Nathaniel Hawthorne’s works . . .
- Fanshawe, 1828
- My Kinsman, Major Molineux; Roger Malvin’s Burial, 1832 (stories)
- Young Goodman Brown, 1835
- Twice Told Tales, 1837(expanded 1842)
- Grandfather’s Chair, 1841
- Famous Old People, 1841
- Liberty Tree, 1841
- Biographical Stories For Children, 1842
- Mosses from an Old Manse, 2 vol., 1846
- The Scarlet Letter, 1850
- The House of Seven Gables, 1851
- The Snow Image, and Other Stories, 1851
- A Wonder Book for Girls and Boys, 1851
- The Blithedale Romance, 1852
- The Life of Franklin Pierce, 1852
- Tanglewood Tales for Girls and Boys, 1853
- The Marble Faun, 1860
- Our Old Home, 1863
- Passages from the American Notebooks, 1868
- Passages from the English Notebooks, 1870
- Septimus Felton, 1872 (fragment)
- Passages from the French and Italian Notebooks, 1872
- The Dolliver Romance, 1876 (fragment)
- Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret, 1883 (fragment)
- The Ancestral Footsteps, 1883 (fragment)
- The Complete Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1884 (12 vols.)
- The Ghost of Doctor Harris, 1900
Hawthorne
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How beautiful it was, that one bright day
In the long week of rain!
Though all its splendor could not chase away
The omnipresent pain.The lovely town was white with apple-blooms,
And the great elms o’erhead
Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms
Shot through with golden thread.Across the meadows, by the gray old manse,
The historic river flowed;
I was as one who wanders in a trance,
Unconscious of his road.The faces of familiar faces seemed strange;
Their voices I could hear,
And yet the words they uttered seemed to change
Their meaning to my ear.For the one face I looked for was not there,
The one low voice was mute;
Only an unseen presence filled the air
And baffled my pursuit.Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream
Dimly my thought defines;
I only see–a dream within a dream–
The hill-top hearsed with pines.I only hear above his place of rest
Their tender undertone,
The infinite longings of a troubled breast,
The voice so like his own.There in seclusion and remote from men
The wizard hand lies cold,
Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen,
And left the tale half told.Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,
And the lost clew regain?
The unfinished windows in Aladdin’s tower
Unfinished must remain!