Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sunrise on the Hills

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone

Battle metaphor

Longfellow turns morning clouds into a defeated army—'hosts in battle overthrown.' This epic simile is pure Romantic convention, making nature theatrical.

Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance,
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.

Storm damage

These aren't healthy trees—they're 'blasted' (lightning-struck) and 'cleft' (split). The mountaintop is a battlefield of weather.

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,

Bittern's flight

The bittern is a marsh bird known for its booming call. 'Spiral way' describes how it circles upward—Longfellow adding one precise natural detail among the generalities.

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell

Human sounds enter

The poem shifts here from pure nature to civilization—church bells, hunting horns, gunshots. Notice how these sounds are 'music' and 'merry,' not intrusions.

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

Direct address

Sudden pivot to 'thou'—the reader. After 30 lines of landscape description, Longfellow reveals this was all sermon preparation.

If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Elevated Observer

This is Longfellow at 20, writing in 1826 while teaching at Bowdoin College. The poem follows a rigid formula: climb mountain, describe view, extract moral lesson. It's Romantic nature poetry by the numbers—the kind British poets like Wordsworth had perfected a generation earlier.

The speaker's position matters. He's above the clouds (line 5), looking down at the valley. This isn't a hike—it's a claim to perspective. The elevated viewpoint was a Romantic cliché by 1826, signaling that the speaker has both literal and moral high ground. Notice how everything below is described as if from a god's-eye view: the river 'glistens,' the woods 'bend,' the valley 'glows.'

The poem's structure reveals its purpose. Thirty lines of landscape, then six lines of direct advice. The ratio tells you this isn't really about sunrise—it's a sermon with scenic illustrations. The nature description exists to authorize the moral lesson at the end. If Nature looks this good, the logic goes, then Nature's lessons must be trustworthy.

Sounds of Civilization

The second stanza introduces human activity—bells, hunting horns, gunshots—but notice how Longfellow frames them. The bell's sound is 'music' that comes 'sweetly.' The hunting horn is 'merry.' Even the gunshot produces only 'thin smoke' that picturesque breaks through branches. There's no conflict between nature and civilization here.

This is distinctly American Romantic thinking, different from European models. Where British Romantics often positioned nature against industrial society, Longfellow presents a harmonious rural scene where church bells and wild birds coexist. The 'village' and the 'woods' aren't opposites—they're parts of an integrated landscape.

The poem was written during America's early nation-building period, when writers were trying to prove American landscapes could inspire the same elevated thoughts as European ones. Longfellow's solution: import European poetic conventions (epic similes, elevated diction, moral conclusions) and apply them to New England hills. The result feels more like a demonstration than a discovery—proof that American nature could generate proper Romantic poetry.