The visitor who approaches Whittier-Land by the way of Haverhill will find in that city many places of interest in connection with the poet's early life, and referred to in his poems. The Academy for which he wrote the ode sung at its dedication in 1827, when he was a lad of nineteen, and before he had other than district school training, is now the manual training school of the city, and may be found, little changed except by accretion, on Winter Street, near the city hall. As this ode does not appear in any of his collected works, and is certainly creditable as a juvenile production, it is given here. It was sung to the air of "Pillar of Glory:"--
Hail, Star of Science! Come forth in thy splendor, Illumine these walls--let them evermore be A shrine where thy votaries offerings may tender, Hallowed by genius, and sacred to thee. Warmed by thy genial glow, Here let thy laurels grow Greenly for those who rejoice at thy name. Here let thy spirit rest, Thrilling the ardent breast, Rousing the soul with thy promise of fame.
Companion of Freedom! The light of her story, Wherever her voice at thine altar is known There shall no cloud of oppression come o'er thee, No envious tyrant thy splendor disown. Sons of the proud and free Joyous shall cherish thee, Long as their banners in triumph shall wave; And from its peerless height Ne'er shall thy orb of light Sink, but to set upon Liberty's grave.
Smile then upon us; on hearts that have never Bowed down 'neath oppression's unhallowed control. Spirit of Science! O, crown our endeavor; Here shed thy beams on the night of the soul; Then shall thy sons entwine, Here for thy sacred shrine, Wreaths that shall flourish through ages to come, Bright in thy temple seen, Robed in immortal green, Fadeless memorials of genius shall bloom.
Haverhill, although but three miles wide, is ten miles long, and includes many a fertile farm out of sight of city spires, and out of sound of city streets. As Whittier says in the poem "Haverhill:"--
"And far and wide it stretches still, Along its southward sloping hill, And overlooks on either hand A rich and many-watered land.
And Nature holds with narrowing space, From mart and crowd, her old-time grace, And guards with fondly jealous arms The wild growths of outlying farms.