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Young Goodman Brown  The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorne  Nathaniel Hawthorne  Random House, Inc.   New York  1937  Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditions of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html Publicly­accessible: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modengJ.browse.html © copyright material reproduced under license from the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia Print copy consulted: UVa Library call number PS 1850 1937  Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928   Page 1033 YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN YOUNG Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his  young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to  Goodman Brown.  ``Dearest heart,'' whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, ``prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to­ night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in  the year.''  ``My love and my Faith,'' replied young Goodman Brown, ``of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and  back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married?''  ``Then God bless you!'' said Faith, with the pink ribbons; ``and may you find all well when you come back.''  ``Amen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ``Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.''  So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting­house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping  after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.  ``Poor little Faith!'' thought he, for his heart smote him. ``What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she spoke there  was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel on earth; and  after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to.

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Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorn e Nathaniel Hawthorne Random House, Inc. New York 1937 Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditio ns of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html Publicly-accessible: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modengJ.browse.html © copyright material reproduced under license from the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia Print copy consulted: UVa Library call number PS 1850 1937 Co py ri gh t ©
1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e
re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai
r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
Page 1033 YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN YOUNG Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshol d, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pi nk ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown. ``Dearest heart,'' whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when h er lips were close to his ear, ``prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to- night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such tho ughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.'' ``My love and my Faith,'' replied young Goodman Brown, ``of a ll nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, m y sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but thr ee months married?''
``Then God bless you!'' said Faith, with the pink ribbons; ``and may you find all well when you come back.'' ``Amen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ``Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.'' So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back a nd saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons. ``Poor little Faith!'' thought he, for his heart smote him. ``What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dream s, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. W ell, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heav en.'' With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpo se. He had taken a Co py ri gh t © 1 99
6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr
od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us
es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
Page 1034 dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, a nd closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a s olitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by t he innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be pa ssing through an unseen multitude. ``There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,'' said Good man Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as h e added, ``What if the devil himself should be at my very elbow!'' His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked on ward side by side with him. ``You are late, Goodman Brown,'' said he. ``The clock of the Ol d South was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full f ifteen minutes agone.'' ``Faith kept me back a while,'' replied the young man, with a tre mor in his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his compa nion, though not wholly unexpected.
It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discern ed, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. An d yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger , and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wrig gle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been a n ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. ``Come, Goodman Brown,'' cried his fellow-traveller, ``this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you a re so soon weary.'' ``Friend,'' said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full sto p, ``having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot'st of.''
``Sayest thou so?'' replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. ``Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.'' ``Too far! too far!'' exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resu ming his walk. ``My father never went into the woods on such a n errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the da ys of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown t hat ever took this path and kept''-- ``Such company, thou wouldst say,'' observed the elder person, i nterpreting Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo
ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it
ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S
. or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1035 his pause. ``Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well a cquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Purita ns; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker wo man so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that br ought your father a pitch-pine knot,
kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in Kin g Philip's war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pl easant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friend s with you for their sake.'' ``If it be as thou sayest,'' replied Goodman Brown, ``I marvel th ey never spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness.'' ``Wickedness or not,'' said the traveller with the twisted staff, `` I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The de acons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns ma ke me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General C ourt are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too--But these are state secrets.'' ``Can this be so?'' cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amaze ment at his undisturbed companion. ``Howbeit, I have nothing t o do with the governor and council; they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husband man like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me trembl e both Sabbath day and lecture day.''
Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but no w burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so viole ntly that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' shouted he again and again; then composing hims elf, ``Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't ki ll me with laughing.'' ``Well, then, to end the matter at once,'' said Goodman Brown, c onsiderably nettled, ``there is my wife, Faith. It would break he r dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own.'' ``Nay, if that be the case,'' answered the other, ``e'en go thy wa ys, Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us that Faith should come to any harm.'' As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, i n whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplar y dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin. ``A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wil derness at nightfall,'' said he. ``But with your leave, friend, I sh all take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was go ing.''
Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve
d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh
er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w.
EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1036 ``Be it so,'' said his fellow-traveller. ``Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path.'' Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with sin gular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words--a prayer, doubtless--as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. ``The devil!'' screamed the pious old lady. ``Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?'' observed the trave ller, confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick. ``Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?'' cried the good d ame. ``Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the
silly fellow that now is. But--would your worship believe it?--m y broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage , and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane''-- ``Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe,'' said the shape of old Goodman Brown. ``Ah, your worship knows the recipe,'' cried the old lady, cackli ng aloud. ``So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. ``That can hardly be,'' answered her friend. ``I may not spare yo u my arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.'' So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assu med life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly len t to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had ca st up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for h im as calmly as if nothing had happened. ``That old woman taught me my catechism,'' said the young man
; and there was a world of meaning in this simple comment. They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhort ed his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his audito r than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a br anch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The moment his fingers touched the m they became strangely withered and dried up as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road , Goodman Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther. ``Friend,'' said he, stubbornly, ``my mind is made up. Not anoth er step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old wom an do choose to Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en
er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i
n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi
tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1037
go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven: is tha t any reason why I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?'' ``You will think better of this by and by,'' said his acquaintance, composedly. ``Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like moving again, there is my staff to help you along.'' Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, a nd was as speedily out of sight as if he had vanished into the de epening gloom. The young man sat a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly, and t hinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedl y, but so purely and sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy medit ations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the roa d, and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happ ily turned from it. On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingle d sounds appeared to pass along the road, within a few yards of the young man's hiding­place; but, o wing doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that particular spot, neither the travellers nor their steeds
were visible. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by t he wayside, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky athwart which they must have passed. Goodman Br own alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst without discerning so much as a shadow. It ve xed him the more, because he could have sworn, were such a thi ng possible, that he recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietl y, as they were wont to do, when bound to some ordination or e cclesiastical council. While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch. ``Of the two, reverend sir,'' said the voice like the deacon's, ``I had rather miss an ordination dinner than to-night's meeting. Th ey tell me that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from Conn ecticut and Rhode Island, besides several of the Indian powwow s, who, after their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there is a g oodly young woman to be taken into communion.'' ``Mighty well, Deacon Gookin!'' replied the solemn old tones of the minister. ``Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be don e, you know, until I get on the ground.''
The hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely i n the empty air, passed on through the forest, where no church h ad ever been gathered or solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy men be journe ying so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Bro wn caught hold of a tree for support, being ready to sink down on the Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er .
Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io
n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl
e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1038 ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness of his heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really w as a heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars brightening in it. ``With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm agai nst the devil!'' cried Goodman Brown. While he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament and had lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was st irring, hurried across the zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except dire
ctly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swi ftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the listener fancied that he could distinguish the ac cents of towns-people of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table, and had seen others rioting at the taver n. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a wind. Then cam e a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine at Salem village, but never un til now from a cloud of night There was one voice of a young w oman, uttering lamentations, yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps , it would grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude, bot h saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her onward. ``Faith!'' shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desp eration; and the echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, ``Fait h! Faith!'' as if bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness. The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, whe n the unhappy husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dar
k cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Good man Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon. ``My Faith is gone!'' cried he, after one stupefied moment. ``Th ere is no good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world given.'' And, maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did Goodman Brown grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that he seemed to fly along the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leavin g him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mo rtal man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful so unds--the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed a t him. Co py ri gh
t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot
b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt
f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.;
Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1039 ``Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indian pow wow, come devil himself, and here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear yo u.'' In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing m ore frightful than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew am ong the black pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horr id blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as set all th e echoes of the forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous t han when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunk s and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused, in a lull of the tempest that had dr iven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn, r olling solemnly from a distance with the
weight of many voices. He knew the tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The verse died heavil y away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wild erness pealing in awful harmony together. Goodman Brown crie d out, and his cry was lost to his own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert. In the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared f ull upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed i n by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an alter o r a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops afla me, their stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that had overgrown t he summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the nigh t and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red l ight arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone f orth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once. ``A grave and dark-clad company,'' quoth Goodman Brown. In truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro betw een gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devo
utly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there we re high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husband s, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, w ho trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudd en gleams of light flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a sc ore of the church members of Salem village famous for their esp ecial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable sa int, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these g rave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N
L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y
fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u
nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1040 these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of disso lute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to al l mean and filthy vice, and suspected
even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints . Scattered also among their pale- faced enemies were the Indian priests, or powwows, who had oft en scared their native forest with more hideous incantations tha n any known to English witchcraft. ``But where is Faith?'' thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope ca me into his heart, he trembled. Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, su ch as the pious love, but joined to words which expressed all tha t our nature can conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the l ore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ; and with the final peal of that d readful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the r ushing streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage to the pri nce of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths above the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base, wher e now appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb
and manner, to some grave divine of the New England churches. ``Bring forth the converts!'' cried a voice that echoed through th e field and rolled into the forest. At the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have wel l-nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father beckoned hi m to advance, looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a woman, with dim features of despair, th rew out her hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he h ad no power to retreat one step, nor to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deaco n Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thith er came also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse, that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the proselytes beneath the canopy of fire. ``Welcome, my children,'' said the dark figure, ``to the commun ion of your race. Ye have found thus young your nature and you r destiny. My children, look behind you!'' They turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, t
he fiend worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage. ``There,'' resumed the sable form, ``are all whom ye have revere nced from youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and s hrank from Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri
gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om
t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co
py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1041 your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness a nd prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping assembly. This night it shall be granted you to know their secret deeds: how hoary-bearded el ders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young m aids of their households; how many a woman, eager for widows' weeds, has given her husband a dri nk at bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths have made haste to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair damsels--blush not, s weet ones--have dug little graves in the garden, and bidden me, the sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human hearts for sin ye shall scent out all
the places--whether in church, bedchamber, street, field, or fore st--where crime has been committed, and shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penet rate, in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly s upplies more evil impulses than human power--than my power a t its utmost--can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each other.'' They did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the w retched man beheld his Faith, and the wife her husband, trembli ng before that unhallowed altar. ``Lo, there ye stand, my children,'' said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race. ``Depending upon one another's hearts, ye h ad still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye unde ceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of your race.'' ``Welcome,'' repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despa ir and triumph. And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basi n was hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid light? or was it bloo
d? or, perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil di p his hand and prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pal e wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed and what they saw! ``Faith! Faith!'' cried the husband, ``look up to heaven, and resi st the wicked one.'' Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a ro ar of the wind which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it chil l and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besp rinkled his cheek with the coldest dew. Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G
en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc
ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p
er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
Page 1042 The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered ma n. The good old minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and me ditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he passed, on Go odman Brown. He shrank from the venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. ``What God doth the wizard pray to?'' quoth Goodman Brown. G oody Cloyse, that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sun shine at her own lattice, catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of morning's milk. Goodm an Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meeting-house, he spied the head of Faith, with the pink ribbons , gazing anxiously forth, and bursting into such joy at sight of h im that she skipped along the street and almost kissed her husband before the whole village. But Goodm an Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dream ed a wild dream of a witch-meeting? Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for y oung Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a dis
trustful, if not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath da y, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could n ot listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutt erable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at midnight , he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide, when the family knelt down at pray er, he scowled and muttered to himself, and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave a hoary corpse, follo wed by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grandchildren, a goodly procession, besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tom bstone, for his dying hour was gloom. Co py ri gh t © 1
99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re
pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r
us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
Ever let the Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage - door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming: Autumn's red - lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. - Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self - overaw'd Fancy, high - commission'd: - send her! She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray; All the heaped Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth: She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it: - thou shalt hear Distant harvest - carols clear; Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn: And, in the same moment - hark! 'Tis the early April lark, Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold; White - plumed lilies, and the first Hedge - grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid - May; And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self - same shower. Thou shalt see the field - mouse peep Meagre from its celled sleep; And the snake all winter - thin Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest - eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn - tree, When the hen - bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee - hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down - pattering, While the autumn breezes sing. Poems Of John Keats
By Keats, John c1815 Realm Of Fancy, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r
es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p
ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t
la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; Everything is spoilt by use: Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however, soft, One would hear so very oft? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind: Dulcet - eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. - Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison - string, And such joys as these she'll bring: - Let the winged Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double - lived in regions new? - Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wonderous And the parle of voices thunderous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large blue - bells tented, Where the daisies are rose - scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth, Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth - born souls still speak
To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim: - Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double - lived in regions new! Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of Venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign - board flew away Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story - Said he saw you in your glory Underneath a new - old Sign Sipping beverage divine, And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac!
