Robert Norwood (1923)/Biographical

he backgrounds of genius are usually marked by golden half-hints of achievement outcropping in the ancestry. Out of such a background came Robert Norwood.

When a poet comes singing the word of life, the thing to be done is to listen; but when we have given ear, and his word has stirred us with its ringing inspirations, it is not in human nature to remain apathetic to the personality of the poet who has sung us into the borderlands of a new life. We want to know and to behold the man. We would trace his forces to their fountain-heads. We would know and understand how he came to be what he is. The biographical query is insistent, and the press never fails to publish every least item pertaining to a great man.

Let the total influence of heredity be much or little, we all know it has real significance; and no one denies the formative power of en​vironment, but the really thrilling interest is in the poet’s reaction to these, for it is this reaction which reveals the man or the woman in question. True, he had ancestors and antecedents, but we want to know, not what they have made of him, but what he has made of them. What is his response to the challenge of experience? These are the white-hot queries with which a public, hungry for reality, is plying the biographer.

The poet has subtle antennæ which, trembling outward to the sea and upward to the mountains and the stars, catch new inspirations and discover new wonders, startling the soul and kindling it to the life undying. Because of these alert perceptions and susceptibilities the poet is, of all men, possessed of the fullest life. He reflects brilliantly from every facet of his nature the wonderful things his quickened vision perceives. Nothing can be hidden from his understanding soul.

In Robert Norwood we discern characteristics and idiosyncrasies which, if this were a study in genealogy, would be traced to the Norwoods or to the Clarks on one side of the house, or to the Hardings or the Crowells on the other. In the study of a poet and his songs, ​progenitors are merely the shadows on his soul’s background, retained as shadows, even though, as in the case of Robert Norwood, they are of unusually romantic interest and of notable outline.

There is evidence, for instance, that Norwood’s great-grandfather married a full cousin of Oliver Wendell Holmes, for Joseph Clark, the father of Robert’s paternal grandmother, and rector of St. George’s Parish School, Halifax, Nova Scotia, won as his bride, Miss Holmes, a cousin of the “Poet of the Breakfast Table.” But the reader will not be disappointed if we do not stress such matters. Robert Norwood has sufficient genius in his own right.

We can see a prophecy of our poet’s independence and sense of justice in the fact that his father, Joseph Norwood, when eight years of age, ran away from home because of unjust treatment in the Boston school to which he was sent. Stowing himself away in a ship—the Race Horse, commanded by Captain Searle —he was soon working his passage to the Mediterranean. He stayed with Captain Searle and the Race Horse till he was second mate at eighteen years of age.

​Coming home at this time, he learned that his brother had enlisted in the First Boston Brigade of Massachusetts. In a few hours Joseph also was a young soldier in McLellan’s army. Later, under U. S. Grant’s generalship, young Norwood became a warm friend of the famous soldier, Joe Hooker, and with him took part in many engagements. Wounded in the battle of Malvern Hill, Joseph Norwood was sent home with honourable mention. After some years spent in various occupations, including his preparation for the Church, he took orders and was sent as a missionary to the west coast of Africa.

On his return to America, he became the rector of Christ Church, New Ross, Lunenburg County, Nova Scotia. He had married Edith Harding, and here, on March 27, 1874, Robert Norwood was born. “New Ross is a little village in the heart of a forest. There are no noises from the outside world. A great hill—Porcupine Hill—figures conspicuously in the dreams of Mickey Maitland.” Thus writes our poet of his birthplace, and of the little boy whom he is pleased to name in this playful and artistic way in a story which he intends soon to publish. Norwood derived the name “Mickey ​Maitland” from Lady Sarah Jane Maitland, one of those ancestors, so many of whom struggle towards the heights, yet fail to reach them ere the one genius, at the far, long last, arrives.

Robert Norwood, the child, was contemplative and sensitive. He disliked the horseplay of the boys of the village, and spent much time in his father’s library, for he had learned to read almost as soon as he had learned to talk. His early days were subjective. He developed what has since been termed the ethics of the intellect. He read aloud in his childlike way, and began, even at this early age, to tell, to the younger members of the family, yarns which he spun out of materials already within his reach.

