Anne Bradstreet (Ca

Early American Poetry

Prologue - Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,

Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun,

For my mean Pen are too superior things;

Or how they all, or each their dates have run,

Let Poets and Historians set these forth. 5

My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth.

But when my wond'ring eyes and envious heart

Great Bartas' sugar'd lines do but read o'er,

Fool, I do grudge the Muses did not part

'Twixt him and me that over-fluent store. 10

A Bartas can do what a Bartas will

But simple I according to my skill.

From School-boy's tongue no Rhet'ric we expect,

Nor yet a sweet Consort from broken strings,

Nor perfect beauty where's a main defect. 15

My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings,

And this to mend, alas, no Art is able,

'Cause Nature made it so irreparable.

Nor can I, like that fluent sweet-tongued Greek

Who lisp'd at first, in future times speak plain. 20

By Art he gladly found what he did seek,

A full requital of his striving pain.

Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure:

A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue 25

Who says my hand a needle better fits.

A Poet's Pen all scorn I should thus wrong,

For such despite they cast on female wits.

If what I do prove well, it won't advance,

They'll say it's stol'n, or else it was by chance. 30

But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild,

Else of our Sex, why feigned they those nine

And poesy made Calliope's own child?

So 'mongst the rest they placed the Arts divine,

But this weak knot they will full soon untie. 35

The Greeks did nought but play the fools and lie.

Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are.

Men have precedency and still excel;

It is but vain unjustly to wage war.

Men can do best, and Women know it well. 40

Preeminence in all and each is yours;

Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.

And oh ye high flown quills that soar the skies,

And ever with your prey still catch your praise,

If e'er you deign these lowly lines your eyes, 45

Give thyme or Parsley wreath, I ask no Bays.

This mean and unrefined ore of mine

Will make your glist'ring gold but more to shine.

The Author to her Book– Anne Bradstreet

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, 5
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight; 10
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so Icould:
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet, 15
Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save homespun cloth i' th' house I find.
In this array 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam.
In critic's hands beware thou dost not come, 20
And take thy way where yet though art not known;
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 18th, 1666 Anne Bradstreet

Here follows some verses upon the burning of our house, July 18th. 1666.

In silent night when rest I took,

For sorrow near I did not look,

I waken’d was with thund’ring noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.

That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,” 5

Let no man know is my desire.

I, starting up, the light did spy,

And to my God my heart did cry

To straighten me in my distress

And not to leave me succorless. 10

Then coming out, behold a space

The flame consume my dwelling place.

And, when I could no longer look,

I blest his Name that gave and took,

That laid my goods now in the dust: 15

Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.

It was his own; it was not mine.

Far be it that I should repine.

He might of all justly bereft,

But yet sufficient for us left. 20

When by the Ruins oft I past,

My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,

And here and there the places spy

Where oft I sat and long did lie.

Here stood that trunk, and there that chest, 25

There lay that store I counted best:

My pleasant things in ashes lie,

And them behold no more shall I.

Under the roof no guest shall sit,

Nor at thy Table eat a bit.

No pleasant tale shall ‘ere be told,

Nor things recounted done of old.

No candle ‘ere shall shine in thee,

Nor bridegroom‘s voice ere heard shall be.

In silence ever shalt thou lie; 35

Adieu, adieu, all’s vanity.

Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,

And did thy wealth on earth abide?

Didst fix thy hope on mould’ring dust,

The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? 40

Raise up thy thoughts above the sky

That dunghill mists away may fly.

Thou hast a house on high erect,

Fram‘d by that mighty Architect,

With glory richly furnished, 45

Stands permanent, though this be fled.

It‘s purchased, and paid for too

By him who hath enough to do.

A price so vast as is unknown,

Yet, by his gift, is made thine own. 50

There‘s wealth enough, I need no more;

Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store.

The world no longer let me love,

My hope and treasure lies above.

To My Dear and Loving Husband – Anne Bradstreet

IF ever two were one then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife were happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold 5

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor aught but love from thee give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray. 10

Then while we live, in love let's so persevere

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Upon a Wasp Chilled With Cold - Edward Taylor (1642-1729)

The bear that breathes the northern blast

Did numb, torpedo-like, a wasp

Whose stiffened limbs encramped, lay bathing

In Sol's warm breath and shine as saving,

Which with her hands she chafes and stands 5

Rubbing her legs, shanks, thighs, and hands.

