a new england girlhood-第31部分

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〃Know　ye　the　land　where　the　cypress　and　myrtle　Are　emblems　of　deeds　that　are　done　in　their　clime；〃

and　I　was　only　trying　to　see　how　near　I　could　approach　to　his　exquisite　metre。　I　do　not　think　I　felt　at　all　murderous　in　writing　it；　but　a　more　innocent　subject　would　have　been　in　better　taste；　and　would　have　met　the　exigencies　of　the　dactyl　quite　as　well。

It　is　also　only　fair　to　myself　to　say　that　my　rhyming　was　usually　of　a　more　wholesome　kind。　I　loved　Nature　as　I　knew　her；in　our　stern；　blustering；　stimulating　New　England；and　I　chanted　the　praises　of　Winter；　of　snow…storms；　and　of　March　winds　（I　always　took　pride　in　my　birth　month；　March）；　with　hearty　delight。

Flowers　had　begun　to　bring　me　messages　from　their　own　world　when　I　was　a　very　small　child；　and　they　never　withdrew　their　companionship　from　my　thoughts；　for　there　came　summers　when　I　could　only　look　out　of　the　mill　window　and　dream　about　them。

I　had　one　pet　window　plant　of　my　own；　a　red　rosebush；　almost　a　perpetual　bloomer；　that　I　kept　beside　me　at　my　work　for　years。　I　parted　with　it　only　when　I　went　away　to　the　West；　and　then　with　regret；　for　it　had　been　to　me　like　a　human　little　friend。　But　the　wild　flowers　had　my　heart。　I　lived　and　breathed　with　them；　out　under　the　free　winds　of　heaven；　and　when　I　could　not　see　them；　I　wrote　about　them。　Much　that　I　contributed　to　those　mill…magazine　pages；　they　suggested；my　mute　teachers；　comforters；　and　inspirers。　It　seems　to　me　that　any　one　who　does　not　care　for　wild　flowers　misses　half　the　sweetness　of　this　mortal　life。

Horace　Smith's　〃Hymn　to　the　Flowers〃　was　a　continual　delight　to　me；　after　I　made　its　acquaintance。　It　seemed　as　if　all　the　wild　blossoms　of　the　woods　had　wandered　in　and　were　twining　themselves　around　the　whirring　spindles；　as　I　repeated　it；　verse　after　verse。　Better　still；　they　drew　me　out；　in　fancy；　to　their　own　forest…haunts　under　〃cloistered　boughs；〃　where　each　swinging　〃floral　bell〃　was　ringing　〃a　call　to　prayer；〃　and　making　〃Sab…　bath　in　the　fields。〃

Bryant's　〃Forest　Hymn〃　did　me　an　equally　beautiful　service。　I　knew　every　word　of　it。　It　seemed　to　me　that　Bryant　understood　the　very　heart　and　soul　of　the　flowers　as　hardly　anybody　else　did。　He　made　me　feel　as　if　they　were　really　related　to　us　human　beings。　In　fancy　my　feet　pressed　the　turf　where　they　grew；　and　I　knew　them　as　my　little　sisters；　while　my　thoughts　touched　them；　one　by　one；　saying　with　him；

〃That　delicate　forest…flower；　With　scented　breath；　and　look　so　like　a　smile；　Seems；　as　it　issues　from　the　shapeless　mould；　An　emanation　of　the　indwelling　Life；　A　visible　token　of　the　upholding　Love；　That　are　the　soul　of　this　wide　universe。〃

I　suppose　that　most　of　my　readers　will　scarcely　be　older　than　I　was　when　I　wrote　my　sermonish　little　poems　under　the　inspiration　of　the　flowers　at　my　factory　work；　and　perhaps　they　will　be　interested　in　reading　a　specimen　or　two　from　the　〃Lowell　Offer…　ing：〃

LIVE　LIKE　THE　FLOWERS。

Cheerfully　wave　they　o'er　valley　and　mountain；　Gladden　the　desert；　and　smile　by　the　fountain；　Pale　discontent　in　no　young　blossom　lowers：　Live　like　the　flowers！

