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 MAYNARD'S 
 
 English • Classic • Series 
 *—?& — * 
 
 J 
 
 i -i— i— i—i-»— i— i— i— i— i— i— i— i - 
 
 
 t 
 
 ± 
 
 VOICES 
 
 OF THE NIGHT 
 
 m -.i ^ i— » i n i .. w^ ijij.p 
 
 BY 
 
 H.W.LONGFELLOW. 
 i->— i-i-i— i— i— i— i— i-i— i— i-i-i 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Maynard, Merrill 6c Co. 
 
 43, 45 & 47 East lO™ St. 
 
 II 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES, 
 
 FOR 
 
 Classes in English Literature, Reading, Grammar, et< 
 
 EDITED BY EMINENT ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SCHOLARS, 
 
 Each Volume contains a Sketch of the Author's Life, Prefatory and 
 
 Explanatory Notes, etc., etc. 
 
 Dante. 
 
 1 Byron's Prophecy of 
 
 (Cantos I. and II.) 
 
 2 Milton's L' Allegro, and II Pen- 
 
 seroso. 
 
 3 Lord Bacon's Essays, Civil and 
 
 Moral. (Selected.) 
 
 4 Byron's Prisoner of Chillon. 
 
 5 Moore's Fire AVorshippers. 
 
 (Lalla Kookh. Selected.) 
 
 6 Goldsmith's Deserted Village. 
 
 7 Scott's Marmion. (Selections 
 
 from Panto VI.) 
 
 8 Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 (Introduction and Canto 1.) 
 
 9 Burns'sCotter'sSaturdayNight, 
 
 and other Poems 
 
 10 Crabbe's The Village. 
 
 11 Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. 
 
 (Abridgment of Part I.) 
 
 12 Macaulay's Essay on Bunyan's 
 
 Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 13 Macaulay's Armada, and other 
 
 Poems. 
 
 14 Shakespeare's Merchant of Ve- 
 
 nice. (Selections from Acts I., 
 III., and IV.) 
 
 15 Goldsmith's Traveller. 
 
 16 Hogg's Queen's Wake, and Kil- 
 
 nieuy. 
 
 17 Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. 
 
 18 Addison's Sir ltoger de Cover- 
 
 ley. 
 
 19 Gray's Elegy in a Country 
 
 Churchyard. 
 
 20 Scott's Lady of the Lake. (Canto 
 
 I.) 
 
 21 Shakespeare's As You Like It, 
 
 et< lections.) 
 
 22 Shakespeare's King John, and 
 
 Richard II. (Selections.) 
 
 23 Shakespeare's Henry IV., Hen- 
 
 ry V., Henry VI. (Selection! 
 
 24 Shakespeare's Henry VIII., and 
 
 Julius Caesar. (Selection 
 
 25 Wordsworth's Excursion. (Bk.I.) 
 2G Pope's Essay on Crit hi mo. 
 
 27 Spenser'sFaerieQueene. (Cantos 
 
 I. andH.) 
 
 28 Cowper's Task. (Book I.) 
 
 29 Milton's Comus. 
 
 30 Tennyson's Enoch Arden, The 
 
 Lotus Eaters, Ulysses, and 
 Tit bonus. 
 
 Sketch Book. 
 
 (Selec 
 Carol 
 
 31 Irving's 
 tions.) 
 
 32 Dickens's Christmas 
 (Condensed.) 
 
 33 Carlyle's Hero as a Prophet. 
 
 34 Macaulay's Warren Hastings 
 (Condensed.) 
 
 35 Goldsmith's Vicar of Wake 
 field. (Condensed.) 
 
 36 Tennyson's The Two Voices 
 and A Dream of Fair Women 
 
 37 Memory Quotations. 
 
 38 Cavalier Poets. 
 
 39 Dryden's Alexander's Feas' 
 and MacFlecknoe. 
 
 40 Keats's The Eve of St. Agnes. 
 
 41 Irving.'s Legend of Sleepy Hoi 
 low. 
 
 42 Lamb's Tales from Shake 
 speare. 
 
 43 Le Row's How to Teach Read- 
 ing. 
 
 44 Webster*! Bunker Hill Ora- 
 tions. 
 
 45 The Academy Orthoepist. A 
 Manual of Pronunciation. 
 
 46 Hilton's Lycidas, and HyniLi 
 OH the Nativity. 
 
 47 Bryant's Thana'topsis, and othei 
 Poems. 
 
 48 Raskin's Modern Painters, 
 lections.) 
 
 4 9 The Shakespeare Speaker. 
 