Her pretty toes, and fingers' ends

Nipped with this breath, she out extends

Unto the sun, in great desire

To warm her digits at that fire. 10

Doth hold her temples in this state

Where pulse doth beat, and head doth ache.

Doth turn, and stretch her body small,

Doth comb her velvet capital.

As if her little brain pan were 15

A volume of choice precepts clear.

As if her satin jacket hot

Contained apothecary's shop

Of nature's receipts, that prevails

To remedy all her sad ails, 20

As if her velvet helmet high

Did turret rationality.

She fans her wing up to the wind

As if her pettycoat were lined,

With reason's fleece, and hoists sails 25

And humming flies in thankful gales

Unto her dun curled palace hall

Her warm thanks offering for all.

Lord, clear my misted sight that I

May hence view Thy divinity, 30

Some sparks whereof thou up dost hasp

Within this little downy wasp

In whose small corporation we

A school and a schoolmaster see,

Where we may learn, and easily find 35

A nimble spirit bravely mind

Her work in every limb: and lace

It up neat with a vital grace,

Acting each part though ne'er so small

Here of this fustian animal. 40

Till I enravished climb into

The Godhead on this ladder do,

Where all my pipes inspired upraise An heavenly music furred with praise.

Huswifery - Edward Taylor

Make me, O Lord, thy Spinning Wheele compleate.
Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee.
Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate,
And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee.
My Conversation make to be thy Reele 5
And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele. Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine:
And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills:
Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine.
Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills. 10
Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice,
All pinkt with Varnish't Flowers of Paradise. Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will,
Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory;
My Words and Actions, that their shine may fill 15
My wayes with glory and thee glorify.
Then mine apparell shall display before yee
That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.

Song of the Sky Loom – Tewa

O our Mother the Earth, O our Father the Sky,
Your children are we, and with tired backs
We bring you gifts that you love.
Then weave for us a garment of brightness;
May the warp be the light of the morning, 5
May the weft be the red light of the evening,
May the fringes be the falling rain,
May the border be the standing rainbow.
Thus weave for us a garment of brightness,

That we may walk fittingly where birds sing, 10
That we may walk fittingly where grass is green,
O our Mother the Earth, O our Father the Sky.

Spring Song – Chippewa

As my eyes

The prairie

I feel the summer

In the spring.

From the Houses of Magic – Pima

Down from the houses of magic,

Down from the houses of magic;

Blow the winds, and from my antlers

And my ears, they stronger gather.

Over there I ran trembling, 5

Over there I ran trembling,

For bows and arrows pursued me,

Many bows were on my trail.

I ran into the swamp confused,

There I heard the tadpoles singing 10

I ran into the swamp confused,

Where the bark-clothed tadpoles sang.

In the west the dragonfly wanders,

Skimming the surfaces of the pools,

Touching only with his tail. He skims 15

With flapping and rustling wings.

Thence I ran as the darkness gathers,

Wearing cactus flowers in my hair.

Thence I ran as the darkness gathers,

In fluttering darkness to the singing-place. 20

At the time of the white dawning,

I arose and went away,

At Blue Nightfall I went away.

The evening glow yet lingers, 25

The evening glow yet lingers:

And I sit with my gourd rattle

Engaged in the sacred chant.

As I wave the eagle feathers

We hear the magic sounding. 30

The strong night is shaking me,

Just as once before he did

When in spirit I was taken

To the great magician’s house.

Pitiable harlot though I am, 35

My heart glows with the singing

While the evening yet is young.

My heart glows with the singing.

Now the swallow begins his singing;

Now the swallow begins his singing; 40

And the women who are with me,

The poor women commence to sing.

The swallows met in the standing cliff;

And the rainbows arched above me, 45

There the blue rainbow-arches met.

In the reddish glow of the nightfall,

In the reddish glow of the nightfall.

I return to my burrow

About which the flowers bloom. 50

With the four eagle feathers,

I stir the air. When I turn

My magic power is crossed.

Song Concerning a Dream of the Thunderbirds – Teton Sioux

Friends, behold!

Sacred I have been made.

Friends, behold!

In a sacred manner

I have been influenced

At the gathering of the clouds.

Sacred I have been made,

Friends, behold!

Sacred I have been made.