Whitman's Peers

William Cullen Bryant totally upset

INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD

by William Cullen Bryant

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs


No school of long experience, that the world


Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen


Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,


To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood


And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade


Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze


That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm


To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here


Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men


And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse


Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,


But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt


Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades


Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof


Of green and stirring branches is alive


And musical with birds, that sing and sport


In wantonness of spirit; while below


The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,


Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade


Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam


That waked them into life. Even the green trees


Partake the deep contentment; as they bend


To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky


Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.

Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy


Existence, than the winged plunderer


That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,


And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees


That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude


Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,


With all their earth upon them, twisting high,


Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet


Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed


Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,


Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice


In its own being. Softly tread the marge,


Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren


That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,


That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,


Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass


Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

William Cullen Bryant, here and in other poems, sounds like a pessimist. He begins “Inscription For the Entrance to a Wood” by telling us “the world is full of guilt and misery,” and that all of us would greatly benefit—loathing our lives as we do, and each other—from checking out the trees, that awesome wind, and the (stoked) squirrels and birds that dwell away from cities, commerce, buildings, trade, politics, technology, and all other men, women, and children. In short, away from life. Unlike Whitman, Bryant seems dead set on this romantic ideal, evoking places and images that are disengaged from society and what would have been the world he lived and worked (Bryant, I have read, lived in New York City where he edited The New York Evening Post). The poem has a steady beat, alternating between nine and ten syllables each line, that similarly sounds out of touch. However, the phraseology is, with a few exceptions, relatively simple like Whitman’s. Both poets obviously have good things to say about nature, and certainly many of those good things are exactly the same. But I’m reminded of that moment in “Song of Myself” where Whitman admires animals because, among other things, “They do not sweat and whine about their condition.” I imagine Whitman reading  “the world is full of guilt and misery” and rolling his eyes. In Bryant’s case, nature is a place to escape to because the city, and the ways of humanity, tick him off. In Whitman’s case, nature is not an alternative, but something else entirely. In some respects, nature and mankind are one in the same thing.

Brown of Ossawatomie

by John Greenleaf Whittier

John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day:
'I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay;
But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free,
With her children, from the gallows-stair put up a prayer for me!'

John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die;
And lo! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh:
Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild,
As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child!

The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart,
And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart;
That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent,
And round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent!

Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good!
Long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood!
Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies;
Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice.

Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the Northern rifle hear,
Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear;
But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes scale,
To teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail!

So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array;
In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay!
She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove;
And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love!

Walt Whitman and John Greenleaf Whittier knew each other. Supposedly the latter was firmly opposed and even disgusted by Whitman's poetry. And Whitman wasn’t an abolitionist, and more than likely opposed John Brown, the radical abolitionist who Whittier honors in this poem. It comes as no surprise then that the poets are apples and oranges in terms of style. Whittier's poem is in rhymed couplets, each with fourteen syllables. It's condensed and bounces around with lots of music. When we think of Whitman's lines in "Song of Myself," we think of long and undisciplined, repetitious and erratic. None of that is here. Wittier's poem is polished and meticulous, and despite the restrictions that the form demands, the poet still manages to convey some passion. However, it doesn't approach the passion that "Song of Myself" exudes. Indeed, the form of Whittier's poem doesn't really suit the content. He's talking about John Brown--somebody who vehemently opposed slavery, who attempted to arm slaves, who killed people for the cause and was executed for it. It's rather strange that Whittier  used such a conservative style to honor such a radical man. The way that "Song of Myself" is written suits the content because this was some revolutionary stuff. It's passionate, sensual, urgent, all encompassing and vast.