116, Vesper Path Christopher Pearse Cranch was performing missionary work in Ohio when he was introduced to Transcendentalism. Realizing that his interest in the philosophical movement conflicted with his career in the ministry, Cranch left the church to devote his life to writing. Cranch moved to New England and became friends with Ralph Waldo Emerson, who encouraged Cranch’s writing career. Emerson published Cranch’s poems in The Dial and Cranch illustrated Emerson’s book Essays. After the friendship between Emerson and Cranch soured, Cranch devoted his talents to writing children’s books and had yet another successful career as a landscape painter.
“Bird Language” from http://www.poets-corner.org.
Bird Language One day in the bluest of summer weather, Sketching under a whispering oak, I heard five bobolinks laughing together Over some ornithological joke. What the fun was I couldn‟t discover. Language of birds is a riddle on earth. What could they find in whiteweed and clover To split their sides with such musical mirth? Was it some prank of the prodigal summer, Face in the cloud or voice in the breeze, Querulous catbird, woodpecker drummer, Cawing of crows high over the trees? Was it some chipmunk‟s chatter, or weasel Under the stone-wall stealthy and sly? Or was the joke about me and my easel, Trying to catch the tints of the sky? Still they flew tipsily, shaking all over, Bubbling with jollity, brimful of glee, While I sat listening deep in the clover, Wondering what their jargon could be. ‟Twas but the voice of a morning the brightest That ever dawned over yon shadowy hills; ‟Twas but the song of all joy that is lightest,-Sunshine breaking in laughter and trills. Vain to conjecture the words they are singing; Only by tones can we follow the tune In the full heart of summer fields ringing, Ringing the rhythmical gladness of June!
Oliver Wendell Holmes 1809 – 1894 # Lot 2147, Lime Avenue
To An Insect I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice, Wherever thou art hid, Thou testy like dogmatist, Thou pretty Katydid! Thou mindst me of gentlefolks,-Old gentlefolks are they,-Thou say‟st an undisputed thing In such a solemn way. Thou art a female, Katydid! I know it by the trill That quivers through thy piercing notes, So petulant and shrill; I think there is a knot of you Beneath the hollow tree,-A knot of spinster Katydids,-Do Katydids drink tea? O, tell me where did Katy live, And what did Katy do? And was she fair and young, And yet so wicked too? Did Katy love a naughty man, Or kiss more cheeks than one? I warrant Katy did no more Than many a Kate has done.
―Poet‖ was only one of the many hats worn by Oliver Wendell Holmes. Holmes’ wit and charm helped to make him one of New England’s most famous and well-loved citizens. While in law school, Holmes wrote ―Old Ironsides,‖ his famous poem in honor of the USS Constitution. His poem helped to save the Constitution from destruction and cast Holmes into the public eye. After only a year of law school, Holmes decided to pursue a career in medicine. He went on to practice and teach medicine in Boston but continued to write poems and other literary pieces for publication in journals and magazines. In one of his published essays Holmes called Boston the ―hub of the solar system,‖ thus coining the still-used nickname for Boston, ―the Hub.‖ “To An Insect” from http://www.poets-corner.org.
David McCord 1897 – 1997 Lot #7012, Chestnut Avenue Beloved children’s poet David McCord authored more than five hundreed poems and authored or edited more than fifty books. Suprisingly, McCord never intended to make a career in the literary world and was actually a physics major at Harvard. McCord served in the military and then returned to Harvard as the editor of Harvard Magazine. He later became a leading fundraiser for the University. After retiring from Harvard McCord concentrated on writing. He developed a new style of poetry that he called ―symmetrics.‖ Symmetrical style is characterized by five rhthmic and whimsical lines of verse. The poems he wrote in this style won him the National Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children in 1977. McCord, David, “Cocoon” in Every Time I Climb a Tree, Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1999.
COCOON The little caterpillar creeps Awhile before in silk it sleeps. It sleeps awhile before it flies, And flies awhile before it dies, And that‟s the end of three good tries.
“If there were dreams to sell” If there were dreams to sell what would you buy?
