In a fragment of autobiography which Mr. Bryant left among his papers,
he speaks thus of his childhood:--
"So my time passed in study, diversified with labor and recreation.
In the long winter evenings and the stormy winter days I read with
my brother books from my father's library,--not a large one, but
well chosen. I remember well the delight with which we welcomed the
translation of the Iliad by Pope when it was brought to the house.
I had met with passages from it before, and thought them the finest
verses ever written. My brother and myself, in emulation of ancient
heroes, made for ourselves wooden shields, swords, and spears, and
fashioned old hats in the shape of helmets, with plumes of tow; and
in the barn, when nobody observed us, we fought the battles of the
Greeks and Trojans over again.
"I was always, from my earliest years, a delighted observer of
external nature,--the splendors of a winter daybreak over the
wide wastes of snow seen from our windows; the glories of the
autumnal woods; the gloomy approaches of the thunderstorm, and its
departure amid sunshine and rainbows; the return of spring with its
flowers; and the first snowfall of winter. I cannot say, as some
do, that I found my boyhood the happiest part of my life. I had
more frequent ailments than afterward; my hopes were more feverish
and impatient, and my disappointments were more acute; the
restraints on my liberty of action, although meant for my good,
were irksome, and felt as fetters that galled my spirit and gave it
pain. After-years, if their pleasures had not the same zest, were
passed in more contentment, and the more freedom of choice I had,
the better, on the whole, I enjoyed life."
Among the prayers of his childhood he mentions that he often prayed that
he might be endowed with poetic genius, and write verses which should
endure. And he began at a very early age to make attempts in this
direction, which seem somewhat less crude than the mass of such
productions. He was taught Latin by the Rev. Thomas Snell, his uncle,
and Greek by the Rev. Moses Hallock, a neighboring minister, who boarded
and instructed him for a dollar a week. He continued his studies at
Williams College, although he never was graduated, being taken from
college from motives of economy.
The town of Cummington, where he was born, is a little hamlet among the
hills in Hampshire County in western Massachusetts. The country around
is mountainous, and the valleys very beautiful. The poet was always much
attached to the region, and when he had become an old man bought the old
family home and fitted it up as a summer residence, where he used to
gather together the remaining members of the family, and enjoy himself
highly in exploring the country round about as he had done in the days
of his boyhood. Many stories are told of his pedestrian feats, even
after he was seventy-five years old; and he sometimes walked ten or
twelve miles when in his eightieth year. He retained his boyish love for
plants and flowers, and was as enthusiastic as in youth over a rare
specimen or a beautiful bit of landscape. He further evinced his
interest in the old home by presenting the town with a fine library of
six thousand volumes, and building a suitable house for its
accommodation upon a beautiful site which he purchased for that purpose.
Upon leaving school Mr. Bryant pursued the study of law, and entered
upon its practice, first in Plainfield, and afterward in Great
Barrington, a pleasant village in Berkshire County, on the banks of the
Housatonic. While studying at Worthington, a distinguished friend of his
father came from Rhode Island upon a visit, bringing with him a
beautiful and accomplished daughter, to whom the young poet at once
lost his heart. The passion seems to have been reciprocated, if we can
judge by the assiduity with which the correspondence was carried on
after her return; but some unknown cause seems to have broken off the
fascinating romance, and after a year or two we hear of it no more. That
the end was painful to Mr. Bryant, we have reason to suspect from his
poems and letters; but as to how the lady felt, we have no evidence. The
verses show little promise of the work which the young poet soon
afterward did, but they are not entirely without charm:--
"The home thy presence made so dear,
I leave,--the parting hour is past;
Yet thy sweet image haunts me here,
In tears as when I saw thee last.
"It meets me where the woods are deep,
It comes when twilight tints depart,
It bends above me while I sleep,
With pensive looks that pierce my heart."