Page 2 Ode On The Poets Mermaid Tavern, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts
r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he
p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh
t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known - Happy field or mossy cavern - Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? In a drear - nighted December, Too happy, happy Tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear - nighted December, Too happy, happy Brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
Ah would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it - Was never said in rhyme. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe - wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, - That thou, light - winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full - throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep - delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sun - burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South. Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple - stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre - thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden - eyed despairs; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to - morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen - Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways, I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit - tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid - May's eldest child, The coming musk - rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Page 3 Happy Insensibility Ode To A Nightingale Co py
ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot
b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt
f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928
Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain - To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown; Perhaps the self - same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft - times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill - side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley - glades; Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: - do I wake or sleep?
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster - child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf - fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high - sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea - shore, Or mountain - built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. Page 4 Ode On A Grecian Urn Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er
. Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss
io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca
bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know,' Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom - friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch - eaves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage - trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, They hair soft - lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half - reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider - press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft - dying day And touch the stubble - plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river - sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full - grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge - crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden - croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. [See Psyche: From the painting by Alfred de Curzon in the Luxe mbourg Gallery, Paris.] O goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft - conched ear: Surely I dream'd to - day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes? I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly, And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied: 'Mid hush'd, cool - rooted flowers fragrant - eyed, Blue, silver - white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm - breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjoined by soft - handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye - dawn of aurorean love: The winged boy I knew; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true! Page 5 Ode To Autumn Ode To Psyche Co py ri gh t © . G en
er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed
i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er
mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 O latest - born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy! Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire - region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow - worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor Virgin - choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming. O brightest! though too late for antique vows, Too, too late for the fond believing lyre, When holy were the haunted forest boughs, Holy the air, the water, and the fire; Yet even in these days so far retired From happy pieties, thy lucent fans, Fluttering among the faint Olympians, I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired. So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet From swing'ed censer teeming: Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming. Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: Far, far around shall those dark - cluster'd trees Fledge the wild - ridged mountains steep by steep; And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, The moss - lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same; And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in! No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's - bane, tight - rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew - berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death - moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop - headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand - wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee - mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung. St. Agnes' Eve! - Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a - cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgini's picture, while his prayer he saith. Page 6 Ode On Melancholy Eve Of St. Agnes, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr
ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm
w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er
U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no - already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager - eyed, Star'd where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross - wise on their breast s. At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole - thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night
If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline; The music, yearning like a God in pain, She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by - she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to - morrow morn. Page 7 Co py ri gh t © . G
en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc
ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p
er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 So, purposing each moment to retire,
She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss - in sooth such things have been. He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel; For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Hyena foemen, and hot - blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage: not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, Shuffling along with ivory - headed wand, To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, Behind a broad hall - pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus bland: He startled her; but soon she knew his face, And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, Saying, 'Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; They are all here to - night, the whole blood - thirsty race! 'Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; He had a fever late and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit More tame for his grey hairs - Alas me! flit! Flit like a ghost away.' - 'Ah, Gossip dear,
We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit, And tell me how' - 'Good Saints! not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.' He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; And as she mutter'd 'Well - a - well - a - day! He found him in a little moonlight room, Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. 'Now tell me where is Madeline,' said he, 'O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom Which none but secret sisterhood may see, When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously.' 'St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve - Yet men will murder upon holy days: Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, And be liege - lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro! - St. Agnes' Eve! God's help! my lady fair the conjurer plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve.' Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle - book, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. Page 8
Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay
n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex
ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Sudden a thought came like a full - blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart Made purple riot: then doth he propose A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: 'A cruel man, and impious thou art: Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream Alone with her good angels, far apart From wicked men like thee. Go, go! - I deem Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.' 'I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,' Quoth Porphyro: 'O may I ne'er find grace When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian passion in her face: Good Angela, believe me by these tears; Or I will, even in a moment's space, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and be ars.' 'Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? A poor, weak, palsy - stricken, churchyard thing, Whose passing - bell may ere the midnight toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, Were never miss'd.' Thus plaining, doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, While legion'd faeries pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy - eyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. 'It shall be as thou wishest,' said the Dame: 'All cates and dainties shall be stored there Quickly on this feast - night: by the tambour frame Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.' So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware;
With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring - dove fray'd and fled. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died; She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart - stifled, in her dell. Page 9 Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok
P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho
ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S .
or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 A casement high and triple - arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot - grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Unnumerable of stains and splendid dyes. As are the tiger - moth's deep - damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose - bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half - hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow - day; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stepped,
And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! - how fast she slept. Then by the bed - side, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half - anguish'd, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: - O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle - drum, and far - heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: - The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. And still she slept an azure - lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd: With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. Page 10 Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic
N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an
y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er mi tt ed
u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. -
'And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.' Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains: - 'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam: Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes; She mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, - Tumultuous, - and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, 'La belle dame sans merci:' Close to her ear touching the melody; - Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased - she panted quick - and suddenly Her blue affrighted eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, as smooth - sculptured stone. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. 'Ah, Porphyro!' said she, 'but even now
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.' Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, - Solution sweet: meantime the frost - wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window - panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw - blown sleet: 'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!' 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: 'No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. - Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing: - A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing!' 'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart - shap'd and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and guest, A famish'd pilgrim, - saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. Page 11 Co py ri gh t © . G en
er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r es er ve d.
M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss
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u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats
Account: s4264928 'Hark! 'tis an elfin - storm from faery land, Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: Arise - arise! the morning is at hand; - The bloated wassailers will never heed: - Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.' She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears - Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. - In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain - droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flagon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: - The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; - The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone: aye, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior - guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin - worm, Were long be - nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy - twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought - for slept among his ashes cold. 'O what can ail thee, knight - at - arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
'O what can ail thee, knight - at - arms! So haggard and so woe - begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 'I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever - dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful - a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. 'I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. 'I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song.