If there were dreams to sell, Do I not know full well What I would buy? Hope‟s dear delusive spell Its happy tale to tell, Joy‟s fleeting sigh. I would be young again; Youth‟s maddening bliss and bane I would recapture; Though it were keen with pain, All else seems void and vain To that fine rapture. I would be glad once more, Slip through an open door Into Life‟s glory; Keep what I spent of yore, Find what I lost before, Hear an old story. As it one day befell, Breaking Death‟s frozen spell, Love should draw nigh: If there were dreams to sell, Do I know too well What I would buy?
Louise Chandler Moulton 1835 – 1908 # Lot 5319, Vesper Avenue After a strict religious upbringing Louise Chandler Moulton moved to Boston in order to experience a more liberal view of life. In Boston she opened a salon that became the gathering point for Boston’s literary elite, including Henry Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes and James Russell Lowell. Her friendships with the literary figures that frequented her salon helped her to establish a literary career of her own. Moulton published collections of her poems and short stories and was regularly published in prestigious publications like Harper’s Bazaar and The Atlantic Monthly. In her later years she concentrated her efforts on writing travel books based on her travels through Europe.
“If There Were Dreams to Sell” from http://www.poetscorner.org.
Henry W. Longfellow 1807 – 1882 # Lot 580, Indian Ridge Path Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the most famous and popular poet of the nineteenth century. He remains one of America’s most favorite poets, remembered for his epic poems such as ―Courtship of Miles Standish‖ and ―Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.‖ After graduating from Bowdoin College Longfellow took a teaching position with his alma mater before accepting a professorship at Harvard. In 1854 he resigned from Harvard to devote himself completely to writing. Longfellow was as popular abroad as he was at home. In a single day, 10,000 copies of ―Courtship of Miles Standish‖ were sold in London. He was also the first American to have a commemorative bust placed in Westminster Abbey. Longfellow is credited as laying the foundations for a distinct American form of literature. “To the River Charles” from http://www.everypoet.com.
from To the River Charles River! That in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea! Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life. Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Many a lesson, deep and long; Thou hast been a generous giver; I can give thee but a song. Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its sadness Overflowed me, like a tide. And in better hours and brighter, When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter, And leap onward with thy stream. More than this;--thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart! „T is for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me.
Amy Lawrence Lowell 1874 – 1925 # Lot 3401, Bellwort Path
from
Lilacs
Lilacs, False blue, White Purple, Colour of lilac. Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England, Roots of lilac under all of the soil of New England, Lilacs in me because I am New England, Because my roots are in it, Because my leaves are of it, Because my flowers are for it, Because it is my country And I speak to it of itself And sing of it with my own voice Since certainly it is mine.
Amy Lowell, a descendant of several notable New England families, was a leading advocate of the imagist school of poetry. The imagists believed in using precise wording and free verse to paint a vivid visual image. Lowell was as known for her unconventional behavior— she smoked cigars, wore men’s clothing, stayed up at night and slept during the day—as she was for her poetry. In fact, many believe that the controversy that surrounded her life helped to promote and popularize her poems. Lowell published her first poem in 1910 in The Atlantic Monthly and within two years published her first book of poems. During her career Lowell published more than six hundred poems in eleven volumes. The year after her death Lowell was awarded the Pulitzer Prize (1926) for her book What’s O’Clock. “Lilacs” courtesy of http://www.poeticvoices.com.
James Russell Lowell 1819 – 1891 # Lot 323, Fountain Avenue James Russell Lowell, essayist, satirist, poet, editor, professor and diplomat, was one of the leading forces in nineteenth century American literature. After earning a law degree from Harvard, Lowell turned his attentions to literature. His early published writings were critical of society and expressed his opposition to slavery and war. Lowell succeeded Henry Longfellow as professor of modern languages at Harvard. He later became chair of the deparment. He also served as editor of The Atlantic Monthly. Lowell accepted appointments as foreign minister to Spain and England. While serving abroad, Lowell’s charm helped to increase the awareness and respect of Europeans for American literature. “She Came and Went” from http://www.poets-corner.org.