 50 Thackeray's Roundabout a- 
 
 pei «*. 
 
 51 Webster's Oration on Adams, 
 and Jellerson. 
 
 52 Brown's Kab and his Friends. 
 
 53 Morris's Life and Death of 
 Jason. 
 
 54 Burke- speech on American 
 Taxation. 
 
 55 Pope's Rape of the Lock. 
 
 56 Tennyson's lllaine. 
 
 57 Tennyson's In Memorlam. 
 
 58 Church's Story of the JEneid. 
 
 59 Church's story of the Iliad. 
 
 60 Swift's Gulliver's Voyage to; 
 Lilliput. 
 
 61 Macaulay's Essay on Lord Ba- 
 con. (Condensed.) 
 
 62 The Alcest is of Euripides. Eng- 
 lish Version by Rev. R. Potter.M.A. 
 
 (Additional numbers on next page.) 
 
 l 
 
MAYNARD'S ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES.— No. 167 
 
 Voices of the Night 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 M 
 
 TlHlitb JSiograpbical Sftetcb, Critical ©pinions, anD 
 
 Explanatory IRotes 
 
 .it) 
 
 o » * 
 
 iUH 24! 895 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 
 
 New Series, No. 113. January 30, 1893. Published Semi-weekly. Sub- 
 scription Price, $10. Entered at Post Office, New York, as Second- 
 class Matter. 
 
 K 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW 3 
 
 CRITICAL OPINIONS ? 
 
 VOICES OF THE NIGHT I3 
 
 Prelude ij 
 
 Hymn to the Night t y 
 
 A Psalm of Life j.s 
 
 The Reaper and the Flowers 20 
 
 The Light of Stars 2I 
 
 I totsteps 1 >f Angels 22 
 
 I"l« m 24 
 
 The Beleaguered ( ity 26 
 
 Midnight Ma r the Dying Year 28 
 
 MISCELLANEi >US 31 
 
 The Skeleton in Armor 31 
 
 The Wreck of the I [esperus 38 
 
 The I ,uck 1 >f I'.denhall 41 
 
 The I l( cted Knight . H 
 
 The Village Blacksmith |£ 
 
 I iidymion }S 
 
 The Two I .<uks of I lair . . . .-.. . / j<) 
 
 It is not always May '. / 50 
 
 The Rainy I >ay 51 
 
 God'fl Aire 52 
 
 To the River Charles 53 
 
 Blind Bartimeus 55 
 
 Maidenhood 56 
 
 Excelsior 58 
 
 iz-tbil- 1 
 
 Copyright, 1895, bv Mavnard, Merrill, & Co. 
 

 V) 
 
 6,1 
 
 CRAIGIE HOUSE, LONGFELLOW'S HOME, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 
 Life of Longfellow. • 
 
 Those scientists who hold that genius is a morbid distil- 
 lation from a tainted ancestry would be puzzled to account 
 for Longfellow's undeniable genius. He was descended 
 from two Yorkshire families, whose natural healthiness of 
 mind and body had been developing for several generations 
 in the bracing air of New England. The Longfellows, his 
 father's family, were a sturdy race, who had always done 
 their duty without inquiring into their metaphysical mo- 
 tives for doing it ; and his mother's family, the Wadsworths, 
 traced their descent to John Alden, — as wholesome an old 
 Puritan warrior as could well be found. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the poet, was born at 
 Portland, Maine, February 27th, 1807. Like Emerson and 
 Hawthorne, he was a quiet boy, fond of books, and averse 
 to taking part in the sports of his schoolfellows. His 
 
 3 
 
4 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW 
 
 nerves shrank from all loud noises. There is a tradition of 
 his having begged a servant on a glorious Fourth of July 
 to put cotton in his ears to deaden the roar of the cannon, 
 and in later life one of his book-plates bore the motto 
 " Non Clamor, sed Amor." 
 
 At the age of fifteen this shy, studious lad was sent to 
 Bowdoin College at Brunswick, Maine, after Portland 
 Academy had taught him all it knew. He came prepared 
 to make the most of his opportunities, and after four years 
 of hard work graduated with distinction, and with the 
 promise of a professorship after a year of travel had 
 broadened his mental horizon. 
 