'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna - dew, And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true." 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. 'And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd - Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. Page 12 La Belle Dame Sans Merci Co py ri gh t ©
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er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p
er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es p er
mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed
on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 'I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death - pale were they all, They cried - "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hills' side. 'And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.' The poetry of earth is never dead; When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new - mown mead; That is the grasshopper's - he takes the lead In summer luxury, - he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among some grassy hills. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep - brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: - Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez - when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific - and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise - Silent, upon a peak in Darien. O soft embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom - pleased eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine; O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes, Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities; Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes; Save me from curious conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul. Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of Man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves Page 13 Grasshopper And Cricket, On The First Looking Into Chapman's Homer, On Sleep, To Human Seasons, The Co py ri gh t © . G en
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Account: s4264928 His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness - to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook: - He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. Great spirits now on earth are sojourning; He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing; He of the rose; the violet, the spring, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake: And lo! - whose steadfastness would never take A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come; These, these will give the world another heart And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings in the human mart? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high - piled books, in charact'ry Hold like rich garners the full - ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the fairy power Of unreflecting love - then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art: - Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors: - No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender - taken breath, And so live ever, - or else swoon to death. Page 14 Great Spirits Now On Earth Are Sojourning Terror Of Death, The Last Sonnet Co py ri gh
t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts
r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho
ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us es
p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la
w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorn e Nathaniel Hawthorne Random House, Inc. New York 1937
Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditio ns of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html Publicly-accessible: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modengJ.browse.html © copyright material reproduced under license from the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia Print copy consulted: UVa Library call number PS 1850 1937 Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er
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n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it ho ut p er mi ss io n
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er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown
Account: s4264928 Page 1033 YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN YOUNG Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshol d, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pi nk ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown. ``Dearest heart,'' whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when h er lips were close to his ear, ``prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to- night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such tho
ughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.'' ``My love and my Faith,'' replied young Goodman Brown, ``of a ll nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, m y sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but thr ee months married?'' ``Then God bless you!'' said Faith, with the pink ribbons; ``and may you find all well when you come back.'' ``Amen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ``Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.'' So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back a nd saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.
``Poor little Faith!'' thought he, for his heart smote him. ``What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dream s, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. W ell, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heav en.'' With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpo se. He had taken a Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G
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ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1034 dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, a nd closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a s olitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by t he innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be pa ssing through an unseen multitude. ``There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,'' said Good man Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as h e added, ``What if the devil himself
should be at my very elbow!'' His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked on ward side by side with him. ``You are late, Goodman Brown,'' said he. ``The clock of the Ol d South was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full f ifteen minutes agone.'' ``Faith kept me back a while,'' replied the young man, with a tre mor in his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his compa nion, though not wholly unexpected. It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discern ed, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than
features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. An d yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger , and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wrig gle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been a n ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. ``Come, Goodman Brown,'' cried his fellow-traveller, ``this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you a re so soon weary.'' ``Friend,'' said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full sto p, ``having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have
scruples touching the matter thou wot'st of.'' ``Sayest thou so?'' replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. ``Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.'' ``Too far! too far!'' exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resu ming his walk. ``My father never went into the woods on such a n errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the da ys of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown t hat ever took this path and kept''-- ``Such company, thou wouldst say,'' observed the elder person, i nterpreting Co py ri gh t
© 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh
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es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t
la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1035 his pause. ``Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well a cquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Purita ns; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker wo man so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that br ought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in Kin g Philip's war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pl
easant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friend s with you for their sake.'' ``If it be as thou sayest,'' replied Goodman Brown, ``I marvel th ey never spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness.'' ``Wickedness or not,'' said the traveller with the twisted staff, `` I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The de acons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns ma ke me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General C ourt are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too--But these are state secrets.'' ``Can this be so?'' cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amaze ment at his undisturbed companion. ``Howbeit, I have nothing t o do with the governor and council;
they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husband man like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me trembl e both Sabbath day and lecture day.'' Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but no w burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so viole ntly that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' shouted he again and again; then composing hims elf, ``Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't ki ll me with laughing.'' ``Well, then, to end the matter at once,'' said Goodman Brown, c onsiderably nettled, ``there is my wife, Faith. It would break he r dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own.'' ``Nay, if that be the case,'' answered the other, ``e'en go thy wa
ys, Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us that Faith should come to any harm.'' As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, i n whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplar y dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin. ``A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wil derness at nightfall,'' said he. ``But with your leave, friend, I sh all take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was go ing.'' Co py ri gh t
© 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh
ts r es er ve d. M ay n ot b e re pr od uc ed i n an y fo rm w it
ho ut p er mi ss io n fr om t he p ub li sh er , ex ce pt f ai r us
es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t
la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1036 ``Be it so,'' said his fellow-traveller. ``Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path.'' Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with sin gular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct
words--a prayer, doubtless--as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. ``The devil!'' screamed the pious old lady. ``Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?'' observed the trave ller, confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick. ``Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?'' cried the good d ame. ``Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is. But--would your worship believe it?--m y broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage , and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane''-- ``Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe,'' said the shape of old Goodman Brown. ``Ah, your worship knows the recipe,'' cried the old lady, cackli
ng aloud. ``So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. ``That can hardly be,'' answered her friend. ``I may not spare yo u my arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.'' So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assu med life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly len t to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had ca st up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for h im as calmly as if nothing had happened. ``That old woman taught me my catechism,'' said the young man ; and there was a world of meaning in this simple comment.
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Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tal.docx
Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tal.docx
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Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tal.docx

  • 1. Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorn e Nathaniel Hawthorne Random House, Inc. New York 1937 Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditio ns of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html Publicly-accessible: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modengJ.browse.html © copyright material reproduced under license from the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia Print copy consulted: UVa Library call number PS 1850 1937 Co py ri gh t ©
  • 4. r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
  • 5. Page 1033 YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN YOUNG Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshol d, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pi nk ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown. ``Dearest heart,'' whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when h er lips were close to his ear, ``prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to- night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such tho ughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.'' ``My love and my Faith,'' replied young Goodman Brown, ``of a ll nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, m y sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but thr ee months married?''