She Came and Went As a twig trembles, which a bird Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent, So is my memory thrilled and stirred;-I only know she came and went. As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, The blue dome‟s measureless content, So my soul held that moment‟s heaven;-I only know she came and went. As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps The orchards full of bloom and scent, So clove her May my wintry sleeps;-I only know she came and went. An angel stood and met my gaze, Through the low doorway of my tent; The tent is struck, the vision stays;-I only know she came and went. Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, And life‟s last oil is nearly spent, One gush of light these eyes will brim, Only to think she came and went.
from The
Morning Glory
We wreathed about our darling‟s head The morning-glory bright; Her little face looked out beneath, So full of life and light, So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say, “She is the morning-glory true, And her poor types are they.” So always from that happy time We called her by their name, And very fitting did it seem— For, sure as morning came, Behind her cradle bars she smiled To catch the first faint ray, As from the trellis smiles the flower And opens to the day. We never could have thought, O God, That she must wither up, Almost before a day was flown, Like the morning-glory‟s cup; We never thought to see her droop Her fair and noble head, Till she lay stretched before our eyes, Wilted, and cold, and dead! O Earth! in vain our aching eyes Stretch over thy green plain! Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air Her spirit to sustain; But up in groves of Paradise Full surely we shall see Our morning-glory beautiful Twine round our dear Lord‟s knee.
Maria White Lowell 1821 - 1853 # Lot 323, Fountain Avenue Maria White Lowell was the wife of poet James Russell Lowell and herself an accomplished poet. A pupil of Margaret Fuller, Lowell became a champion of the growing abolitionist movement and wrote several widely-read antislavery articles. It was, in fact, her strong views on the subject that influenced her husband’s antislavery poetry. During her time, Maria Lowell was known for her more sentimental poems, dealing with domestic and feminine themes. A volume of her poetry published by her husband two years after her death introduced readers to her more political works in which she took on themes of abolition and slavery.
Lowell, Maria White. “The Morning Glory,” in An American Anthology, 1787 – 1900, Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1900.
Frances Sargent Osgood 1811 – 1850 # Lot 280, Orange Path Frances ―Fanny‖ Sargent Osgood was a popular 19th century poet. At an early age Osgood demonstrated her skill as a poet, publishing several poems under the penname Florence. Osgood married portrait paiter Samuel Osgood and the two moved to London, where they lived for five years. While in London Osgood continued to write poetry and contributed pieces to British magazines. The Osgoods returned to the U.S. and settled in New York City. They instantly became part of the city’s social and intellectual elite. It was then that she met poet Edgar Allen Poe. Rumors spread that Osgood and Poe were more than friends, but evidence to support this claim has never surfaced.
Osgood, Frances Sargent. “A Dancing Girl” in An American Anthology, 1787 – 1900, Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1900.
A Dancing Girl She comes—the spirit of the dance! And but for those large, eloquent eyes, Where passion speaks in every glance, She‟d seem a wanderer from the skies. So light that, gazing breathless there, Lest the celestial dream should go, You‟d think the music in the air Waved the fair vision to and fro! Or that the melody‟s sweet flow Within the radiant creature played, And those soft wreathing arms of snow And white sylph feet the music made. Now gliding slow with dreamy grace, Her eyes beneath their lashes lost, Now motionless, with lifted face, And small hands on her bosom crossed. And now with flashing eyes she springs,— Her whole bright figure raised in air, As if her soul has spread its wings And poised her one wild instant there! She spoke not; but, so richly fraught With language are her glance and smile, That, when the curtain fell, I thought She had been talking all the while.