When Robert was five years of age the Norwoods moved to Seaforth, a fishing village in the county of Halifax, and not far from Margaret’s Bay. Here he imbibed the atmosphere and colour for his dramatic poem, “Bill Boram.” He was now able to interpret in terms of his own senses the dreams he had woven around all the wonderful things his father had told him of the sea—the sea with its thunder of song, its suggestion of far, mysteri​ous shores, its changeful moods, the mists and the stars, and, above all, the ships that sailed away—away into those unseen reaches around the headlands—all these and a thousand other impressions were kindling fires of imagination that roused his genius to creative action, and set the stage for a later and fuller expression of the truth and life that were in him so richly. What wonder that he afterwards became an orator, a dramatist and, above all, a poet!

From Seaforth, the Norwoods moved to Calais in Maine. Robert was here a pupil in a great public school, but his stay was brief. His father was always looking for some intangible “garden behind the moon,” some Dream-Arden never yet discovered. He moved next to Oak Hill in the State of New York. Oak Hill is situated at the foot of the Catskills. Here was Mount Pisgah, a silent and faithful sentinel. For years the first morning outlook of the boy was upon the majesty of Pisgah’s purple crown. Often he stood enraptured, gazing long on that ever-changing splendour. It seemed to him that the Great Spirit communed with him here, and his soul was enlarged to a wholesome serenity by Pisgah’s panoramic beauty. It was to him an ade​quate expression of the glory of eternity. This mountain, like the sea, was the portal to a wonderland, and as he stood rooted in ecstasy of vision, he found himself upborne to a fairer world beyond the pillars of the dawn.

Again the striking of tents, and the boy was living on Grindstone, one of the Magdalen Islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Thus from hill to coast, and again from the mountains to the sea, was the boy oscillating like a pendulum of the sun. The school here was so indifferent that Robert was placed under the tuition of his mother. He acknowledges also, at this time, a debt of gratitude to his sister Florence, two years his senior, whose mental qualities provided a strong foundation for mutual sympathy and communion. His younger sister Nellie too had literary leanings, and Robert has often claimed that these sisters had more potential genius than himself. They may have lacked the Harding quality, the habit of patient devotion to work without immediate incentive. Robert began now to write in competition with his sister Florence, preferring poetry, especially the lyrical form.

​Once more a Norwood migration, this time to Shigawake, Quebec, on the Bay Chaleur. In the following year Robert, now aged thirteen, was sent to Coaticook Academy, where for the first time he came under the true discipline of learning. Wide reading had filled his mind with the English classics, but he had no ordered system of knowledge. He was devoid of mathematics, and his classical achievement was based upon his effort in the Magdalen Islands, where he had found an interlinear translation of Ovid’s “Metamorphosis.” Through his fascination for this work he had gradually come into some knowledge of Latin grammar and soon learned to do some translation himself.

His year at Coaticook Academy was unsatisfactory. He found himself hopelessly outdone by pupils with longer discipline, and soon began to feel discouraged, thinking himself dull. This conviction was strengthened by the principal, who told him he was “hopeless in mathematics and dull to the point of stupidity.” His next year was spent at Lennoxville. Here he had the good fortune to have a brilliant teacher in mathematics, who appealed to his imagination and thus brought to him ​interest and success. Robert Norwood has often said: “The secret of genius is interest. All are potential geniuses.”

At seventeen, Robert had been but one year at Coaticook and one at Lennoxville, and was not quite ready for the university. His father, in 1891, had moved to Hubbard’s Cove, in Halifax County, not far from Robert’s birthplace. Here our poet spent the winter in the quiet old rectory which was to be his father’s last earthly home. Joseph Norwood’s body lies here, with those of his sons Ted and Joe, in the shadow of St. Luke’s. At the time of Joe’s death in November, 1920, Norwood wrote: “Death is the Great Discoverer, for he discovers the hidden beauty of our loved ones in such overwhelming splendour that one is almost blinded thereby.”