  • 6. ``Then God bless you!'' said Faith, with the pink ribbons; ``and may you find all well when you come back.'' ``Amen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ``Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.'' So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back a nd saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons. ``Poor little Faith!'' thought he, for his heart smote him. ``What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dream s, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. W ell, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heav en.'' With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpo se. He had taken a Co py ri gh t © 1 99
  • 9. es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
  • 10. Page 1034 dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, a nd closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a s olitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by t he innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be pa ssing through an unseen multitude. ``There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,'' said Good man Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as h e added, ``What if the devil himself should be at my very elbow!'' His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked on ward side by side with him. ``You are late, Goodman Brown,'' said he. ``The clock of the Ol d South was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full f ifteen minutes agone.'' ``Faith kept me back a while,'' replied the young man, with a tre mor in his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his compa nion, though not wholly unexpected.
  • 11. It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discern ed, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. An d yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger , and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wrig gle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been a n ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. ``Come, Goodman Brown,'' cried his fellow-traveller, ``this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you a re so soon weary.'' ``Friend,'' said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full sto p, ``having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot'st of.''
  • 12. ``Sayest thou so?'' replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. ``Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.'' ``Too far! too far!'' exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resu ming his walk. ``My father never went into the woods on such a n errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the da ys of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown t hat ever took this path and kept''-- ``Such company, thou wouldst say,'' observed the elder person, i nterpreting Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo
  • 15. . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1035 his pause. ``Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well a cquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Purita ns; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker wo man so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that br ought your father a pitch-pine knot,
  • 16. kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in Kin g Philip's war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pl easant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friend s with you for their sake.'' ``If it be as thou sayest,'' replied Goodman Brown, ``I marvel th ey never spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness.'' ``Wickedness or not,'' said the traveller with the twisted staff, `` I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The de acons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns ma ke me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General C ourt are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too--But these are state secrets.'' ``Can this be so?'' cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amaze ment at his undisturbed companion. ``Howbeit, I have nothing t o do with the governor and council; they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husband man like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me trembl e both Sabbath day and lecture day.''
  • 17. Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but no w burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so viole ntly that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' shouted he again and again; then composing hims elf, ``Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't ki ll me with laughing.'' ``Well, then, to end the matter at once,'' said Goodman Brown, c onsiderably nettled, ``there is my wife, Faith. It would break he r dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own.'' ``Nay, if that be the case,'' answered the other, ``e'en go thy wa ys, Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us that Faith should come to any harm.'' As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, i n whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplar y dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin. ``A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wil derness at nightfall,'' said he. ``But with your leave, friend, I sh all take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was go ing.''
  • 21. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1036 ``Be it so,'' said his fellow-traveller. ``Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path.'' Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with sin gular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words--a prayer, doubtless--as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. ``The devil!'' screamed the pious old lady. ``Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?'' observed the trave ller, confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick. ``Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?'' cried the good d ame. ``Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the
  • 22. silly fellow that now is. But--would your worship believe it?--m y broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage , and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane''-- ``Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe,'' said the shape of old Goodman Brown. ``Ah, your worship knows the recipe,'' cried the old lady, cackli ng aloud. ``So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. ``That can hardly be,'' answered her friend. ``I may not spare yo u my arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.'' So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assu med life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly len t to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had ca st up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for h im as calmly as if nothing had happened. ``That old woman taught me my catechism,'' said the young man
  • 23. ; and there was a world of meaning in this simple comment. They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhort ed his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his audito r than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a br anch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The moment his fingers touched the m they became strangely withered and dried up as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road , Goodman Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther. ``Friend,'' said he, stubbornly, ``my mind is made up. Not anoth er step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old wom an do choose to Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en
  • 26. tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1037
  • 27. go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven: is tha t any reason why I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?'' ``You will think better of this by and by,'' said his acquaintance, composedly. ``Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like moving again, there is my staff to help you along.'' Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, a nd was as speedily out of sight as if he had vanished into the de epening gloom. The young man sat a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly, and t hinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedl y, but so purely and sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy medit ations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the roa d, and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happ ily turned from it. On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingle d sounds appeared to pass along the road, within a few yards of the young man's hiding­place; but, o wing doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that particular spot, neither the travellers nor their steeds
  • 28. were visible. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by t he wayside, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky athwart which they must have passed. Goodman Br own alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst without discerning so much as a shadow. It ve xed him the more, because he could have sworn, were such a thi ng possible, that he recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietl y, as they were wont to do, when bound to some ordination or e cclesiastical council. While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch. ``Of the two, reverend sir,'' said the voice like the deacon's, ``I had rather miss an ordination dinner than to-night's meeting. Th ey tell me that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from Conn ecticut and Rhode Island, besides several of the Indian powwow s, who, after their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there is a g oodly young woman to be taken into communion.'' ``Mighty well, Deacon Gookin!'' replied the solemn old tones of the minister. ``Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be don e, you know, until I get on the ground.''
  • 29. The hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely i n the empty air, passed on through the forest, where no church h ad ever been gathered or solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy men be journe ying so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Bro wn caught hold of a tree for support, being ready to sink down on the Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er .