Meekly　their　buds　in　the　heavy　rain　bending；　Softly　their　hues　with　the　mellow　light　blending；　Gratefully　welcoming　sunlight　and　showers：　Live　like　the　flowers！

Freely　their　sweets　on　the　wild　breezes　flinging；　While　in　their　depths　are　new　odors　upspringing：　（Blessedness　twofold　of　Love's　holy　dowers；）　Live　like　the　flowers！

Gladly　they　heed　Who　their　brightness　has　given：　Blooming　on　earth；　look　they　all　up　to　heaven；　Humbly　look　up　from　their　loveliest　bowers：　…　Live　like　the　flowers！

Peacefully　droop　they　when　autumn　is　sighing；　Breathing　mild　fragrance　around　them　in　dying；　Sleep　they　in　hope　of　Spring's　freshening　hours：　Die　like　the　flowers！

The　prose…poem　that　follows　was　put　into　a　rhymed　version　by　several　unknown　hands　in　periodicals　of　that　day；　so　that　at　last　I　also　wrote　one；　in　self…defense；　to　claim　my　own　waif。　　But　it　was　a　prose…poem　that　I　intended　it　to　be；　and　I　think　it　is　better　so。

〃BRING　BACK　MY　FLOWERS。〃

On　the　bank　of　a　rivulet　sat　a　rosy　child。　Her　lap　was　filled　with　flowers；　and　a　garland　of　rose…buds　was　twined　around　her　neck。　Her　face　was　as　radiant　as　the　sunshine　that　fell　upon　it；　and　her　voice　was　as　clear　as　that　of　the　bird　which　warbled　at　her　side。

The　little　stream　went　singing　on；　and　with　every　gush　of　its　music　the　child　lifted　a　flower　in　her　dimpled　hand；　and；　with　a　merry　laugh；　threw　it　upon　the　water。　In　her　glee　she　forgot　that　her　treasures　were　growing　less；　and　with　the　swift　motion　of　childhood；　she　flung　them　upon　the　sparkling　tide；　until　every　bud　and　blossom　had　disappeared。

Then；　seeing　her　loss；　she　sprang　to　her　feet；　and　bursting　into　tears；　called　aloud　to　the　stream；　〃Bring　back　my　flowers！〃　But　the　stream　danced　along；　regardless　of　her　sorrow；　and　as　it　bore　the　blooming　burden　away；　her　words　came　back　in　a　taunting　echo；　along　its　reedy　margin。　And　long　after；　amid　the　wailing　of　the　breeze　and　the　fitful　bursts　of　childish　grief；　was　heard　the　fruitless　cry；　〃Bring　back　my　flowers！〃

Merry　maiden；　who　art　idly　wasting　the　precious　moments　so　bountifully　bestowed　upon　thee；　see　in　the　thoughtless　child　an　emblem　of　thyself！　Each　moment　is　a　perfumed　flower。　Let　its　fragrance　be　diffused　in　blessings　around　thee；　and　ascend　as　sweet　incense　to　the　beneficent　Giver！

Else；　when　thou　hast　carelessly　flung　them　from　thee；　and　seest　them　receding　on　the　swift　waters　of　Time；　thou　wilt　cry；　in　tones　more　sorrowful　than　those　of　the　weeping　child；　〃Bring　back　my　flowers！〃　And　thy　only　answer　will　be　an　echo　from　the　shadowy　Past；〃Bring　back　my　flowers！〃

In　the　above；　a　reminiscence　of　my　German　studies　comes　back　to　me。　I　was　an　admirer　of　Jean　Paul；　and　one　of　my　earliest　attempts　at　translation　was　his　〃New　Year's　Night　of　an　Unhappy　Man；〃　with　its　yet　haunting　glimpse　of　〃a　fair　long　paradise　beyond　the　mountains。〃　I　am　not　sure　but　the　idea　of　trying　my　hand　at　a　〃prose…poem〃　came　to　me　from　Richter；　though　it　may　have　been　from　Herder　or　Krummacher；　whom　I　also　enjoyed　and　attempted　to　translate。