Ireland, Mother! Vein of my heart, light of mine eyes, Pulse of my life, star of my skies, Dimmed is thy beauty, sad are thy sighs. Fairest and saddest, what shall I do for thee? Ireland, Mother! Vain, ah, vain is a woman‟s prayer; Vain is a woman‟s hot despair; Naught can she do, naught can she dare,I am a woman, I can do naught for thee; Ireland, Mother! Hast thou not sons, like the ocean sands? Hast thou not sons with brave hearts and hands? Hast thou not heirs for thy broad, bright lands? What have they done,—or what will they do for thee? Ireland, Mother! Were I a man from thy glorious womb, I‟d hurl the stone from thy living tomb; Thy grief should be joy, and light thy gloom, The rose should gleam „mid thy golden broom, Thy marish wastes should blossom and bloom; I‟d smite thy foes with thy own long doom, While God‟s heaped judgements should round them loom; Were I a man, lo! This would I do for thee, Ireland, Mother!
Fanny Parnell 1848 – 1882 Lot #167, Violet Path Fanny Parnell was an Irish poet and patriot. Parnell was born in Ireland to an Irish father and an American mother. Although a part of the upper class, Parnell was sympathetic to the struggling Irish tenant farmers. Parnell traveled to America with her mother and raised money for the Irish Famine Relief Fund. She traveled the country to promote the Irish nationalist movment. She also published poems heavy with themes of Irish nationalsim in The North American Review. Parnell died suddenly and was buried at Mount Auubrn in the lot of her American relatives. Her memorial was erected in 2001 by the Parnell Society of Ireland.
“Ireland, Mother” courtesy of http://www.irelandsown.net.
Nathaniel Parker Willis 1806 – 1867 Lot #972, Spruce Avenue Nathaniel Parker Willis achieved national success as a poet while still an undergraduate at Yale University. After graduating he worked for a short time as an editor at a Boston publishing firm before devoting himself to writing. To further his literary career Willis moved to New York and became a foreign correspondent for the New York Mirror. In the Mirror New Yorkers were able to read about Willis’ encounters with notable Europeans on a weekly basis. After returning to the U.S. Willis continued to write poems and short stories. Many were published in popular and literary magazines. He also began writing plays. His plays were hailed by critics and earned him even greater fame.
Willis, Nathaniel Parker, “Spirit -Whispers” in The Poems, Sacred, Passionate and Humorous, of Nathaniel Parker Willis. New York: Clark & Austin, 1846.
Spirit Whisperers (Spirit-whisper in the poet’s ear—MORNING.)
Wake! poet, wake!—the morn has burst Through gates of stars and dew, And, wing‟d by prayer since evening nursed, Has fled to kiss the steeples first, And now stoops low to you! Oh, poet of the loving eye, For you is dress‟d this morning sky! (Spirit whisper—NOON.)
Oh, poet of the pen enchanted! A lady sits beneath a tree! At last, the flood for which she panted— The wild words for her anguish wanted, Have gush‟d in song from thee! Her dark curls sweep her knees to pray:— “God bless the poet far away!” (Third whisper—MIDNIGHT.)
King of the heart‟s deep mysteries! Your words have wings like lightning wove! This hour, o‟er hills and distant seas, They fly like flower-seeds on the breeze, And sow the world with love! King of a realm without a throne, Ruled by resistless tears alone!
We invite you to participate in the programs of the Friends of Mount Auburn Cemetery. Membership information is available at the Gatehouse information rack, the Visitors Center, and the Office. Since its founding in 1831, Mount Auburn Cemetery has retained its original purpose of being a natural setting for the commemoration of the dead and for the comfort and inspiration of the bereaved and the general public. Its grounds offer a place for reflection and for observation of nature—trees, shrubs, flowering plants, ponds, gentle hills, and birds both resident and migrant. Visitors come to study our national heritage by visiting the graves of noted Americans and enjoying the great variety of monuments and memorials. Mount Auburn Cemetery began the “rural” cemetery movement out of which grew America‟s public parks. Its beauty and historic associations make it an internationally renowned landscape. Designated a National Historic Landmark, Mount Auburn remains an active, nonsectarian cemetery offering a wide variety of interment and memorialization options. t: 617-547-7105 | f: 617-876-4405 www.mountauburn.org The Friends of Mount Auburn Cemetery is a nonprofit charitable trust promoting the appreciation and preservation of the cultural, historic and natural resources of America’s first landscaped cemetery, founded in 1831. © Friends of Mount Auburn Cemetery, 2013
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