  • 32. e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1038 ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness of his heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really w as a heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars brightening in it. ``With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm agai nst the devil!'' cried Goodman Brown. While he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament and had lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was st irring, hurried across the zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except dire
  • 33. ctly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swi ftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the listener fancied that he could distinguish the ac cents of towns-people of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table, and had seen others rioting at the taver n. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a wind. Then cam e a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine at Salem village, but never un til now from a cloud of night There was one voice of a young w oman, uttering lamentations, yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps , it would grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude, bot h saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her onward. ``Faith!'' shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desp eration; and the echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, ``Fait h! Faith!'' as if bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness. The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, whe n the unhappy husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dar
  • 34. k cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Good man Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon. ``My Faith is gone!'' cried he, after one stupefied moment. ``Th ere is no good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world given.'' And, maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did Goodman Brown grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that he seemed to fly along the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leavin g him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mo rtal man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful so unds--the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed a t him. Co py ri gh
  • 37. f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.;
  • 38. Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1039 ``Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indian pow wow, come devil himself, and here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear yo u.'' In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing m ore frightful than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew am ong the black pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horr id blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as set all th e echoes of the forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous t han when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunk s and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused, in a lull of the tempest that had dr iven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn, r olling solemnly from a distance with the
  • 39. weight of many voices. He knew the tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The verse died heavil y away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wild erness pealing in awful harmony together. Goodman Brown crie d out, and his cry was lost to his own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert. In the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared f ull upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed i n by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an alter o r a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops afla me, their stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that had overgrown t he summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the nigh t and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red l ight arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone f orth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once. ``A grave and dark-clad company,'' quoth Goodman Brown. In truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro betw een gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devo
  • 40. utly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there we re high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husband s, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, w ho trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudd en gleams of light flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a sc ore of the church members of Salem village famous for their esp ecial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable sa int, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these g rave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N
  • 43. nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1040 these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of disso lute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to al l mean and filthy vice, and suspected
  • 44. even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints . Scattered also among their pale- faced enemies were the Indian priests, or powwows, who had oft en scared their native forest with more hideous incantations tha n any known to English witchcraft. ``But where is Faith?'' thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope ca me into his heart, he trembled. Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, su ch as the pious love, but joined to words which expressed all tha t our nature can conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the l ore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ; and with the final peal of that d readful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the r ushing streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage to the pri nce of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths above the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base, wher e now appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb
  • 45. and manner, to some grave divine of the New England churches. ``Bring forth the converts!'' cried a voice that echoed through th e field and rolled into the forest. At the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have wel l-nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father beckoned hi m to advance, looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a woman, with dim features of despair, th rew out her hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he h ad no power to retreat one step, nor to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deaco n Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thith er came also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse, that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the proselytes beneath the canopy of fire. ``Welcome, my children,'' said the dark figure, ``to the commun ion of your race. Ye have found thus young your nature and you r destiny. My children, look behind you!'' They turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, t
  • 46. he fiend worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage. ``There,'' resumed the sable form, ``are all whom ye have revere nced from youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and s hrank from Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri
  • 49. py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1041 your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness a nd prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping assembly. This night it shall be granted you to know their secret deeds: how hoary-bearded el ders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young m aids of their households; how many a woman, eager for widows' weeds, has given her husband a dri nk at bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths have made haste to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair damsels--blush not, s weet ones--have dug little graves in the garden, and bidden me, the sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human hearts for sin ye shall scent out all
  • 50. the places--whether in church, bedchamber, street, field, or fore st--where crime has been committed, and shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penet rate, in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly s upplies more evil impulses than human power--than my power a t its utmost--can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each other.'' They did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the w retched man beheld his Faith, and the wife her husband, trembli ng before that unhallowed altar. ``Lo, there ye stand, my children,'' said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race. ``Depending upon one another's hearts, ye h ad still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye unde ceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of your race.'' ``Welcome,'' repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despa ir and triumph. And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basi n was hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid light? or was it bloo
  • 51. d? or, perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil di p his hand and prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pal e wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed and what they saw! ``Faith! Faith!'' cried the husband, ``look up to heaven, and resi st the wicked one.'' Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a ro ar of the wind which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it chil l and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besp rinkled his cheek with the coldest dew. Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G
  • 54. er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
  • 55. Page 1042 The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered ma n. The good old minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and me ditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he passed, on Go odman Brown. He shrank from the venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. ``What God doth the wizard pray to?'' quoth Goodman Brown. G oody Cloyse, that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sun shine at her own lattice, catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of morning's milk. Goodm an Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meeting-house, he spied the head of Faith, with the pink ribbons , gazing anxiously forth, and bursting into such joy at sight of h im that she skipped along the street and almost kissed her husband before the whole village. But Goodm an Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting. Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dream ed a wild dream of a witch-meeting? Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for y oung Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a dis
  • 56. trustful, if not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath da y, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could n ot listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutt erable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at midnight , he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide, when the family knelt down at pray er, he scowled and muttered to himself, and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave a hoary corpse, follo wed by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grandchildren, a goodly procession, besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tom bstone, for his dying hour was gloom. Co py ri gh t © 1
  • 59. us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928
  • 60. Ever let the Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage - door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming: Autumn's red - lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. - Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self - overaw'd Fancy, high - commission'd: - send her! She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather;
  • 61. All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray; All the heaped Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth: She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it: - thou shalt hear Distant harvest - carols clear; Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn: And, in the same moment - hark! 'Tis the early April lark, Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold; White - plumed lilies, and the first Hedge - grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid - May; And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self - same shower. Thou shalt see the field - mouse peep Meagre from its celled sleep; And the snake all winter - thin Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest - eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn - tree, When the hen - bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee - hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down - pattering, While the autumn breezes sing. Poems Of John Keats
  • 62. By Keats, John c1815 Realm Of Fancy, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts r
  • 65. la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; Everything is spoilt by use: Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however, soft, One would hear so very oft? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind: Dulcet - eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. - Break the mesh
  • 66. Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison - string, And such joys as these she'll bring: - Let the winged Fancy roam! Pleasure never is at home. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double - lived in regions new? - Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wonderous And the parle of voices thunderous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large blue - bells tented, Where the daisies are rose - scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth, Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth - born souls still speak
  • 67. To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim: - Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double - lived in regions new! Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of Venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign - board flew away Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story - Said he saw you in your glory Underneath a new - old Sign Sipping beverage divine, And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac!