 The next summer found Longfellow at Paris with alC 
 Europe before him. He wandered through England, 
 France, Germany, Italy, Holland, and Spain ; everywhere 
 studying the languages, and absorbing the rich associations 
 of foreign places. His impressions of what he saw wore in 
 later years embodied in the prose works Outre-Ma' and 
 Hyperion, On his return he at once assumed the duties of 
 his professorship, finding little time for literature. In 1831 
 he married an acquaintance of former years, Mary Storer 
 Poller, with whom he lived most happily until her prema- 
 ture death in 1835. In 1S34 a pleasant surprise came in the 
 shape of an oiTer of the Chair of Modern Languages at 
 Harvard, an offer which Longfellow was only too glad to 
 accept. The new professor's oificial duties were light, and 
 he had leisure for the literary pursuits which had ever 
 been his delight. Hyperion t a romance in two volumes, 
 and The Void* of the Niyht, a volume of poems containing 
 "The Reaper and the Flowers," and "The Psalm of Life," 
 were published in 1839. Two years later appeared Ballads 
 and other Poems, containing the " Wreck of the Hesperus," 
 "The Village Blacksmith," and "Excelsior"; and in the 
 following year Pa m$ on Shin /•//. This quiet life of work 
 
LIFE OF LONGFELLOW 5 
 
 was interrupted in 1842 by a visit to Dickens in London, 
 but speedily resumed. In July, 1843, Longfellow married 
 his second wife, a Miss Appleton, whose acquaintance he had 
 made for the first time during his Swiss tour. Longfellow's 
 ambition was to be the national poet of America, — an ambi- 
 tion to which he was spurred on by Margaret Fuller, prob- 
 ably the most intellectual woman of the time in America. She 
 called his poems exotic flowers, with no smell of American 
 soil about them. The outcome of this criticism was the 
 writing of Evangeline, followed later by Hiawatha and 
 Miles Standish, all refreshingly American in flavor. Hia- 
 watha, a poem founded on Indian myths, is cast in the form 
 of the Eddas, the ancient epics of Finland, a form with 
 which Longfellow had become familiar in his studies of 
 the Scandinavian languages. The Courtship of Miles 
 Standish pictures the deeds and sufferings of the early 
 Plymouth colony, a recital enlivened only by the description 
 of the courting of Priscilla by proxy. It is not to be un- 
 derstood that Longfellow's fame rested on these American 
 poems alone : he had already written a quantity of poetry 
 which had established his reputation as a poet, but it was 
 on these that he based his claim to be considered the 
 national poet of America. 
 
 In 1854, after about eighteen years of academic work, 
 Longfellow felt warranted in resigning his Harvard profes- 
 sorship, to be free for purely literary pursuits. His home at 
 Cambridge was the large Craigie House, which could boast 
 of having once been the headquarters of Washington. 
 Here, surrounded by a brilliant circle of friends, he lived in 
 all the flush of a happy, successful life until 1861, — that 
 fatal year, — when his peace was invaded by a frightful 
 calamity: Mrs. Longfellow, while playing with her children,, 
 set fire to her dress, and was mortally injured by the flames.. 
 The poet never recovered from the shock of this bereave- 
 
G 
 
 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW 
 
 ment, although he continued his work with unabated vigor 
 until the time of his death in March 1882. 
 
 After Tennyson, Longfellow has been the most popular 
 poet of his day. Some critics have said that had Tennyson 
 never written the Idylls, or In Memoriam, his inferiority 
 to Longfellow would have been manifest, but the power 
 displayed in these high realms of poetry was quite beyond 
 Longfellow's reach. His range is domestic. He lacks the 
 power of depicting deep passion, or of robing purely imag- 
 inative subjects with ideal grace and color. The forces 
 necessary to the execution of an heroic poem are not his, 
 but on the other hand, in such a description of quiet love 
 and devoted patience as he gives us in Evangeline, Long- 
 fellow may be ranked with i,he greatest of poets. 
 
 Chronological List of the Principal Works 
 
 of Longfellow. 
 
 Coplas de Manrique . 1833 
 
 Outre-Mer 1835 
 
 Hyperion 1839 
 
 Voices of the Night . 1839 
 Ballads and other Poems 1841 
 Poems on Slavery . . 1842 
 Spanish Student . . . 1848 
 Poets and Poetry of 
 
 Europe 1845 
 
 Belfry of Bruges. . . 1846 
 Evangeline .... 1847 
 
 Kavanagh 1849 
 
 Seaside and the Fireside 1 
 Golden Legend . . .1851 
 
 Hiawatha 1855 
 
 Miles Standish . . . 1858 
 
 Tales of a Wayside Inn 1863 
 Flower-De-Luce . . . 1867 
 Divine Comedy of Dante 
 
 ▲lighter! . . . 1867-70 
 New England Tragedies 1868 
 
 Divine Tragedy . 
 