I　have　a　manuscript…book　still；　filled　with　these　youthful　efforts。　I　even　undertook　to　put　German　verse　into　English　verse；　not　wincing　at　the　greatestGoetlie　and　Schiller。　These　studies　were　pursued　in　the　pleasant　days　of　cloth…room　leisure；　when　my　work　claimed　me　only　seven　or　eight　hours　in　a　day。

I　suppose　I　should　have　tried　to　write；perhaps　I　could　not　very　well　have　helped　attempting　it；under　any　circumstances。　My　early　efforts　would　not；　probably；　have　found　their　way　into　print；　however；　but　for　the　coincident　publication　of　the　two　mill…girls'　magazines；　just　as　I　entered　my　teens。　I　fancy　that　almost　everything　any　of　us　offered　them　was　published；　though　I　never　was　let　in　to　editorial　secrets。　The　editors　of　both　magazines　were　my　seniors；　and　I　felt　greatly　honored　by　their　approval　of　my　contributions。

One　of　the　〃Offering〃　editors　was　a　Unitarian　clergyman's　daughter；　and　had　received　an　excellent　education。　The　other　was　a　remarkably　brilliant　and　original　young　woman；　who　wrote　novels　that　were　published　by　the　Harpers　of　New　York　while　she　was　employed　at　Lowell。　The　two　had　rooms　together　for　a　time；　where　the　members　of　the　〃Improvement　Circle；〃　chiefly　composed　of　〃Offering〃　writers；　were　hospitably　received。

The　〃Operatives'　Magazine〃　and　the　〃Lowell　Offerig〃　were　united　in　the　year　1842；　under　the　title　of　the　〃Lowell　Offering　and　Ma…　gazine。〃

（Andto　correct　a　mistake　which　has　crept　into　printI　will　say　that　I　never　attained　the　honor　of　being　editor　of　either　of　these　magazines。　I　was　only　one　of　their　youngest　contributors。　The　〃Lowell　Offering〃　closed　its　existence　when　I　was　a　little　more　than　twenty　years　old。　The　only　continuous　editing　I　have　ever　been　engaged　in　was　upon　〃Our　Young　Folks。〃　About　twenty　years　ago　I　was　editor…in…charge　of　that　magazine　for　a　year　or　more；　and　I　had　previously　been　its　assistant…editor　from　its　beginning。　These　explanatory　items；　however；　do　not　quite　belong　to　my　narrative；　and　I　return　to　our　magazines。）

We　did　not　receive　much　criticism；　perhaps　it　would　have　been　better　for　us　if　we　had。　But　then　we　did　lot　set　ourselves　up　to　be　literary；　though　we　enjoyed　the　freedom　of　writing　what　we　pleased；　and　seeing　how　it　looked　in　print。　It　was　good　practice　for　us；　and　that　was　all　that　we　desired。　We　were　complimented　and　quoted。　When　a　Philadelphia　paper　copied　one　of　my　little　poems；　suggesting　some　verbal　improvements；　and　predicting　recognition　for　me　in　the　future；　I　felt　for　the　first　time　that　there　might　be　such　a　thing　as　public　opinion　worth　caring　for；　in　addition　to　doing　one's　best　for　its　own　sake。

Fame；　indeed；　never　had　much　attraction　for　me；　except　as　it　took　the　form　of　friendly　recognition　and　the　sympathetic　approval　of　worthy　judges。　I　wished　to　do　good　and　true　things；　but　not　such　as　would　subject　me　to　the　stare　of　coldly　curious　eyes。　I　could　never　imagine　a　girl　feeling　any　pleasure　in　placing　herself　〃before　the　public。〃　The　privilege　of　seclusion　must　be　the　last　one　a　woman　can　willingly　sacrifice。　And；　indeed；　what　we　wrote　was　not　remarkable；perhaps　no　more　so　than