In those days we had
only weekly papers, and they had always a "poet's corner," where
standard writers were well represented, with anonymous ones,
also. I was not, of course, much of a critic. I chose my verses
for their sentiment, and because I wanted to commit them to
memory; sometimes it was a long poem, sometimes a hymn, sometimes
only a stray verse. Mrs. Hemans sang with me,--
"Far away, o'er the blue hills far away;"
and I learned and loved her "Better Land," and
"If thou hast crushed a flower,"
and "Kindred Hearts."
I wonder if Miss Landon really did write that fine poem to Mont
Blanc which was printed in her volume, but which sounds so
entirely unlike everything else she wrote! This was one of my
window-gems. It ended with the appeal,--
"Alas for thy past mystery!
For thine untrodden snow!
Nurse of the tempest! hast thou none
To guard thine outraged brow?"
and it contained a stanza that I often now repeat to myself:--
"We know too much: scroll after scroll
Weighs down our weary shelves:
Our only point of ignorance
Is centred in ourselves.
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