 Three Hooks of Song 
 Christns .... 
 Aftermath .... 
 Banging of the Crane 
 Masque of Pandora . 
 Keramos .... 
 ritimaThule. . . 
 In the Harbor [Pltima 
 
 Thole, Pi ii.] . . 
 Michael Angelo . . 
 
 1871 
 
 1872 
 1873 
 
 1874 
 1875 
 1878 
 1880 
 
 1882 
 1884 
 
Ceitical Opinions. 
 
 Child of New England, and trained by her best influences; 
 of a temperament singularly sweet and serene, and with 
 the sturdy rectitude of his race ; refined and softened by 
 wide contact with other lands and many men ; born in 
 prosperity, accomplished in all literatures, and himself a 
 literary artist of consummate elegance, — he was the fine 
 flower of the Puritan stock under its changed modern con- 
 ditions. Out of strength had come forth sweetness. The 
 grim iconoclast, "humming a surly hymn," had issued in 
 the Christian gentleman. Captain Miles Standish had risen 
 into Sir Philip Sidney. The austere morality that relentlessly 
 ruled the elder New England reappeared in the genius of 
 this singer in the most gracious and captivating form. . . . 
 The foundations of our distinctive literature were largely 
 laid in New England, and they rest upon morality. Literary 
 New England had never a trace of literary Bohemia. The 
 most illustrious group, and the earliest, of American authors 
 and scholars and literary men, the Boston and Cambridge 
 group of the last generation, — Channing, the two Danas, 
 Sparks, Everett, Bancroft, Ticknor, Prescott, Norton, Rip- 
 ley, Palfrey, Emerson, Parker, Hawthorne, Longfellow, 
 Holmes, Whittier, Agassiz, Lowell, Motley, — have been 
 sober and industrious citizens, of whom Judge Sewall would 
 have approved. Their lives as well as their works have 
 ennobled literature. They have illustrated the moral sanity 
 of genius. 
 
 Longfellow shares this trait with them all. It is the 
 moral purity of his verse which at once charms the heart ; 
 and in his first most famous poem, the "Psalm of Life," it 
 is the direct inculcation of a moral purpose. Those who 
 insist that literary art, like all other art, should not concern 
 itself positively with morality, must reflect that the heart 
 
 7 
 
8 CRITICAL OPINIONS 
 
 of this age has been touched as truly by Longfellow, how- 
 ever differently, as that of any time by its inaster-poet. 
 This, indeed, is his peculiar distinction. Among the great 
 poetic names of the century in English literature, Burns, in 
 a general way, is the poet of love ; Wordsworth, of lofty 
 contemplation of nature ; Byron, of passion ; Shelley, of 
 aspiration; Keats, of romance; Scott, of heroic legend; 
 and not less, and quite as distinctively, Longfellow, of the 
 domestic affection-. He is the poet of the household, of 
 the fireside, of the universal home feeling. The infinite 
 tenderness and patience, the pathos and the beauty, of daily 
 life, of familiar emotion, and the common Bcene, — these are 
 the significance of thai verse whose beautiful and simple 
 melody, softly murmuring for more than forty years, made 
 the singer the most widely beloved of living men. — Oeonjc 
 William Ourt\ 
 
 He is in a high a literary man ; and next a literary 
 
 artist ; and thirdly, a literary artist in the domain of poetry. 
 It would not he true to say that his art is o[' the intent 
 kind or most magical potency ; hut it is art, and imbues 
 whatever he performs. In BO Ear as a literary arti>t in 
 
 poetry is a poet, Longfellow Is a j>«»«-t, and should (to the 
 silencing of all debates and demurs) be freely confessed and 
 
 handsomely installed as such. How far he IS a poet in a 
 further st than this remains t<> 1- ermined. 
 