During the winter Robert read with unprecedented industry, and in the following year entered King’s College, Windsor. While on the Magdalen Islands he had determined to be a clergyman. He had displayed much mechanical ingenuity in carving boats, and taking apart and reassembling clocks, so that he and his brother Ted had become quite wealthy in the eyes of the Grindstone Island boys, to ​whom they sold their wares. Robert’s boats were in great demand. The boys owned a flotilla of these, which were propelled by mill-wheels in the stream flowing through the rectory garden. Joseph Norwood had determined, in view of these mechanical exploits, that Robert should be a marine engineer.

One day the boy tapped on the door of the study, entered, looked his father steadily in the eyes and said: “I have made up my mind to be a clergyman.” He could not then bring himself to tell even his father of that sacred baptism of his inner being which had led him to make this decision; so his father was mystified.

Robert was passionately fond of his father, and waited upon him at every turn. Among other services, he was accustomed to carry the vestments from the rectory to the church and back again, a distance of about two miles. He usually took a short cut home through the woods. One afternoon—it was a beautiful Sunday in May—as he went whistling through the woods, he came into a clearing. The trees were throbbing with the songs of birds and rustling in the wind. The sunshine was pouring down into a dell starred with ar​butus, the perfume of which set the boy almost aflame with ecstasy. He was lost in an exaltation of spirit. Veils were lifted and for the first time he entered into the realization of “the beauty of holiness and the holiness of beauty.” His knees trembled under him and he found himself kneeling and praying in a passion of tears. It seemed to him that the arms of God enfolded and claimed him. He realized his destiny in that hour, and never wavered in his determination to qualify for the priesthood in the Church of England.

At the end of his first university year, he was compelled by lack of funds to become a lay-reader in association with Mr. Clark, rector of the parish of Jeddore and Ship Harbour. Here he often walked thirty miles to and from his appointments. Before the end of the year the rooms were crowded in which he preached.

When he returned to King’s, Charles G. D. Roberts, then a professor in the college, having seen one of Norwood’s poems in print, assured him that he had the gift of song. “Do not misunderstand me,” continued the professor, “the poem is far from perfect. It is full of faults, but it has undoubted quality which shows you are one of us.” In appreciation of Norwood’s ​gift he offered him the freedom of his home. The result was that every spare evening was spent in the professor’s library. Norwood kept aloof from Windsor society for two reasons. He was not financially able to dress appropriately for social functions, and, besides, he desired to read so as to perfect himself in belles-lettres.

In his university career Norwood always felt the handicap of insufficient preparation. He entered King’s with an exceptional class, and his effort to keep pace with them was terrific, but unavailing. His classmates never realized his native powers, and some of them have since wondered at his fame. In one field, however, he leapt into sudden success. He was known at once as a brilliant and effective speaker. He had developed this faculty somewhat in assisting his father, but no doubt it was a natural gift brought to perfection through use.

It is interesting to note that Theodore Seth Harding, one of his maternal forebears, was regarded in his time as the most eloquent preacher in Nova Scotia. In a pamphlet entitled “The Harding Genealogy” some fifteen Theodore Hardings are mentioned as ances​tors of Norwood’s mother, Edith Harding. There appears to be, in this fact, almost a presumption that Rev. Theodore Harding Rand was a member of the same clan, but I am able to state, on the authority of Miss Annie Campbell Huestis, the well-known Canadian poet; of Rev. Douglas Hemmeon; and of relatives of Dr. Rand, that this poet was “named for” Rev. Theodore Seth Harding, though not related to him.

Graduated in 1897, Norwood returned to Hubbard’s, where, through the lovely summer days, he read for orders. Ordained in Halifax in 1898, he took charge of St. Andrew’s Mission at Neil’s Harbour, Cape Breton. His name became a household word along the north shore of that island. Many stories are told of how he handled the village fights, and one especially of how he barred the entry of a cart-load of rum by chasing the bootleggers down the road and across the fields into a barn. A tea-meeting was on for that evening in the mission, and Norwood knew how the festivities would be marred if the rum were released. Through the closed door he assailed the bootleggers with vital English, exacting promises before he felt it safe for either them or their ​rum to be at large. So there was no drunkenness en masse until the tea-meeting was over. By a rugged, honest service to the people of the Harbour, Norwood held the respect and won the affection of his parish.