  • 68. Page 2 Ode On The Poets Mermaid Tavern, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er . Al l ri gh ts
  • 71. t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known - Happy field or mossy cavern - Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? In a drear - nighted December, Too happy, happy Tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear - nighted December, Too happy, happy Brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
  • 72. Ah would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it - Was never said in rhyme. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe - wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, - That thou, light - winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full - throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep - delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sun - burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South. Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple - stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
  • 73. Where youth grows pale, and spectre - thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden - eyed despairs; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to - morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen - Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways, I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit - tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid - May's eldest child, The coming musk - rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Page 3 Happy Insensibility Ode To A Nightingale Co py
  • 76. f ai r us es p er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928
  • 77. Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain - To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown; Perhaps the self - same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft - times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill - side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley - glades; Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: - do I wake or sleep?
  • 78. Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster - child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf - fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high - sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
  • 79. Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea - shore, Or mountain - built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. Page 4 Ode On A Grecian Urn Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok P ub li sh er
  • 82. bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know,' Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom - friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch - eaves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage - trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
  • 83. To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, They hair soft - lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half - reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider - press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft - dying day And touch the stubble - plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river - sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full - grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge - crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden - croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. [See Psyche: From the painting by Alfred de Curzon in the Luxe mbourg Gallery, Paris.] O goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
  • 84. Even into thine own soft - conched ear: Surely I dream'd to - day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes? I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly, And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied: 'Mid hush'd, cool - rooted flowers fragrant - eyed, Blue, silver - white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm - breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjoined by soft - handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye - dawn of aurorean love: The winged boy I knew; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true! Page 5 Ode To Autumn Ode To Psyche Co py ri gh t © . G en
  • 87. mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 O latest - born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy! Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire - region'd star,
  • 88. Or Vesper, amorous glow - worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor Virgin - choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain - swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming. O brightest! though too late for antique vows, Too, too late for the fond believing lyre, When holy were the haunted forest boughs, Holy the air, the water, and the fire; Yet even in these days so far retired From happy pieties, thy lucent fans, Fluttering among the faint Olympians, I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired. So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet From swing'ed censer teeming: Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Of pale - mouth'd prophet dreaming. Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: Far, far around shall those dark - cluster'd trees Fledge the wild - ridged mountains steep by steep; And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, The moss - lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
  • 89. With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same; And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in! No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's - bane, tight - rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew - berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death - moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop - headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand - wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee - mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
  • 90. Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung. St. Agnes' Eve! - Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a - cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgini's picture, while his prayer he saith. Page 6 Ode On Melancholy Eve Of St. Agnes, The Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr
  • 93. U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
  • 94. Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no - already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager - eyed, Star'd where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross - wise on their breast s. At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole - thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night
  • 95. If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline; The music, yearning like a God in pain, She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by - she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to - morrow morn. Page 7 Co py ri gh t © . G
  • 98. er mi tt ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 So, purposing each moment to retire,
  • 99. She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss - in sooth such things have been. He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel; For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Hyena foemen, and hot - blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage: not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, Shuffling along with ivory - headed wand, To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, Behind a broad hall - pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus bland: He startled her; but soon she knew his face, And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, Saying, 'Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; They are all here to - night, the whole blood - thirsty race! 'Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; He had a fever late and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit More tame for his grey hairs - Alas me! flit! Flit like a ghost away.' - 'Ah, Gossip dear,
  • 100. We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit, And tell me how' - 'Good Saints! not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.' He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; And as she mutter'd 'Well - a - well - a - day! He found him in a little moonlight room, Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. 'Now tell me where is Madeline,' said he, 'O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom Which none but secret sisterhood may see, When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously.' 'St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve - Yet men will murder upon holy days: Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, And be liege - lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro! - St. Agnes' Eve! God's help! my lady fair the conjurer plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve.' Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle - book, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. Page 8
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  • 104. UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Sudden a thought came like a full - blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart Made purple riot: then doth he propose A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: 'A cruel man, and impious thou art: Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream Alone with her good angels, far apart From wicked men like thee. Go, go! - I deem Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.' 'I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,' Quoth Porphyro: 'O may I ne'er find grace When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian passion in her face: Good Angela, believe me by these tears; Or I will, even in a moment's space, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and be ars.' 'Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? A poor, weak, palsy - stricken, churchyard thing, Whose passing - bell may ere the midnight toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, Were never miss'd.' Thus plaining, doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do
  • 105. Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, While legion'd faeries pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy - eyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. 'It shall be as thou wishest,' said the Dame: 'All cates and dainties shall be stored there Quickly on this feast - night: by the tambour frame Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.' So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware;
  • 106. With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring - dove fray'd and fled. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died; She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart - stifled, in her dell. Page 9 Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic N L Fr ee bo ok
  • 109. or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 A casement high and triple - arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot - grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Unnumerable of stains and splendid dyes. As are the tiger - moth's deep - damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
  • 110. As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose - bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half - hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow - day; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stepped,
  • 111. And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! - how fast she slept. Then by the bed - side, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half - anguish'd, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: - O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle - drum, and far - heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: - The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. And still she slept an azure - lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd: With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. Page 10 Co py ri gh t © . G en er ic
  • 114. u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. -
  • 115. 'And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.' Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains: - 'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam: Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes; She mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, - Tumultuous, - and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, 'La belle dame sans merci:' Close to her ear touching the melody; - Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased - she panted quick - and suddenly Her blue affrighted eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, as smooth - sculptured stone. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. 'Ah, Porphyro!' said she, 'but even now
  • 116. Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.' Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, - Solution sweet: meantime the frost - wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window - panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw - blown sleet: 'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!' 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: 'No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. - Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
  • 117. I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing: - A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing!' 'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart - shap'd and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and guest, A famish'd pilgrim, - saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. Page 11 Co py ri gh t © . G en
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  • 122. Account: s4264928 'Hark! 'tis an elfin - storm from faery land, Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: Arise - arise! the morning is at hand; - The bloated wassailers will never heed: - Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.' She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears - Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. - In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain - droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
  • 123. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flagon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: - The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; - The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone: aye, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior - guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin - worm, Were long be - nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy - twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought - for slept among his ashes cold. 'O what can ail thee, knight - at - arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
  • 124. 'O what can ail thee, knight - at - arms! So haggard and so woe - begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 'I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever - dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful - a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. 'I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. 'I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song.