 Having thus summarily considered "the actual quality 
 of the work" ss derived fr<»m the endowments of the 
 worker, I next proceed to "the grounds npon which the 
 vast popularity of the poems has rested. n One main and 
 
 in itself all-SOfficient irrmmd lias just been stated : that the 
 
 s<»rt of intelligence of which Longfellow Is so conspicuous 
 an example includes pre-eminently " a great Busceptibility to 
 
 the spirit of the age." The man who meets the spirit of the 
 
 e half-way will he met half-waj by that ; will be adopted 
 
 as a favorite child, and warmly reposited in the heart. Such 
 has been the case with Longfellow, in sentiment, in percep- 
 
CRITICAL OPINIONS 9 
 
 tion, in culture, in selection^ in utterance, he represents, 
 with adequate and even influential but not overwhelm- 
 ing force, the tendencies and adaptabilities of the time ; he 
 is a good type of the ' ' bettermost, " not the exceptionally 
 very best, minds of the central or later-central period of the 
 nineteenth century ; and, having the gift of persuasive 
 speech and accomplished art, he can enlist the sympathies 
 of readers who approach his own level of intelligence, and 
 can dominate a numberless multitude of those who belong 
 to lower planes, but who share none the less his own general 
 conceptions and aspirations. 
 
 Evangeline, whatever may be its shortcomings and blem- 
 ishes, takes so powerful a hold of the feelings that the 
 fate which would at last merge it in oblivion could only be 
 a very hard and even a perverse one. Who that has read 
 it has ever forgotten it ? or in whose memory does it rest as 
 other than a long-drawn sweetness and sadness that has 
 become a portion, and a purifying portion, of the experi- 
 ences of the heart ? — William Michael Rossetti. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow was easily first amongst his own coun- 
 trymen as a poet, and in certain directions as a prose 
 writer ; but he was also a good deal more than this. There 
 has been a tendency to doubt whether he was entitled to a 
 place in the first rank of poets ; and the doubt, although 
 we are not disposed to think it well founded, is perhaps 
 intelligible. Some of the qualities which gave his verse 
 its charm and its very wide popularity and influence also 
 worked, not to perplex — for the essence of his style was 
 simplicity — but perhaps to vex, the critical mind. There 
 is no need to dwell now upon various pieces of verse by 
 Mr. Longfellow, which no doubt owed much of their fame 
 to qualities that were less prominent in some of his produc- 
 tions which perhaps were, not unnaturally, less popular. 
 . . . But it may be said as a general rule, that when Long- 
 fellow was commonplace in sentiment he was far from 
 
10 CRITICAL OPINIONS 
 
 commonplace in expression. His verse was full of gra< 
 and, if one may use the word in this connection, of tact ; 
 and it cannot perhaps be said to have been want of tact 
 that prevented him from correcting the one odd blunder 
 that he made after it had gone forth to the world and be- 
 come somewhat surprisingly popular. That he could he 
 and generally was much the reverse of commonplace, will 
 hardly he denied by any one who has made a real study of 
 his work. He had a keen observation, a vivid fancy, a 
 scholarlike touch, a not i mnnon gentiUe$96 t and m- 
 
 ingly easy command of rhyme and rhythm. . . . 
 
 When tin- qualities which we have touched upon are 
 united in a man \vh<> has come before the world as a poet, 
 
 idently in consequence of the promptings of his nature, 
 
 and n<>t of malice prepense and with carefully deviled 
 
 affectation, it seen newhal ra^h to deny him the high 
 place which the great bulk <>t' hie admirers would assign to 
 him, because he has, perhaps t<><> frequently, Lapsed into 
 thought, it not Into diction, which may seem unworthy of 
 
 such a writer at his h< 
 
 Nor, perhaps, la it fair In this regard to leave out 
 account that Longfellow began his poetic career as the 
 
 poet — the poet pa \Ci — Oi 'Wintry which had Ltfl 
 
 literature to make, . . . His position as the spokesman in 
 
 [ ■ young country had its advantages and its draw 
 lb wa- mon free from thedisndvanfau-e^ol' critical 
 verity and opposition than an Kagliflh writ uhl well 
 
 have been ; but BUCh edom has it^ dan and t<> this 
 
 it might not be tOO fanciful to trace the la] i which 
 
 BOme mention lias been made. That it \va>. to these lapses 
 that he owed a c< msiderable portion of his inlluence with 
 
 the mass of the reading or devouring public in England 
 
 irafl not his fault ; and thifl fact BUOUld not. we think, be 
 allowed t«» obscure in any way the exceptionally tine quali- 
 ties which he undoubtedly possessed and cultivated." 
 
 — London 8a .</ Bt < i< w. 
 