While at this mission, he married Ethel, daughter of Dr. George McKeen, of Baddeck. Joseph Norwood’s health was failing, and Bishop Courtney called upon the young priest to take over the parish work at Hubbard’s. So Norwood went back where he had first tried his flight in song. From a blank note book many lines written in an angular hand indicate the nature of Norwood’s art. Some of these appear in “Driftwood,” a small collection of verse by himself and Charles Vernon, his brilliant room-mate at King’s, published privately shortly after Norwood’s graduation.

One daughter, Aileen, was born to the Norwoods while they were at Hubbard’s. Ted and Jean are younger, and the three with their parents make up the Norwood family. Shortly after the birth of Aileen, Norwood was called to Trinity Church, Bridgewater, N.S. Here he spent five happy years. Among the many friendships of this time, he often refers to those of Dr. Hemmeon, Mr. Roberts, a lawyer, ​Mr. Paton, W. E. Marshall, the Canadian poet and author of “Brookfield,” and C. W. Thompson, a blacksmith, whom Norwood still regards as one of the finest minds he has ever known. “These men,” he declares, “curried and combed me;” and he had the good sense to value the service.

Norwood never ceased to be a thorough student. He left Bridgewater to take courses in Philosophy and History in Columbia University, after which he took charge of the parish of All Saints at Springhill. Here he became familiar with the industrial problem. After a brief stay at Springhill, he was invited to act as assistant to the rector of Trinity Church, Montreal. He owed his invitation to Rev. John Almond, whom he first met at Shigawake, Bay Chaleur, and who is still Canon of Trinity.

Norwood here attracted large audiences as usual, and was soon recognized as a man with a future. His call to Cronyn Memorial Church, London, Ontario, followed. In London he stayed five years, stirring and inspiring crowds with his eloquence and the reality of his message. He had written at Springhill the first draft of “The Witch of ​Endor,” besides much of “His Lady of the Sonnets.” He continued the writing and revision, and the Sonnets were published in 1915 while he was in London. They brought him instantly into wide recognition as a poet of masterful art and clear prophetic vision. Since 1915, nearly every year, some new work in poetry has issued from his pen. He has now in preparation the story, “Mickey Maitland,” already alluded to in these pages.

In 1917 Robert Norwood became the rector of St. Paul’s Memorial Church, Overbrook, Philadelphia, Pa. So great are the crowds attracted by his eloquence, people sometimes stand throughout the service in order to hear him. It is not uncommon to see strong men of fine culture moved to tears by the vision of spiritual beauty presented in Norwood’s preaching. He never accepts credulity for faith, nor prejudice for principle. He speaks the truth fearlessly in words that all unbiased minds understand—the universal terminology of thoughtful men and women.

The degree of Doctor of Civil Law was bestowed upon Robert Norwood in 1921, by his Alma Mater. This was followed in May, 1924, by a Doctorate in Literature from the Univer​sity of Acadia. He has recently been listed by The Philadelphia Forum, and is a distinguished lecturer, well known both in Canada and the United States. He feels the high trust of the times, and realizes his obligation to share with all, the responsibilities entailed in the evolution of the race.

The country surrounding Overbrook reminds one of South Devon. It is marked with hills and dales and heavily-wooded groves. The walking is good, and there is a rich variety of scenery. Every mile of the road from Overbrook to Valley Forge is memorable because of some interesting feature of the revolution. Thus our poet is at present in the atmosphere of the international, his proper environment. He himself has said: “The geography of earth is almost at an end; the future lies on the hill-tops and among the stars.”

Though Robert Norwood was born in Canada, and most of the inspirations of his youth were Canadian, we readily concede that, like Bliss Carman, Charles G. D. Roberts, Arthur Stringer, Ernest Thompson Seton, Basil King, and many other Canadians, he belongs not only to us, but to all who speak in the ​English phrase, wherever they contribute their gifts to the peace and progress of the world.

His correspondence is among the most brilliant, spontaneous, and delightful that it has been my privilege to receive. His face presents a happy hint of Hibernia; his heart is of the new world; his mind is universal. Such is Robert Norwood.