  • 125. 'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna - dew, And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true." 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. 'And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd - Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. Page 12 La Belle Dame Sans Merci Co py ri gh t ©
  • 130. on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 'I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death - pale were they all, They cried - "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hills' side. 'And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.' The poetry of earth is never dead; When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
  • 131. And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new - mown mead; That is the grasshopper's - he takes the lead In summer luxury, - he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among some grassy hills. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep - brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: - Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken;
  • 132. Or like stout Cortez - when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific - and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise - Silent, upon a peak in Darien. O soft embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom - pleased eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine; O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes, Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities; Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes; Save me from curious conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul. Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of Man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
  • 133. He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves Page 13 Grasshopper And Cricket, On The First Looking Into Chapman's Homer, On Sleep, To Human Seasons, The Co py ri gh t © . G en
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  • 138. Account: s4264928 His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness - to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook: - He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. Great spirits now on earth are sojourning; He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing; He of the rose; the violet, the spring, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake: And lo! - whose steadfastness would never take A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come; These, these will give the world another heart And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
  • 139. Of mighty workings in the human mart? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high - piled books, in charact'ry Hold like rich garners the full - ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the fairy power Of unreflecting love - then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art: - Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
  • 140. The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors: - No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender - taken breath, And so live ever, - or else swoon to death. Page 14 Great Spirits Now On Earth Are Sojourning Terror Of Death, The Last Sonnet Co py ri gh
  • 145. w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:55 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2008521 ; Keats, John.; Poems of John Keats Account: s4264928 Young Goodman Brown The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorn e Nathaniel Hawthorne Random House, Inc. New York 1937
  • 146. Commercial use prohibited; all usage governed by our Conditio ns of Use: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/conditions.html Publicly-accessible: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/modeng/modengJ.browse.html © copyright material reproduced under license from the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia Print copy consulted: UVa Library call number PS 1850 1937 Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G en er
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  • 151. Account: s4264928 Page 1033 YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN YOUNG Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshol d, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pi nk ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown. ``Dearest heart,'' whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when h er lips were close to his ear, ``prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to- night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such tho
  • 152. ughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.'' ``My love and my Faith,'' replied young Goodman Brown, ``of a ll nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, m y sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but thr ee months married?'' ``Then God bless you!'' said Faith, with the pink ribbons; ``and may you find all well when you come back.'' ``Amen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ``Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.'' So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back a nd saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.
  • 153. ``Poor little Faith!'' thought he, for his heart smote him. ``What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dream s, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. W ell, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heav en.'' With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpo se. He had taken a Co py ri gh t © 1 99 6. G
  • 157. ed u nd er U .S . or a pp li ca bl e co py ri gh t la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND
  • 158. UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1034 dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, a nd closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a s olitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by t he innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be pa ssing through an unseen multitude. ``There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,'' said Good man Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as h e added, ``What if the devil himself
  • 159. should be at my very elbow!'' His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked on ward side by side with him. ``You are late, Goodman Brown,'' said he. ``The clock of the Ol d South was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full f ifteen minutes agone.'' ``Faith kept me back a while,'' replied the young man, with a tre mor in his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his compa nion, though not wholly unexpected. It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discern ed, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than
  • 160. features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. An d yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger , and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wrig gle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been a n ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light. ``Come, Goodman Brown,'' cried his fellow-traveller, ``this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you a re so soon weary.'' ``Friend,'' said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full sto p, ``having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have
  • 161. scruples touching the matter thou wot'st of.'' ``Sayest thou so?'' replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. ``Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.'' ``Too far! too far!'' exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resu ming his walk. ``My father never went into the woods on such a n errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the da ys of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown t hat ever took this path and kept''-- ``Such company, thou wouldst say,'' observed the elder person, i nterpreting Co py ri gh t
  • 166. la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1035 his pause. ``Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well a cquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Purita ns; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker wo man so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that br ought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in Kin g Philip's war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pl
  • 167. easant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friend s with you for their sake.'' ``If it be as thou sayest,'' replied Goodman Brown, ``I marvel th ey never spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness.'' ``Wickedness or not,'' said the traveller with the twisted staff, `` I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The de acons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns ma ke me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General C ourt are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too--But these are state secrets.'' ``Can this be so?'' cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amaze ment at his undisturbed companion. ``Howbeit, I have nothing t o do with the governor and council;
  • 168. they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husband man like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me trembl e both Sabbath day and lecture day.'' Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but no w burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so viole ntly that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy. ``Ha! ha! ha!'' shouted he again and again; then composing hims elf, ``Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't ki ll me with laughing.'' ``Well, then, to end the matter at once,'' said Goodman Brown, c onsiderably nettled, ``there is my wife, Faith. It would break he r dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own.'' ``Nay, if that be the case,'' answered the other, ``e'en go thy wa
  • 169. ys, Goodman Brown. I would not for twenty old women like the one hobbling before us that Faith should come to any harm.'' As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, i n whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplar y dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin. ``A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wil derness at nightfall,'' said he. ``But with your leave, friend, I sh all take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was go ing.'' Co py ri gh t
  • 174. la w. EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) - printed on 4/4/2019 12:56 AM via UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN: 2010880 ; Hawthorne, Nathaniel, University of Virginia.; Young Goodman Brown Account: s4264928 Page 1036 ``Be it so,'' said his fellow-traveller. ``Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path.'' Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with sin gular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct
  • 175. words--a prayer, doubtless--as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail. ``The devil!'' screamed the pious old lady. ``Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?'' observed the trave ller, confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick. ``Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?'' cried the good d ame. ``Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is. But--would your worship believe it?--m y broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage , and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane''-- ``Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe,'' said the shape of old Goodman Brown. ``Ah, your worship knows the recipe,'' cried the old lady, cackli
  • 176. ng aloud. ``So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling. ``That can hardly be,'' answered her friend. ``I may not spare yo u my arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.'' So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assu med life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly len t to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had ca st up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for h im as calmly as if nothing had happened. ``That old woman taught me my catechism,'' said the young man ; and there was a world of meaning in this simple comment.