CRITICAL OPINIONS 11 
 
 The essence of Longfellow's writings might be defined 
 thus : domestic morals, with a romantic coloring, a warm 
 glow of sentiment, and a full measure of culture. The 
 morals are partly religious, hardly at all sectarian, pure, 
 sincere, and healthy. The romance is sufficiently genuine, 
 yet a trifle factitious, nicely apprehended rather than in- 
 tense. The sentiment is heart-felt, but a little ordinary — 
 by the very fact of its being ordinary all the more widely 
 and fully responded to — at times with a somewhat false 
 ring, or at least an obvious shallowness ; right-minded 
 sentiment, which the author perceives to be creditable to 
 himself, and which he aims, as if by an earnest and 
 "penetrated" tone of voice, to make impressive to his 
 reader. The culture is broad and general ; not that of a 
 bookworm or student, but of a receptive and communicative 
 mind, of average grasp and average sympathies. . . . 
 Longfellow had much clearness and persuasiveness, some 
 force, and a great aptitude for "improving the occasion ;" 
 but he had not that imaginative strength, that spacious 
 vision, that depth of personal individuality which impress 
 somewhat painfully at first, but which alone supply in the 
 long-run the great startling and rousing forces that possess 
 a permanent influence. — London Athenceum. 
 
 Longfellow has a perfect command of that expression 
 which results from restraining rather than cultivating flu- 
 ency ; and his manner is adapted to his theme. He rarely, 
 if ever, mistakes emotions for conceptions. His words are 
 often pictures of his thought. He selects with great deli- 
 cacy and precision the exact phrase which best expresses or 
 suggests his idea. He colors his style with the skill of a 
 painter. The warm flush and bright tints, as well as the 
 most evanescent hues, of language he uses with admirable 
 discretion, In that higher department of his art, that of so 
 combining his words and images that they make music to 
 the soul as well as to the ear, and convey not only his feel- 
 ings and thoughts, but also the very tone and condition of 
 
12 CRITICAL OPINIONS 
 
 the soul in which they have being, he likewise excels. . . . 
 . . . His imagination, in the sphere of its activity, is al- 
 most perfect in its power to shape in visible forms, or to 
 suggest, by cunning verbal combinations, the feeling or 
 thought he desires to express ; but it lacks the strength and 
 daring, and the wide sweep, which characterize the imagi- 
 nation of such poets as Shelley. He has little of the unrt NSt 
 and frenzy of the bard. We know, in reading him, that he 
 will never miss his mark ; that he will risk nothing ; that 
 he will aim to do only that which he feels he can do well. 
 An air of repose, of quiet power, is around his compositions. 
 He rarely loses sight of common interests and sympathies. 
 He displays none of the stinging earnestness, the vehement 
 sensibility, the gusts of passion, which characterize poets 
 of the impulsive class. His spiritualism is not seen in wild 
 struggles after an ineffable Something, for which earth can 
 afford but imperfect symbols, and of which even abstract 
 words can BUggest little knowled: He appears perfectly 
 
 satisfied with his work. Like bis own "Village Black- 
 smith," he retires every night with the feeling that som«- 
 thing has been attempted, tbat something has been doi 
 . . . His sense of beauty, though uncommonly vivid, is not 
 the highest of which the mind is capable. lie has little 
 perception of its mysterious spirit ; of tbat beauty, of which 
 all physical Loveliness is but the shadow, which awes and 
 thrills the soul into which it enters, and lifts the imagina- 
 tion into regions " to which the heaven of heavens is but a 
 veil." His mind never appears oppressed, nor his sight 
 dimmed, by its exceeding glory. He feels and loves, and 
 creates what Lfl beautiful ; but he hymns no reverence, he 
 pays no adoration, to the Spirit of Beauty. He would 
 never exclaim with Shelley, " O awful Loveliness!" — E. P. 
 Whipple. 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Pleasant it was, when woods were greeri, 
 
 And winds were soft and low, 
 To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
 Where, the long drooping boughs between, 
 Shadows dark and sunlight sheen e; 
 
 Alternate come and go ; 
 
 Or where the denser grove receives 
 
 No sunlight from above, 
 But the dark foliage interweaves 
 In one unbroken roof of leaves, i Q 
 
 Underneath whose sloping eaves 
 
 The shadows hardly move. 
 
 Beneath some patriarchal tree 
 
 1 lay upon the ground ; 
 His hoary arms uplifted he, r ,- 
 
 And all the broad leaves over me 
 Clapped their little hands in glee 
 
 With one continuous sound ; — 
 
 A slumberous sound,- — a sound that brings 
 
 The feelings of a dream, — 2 q 
 
 As of innumerable wings, 
 
 As, when a bell no longer swings, 
 
 Faint the hollow murmur rings 
 O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 
 
 13 
 
14 PRELUDE 
 
 And dreams of that which cannot die, 
 
 Bright visions, came to me, 
 As lapped in thought I used to lie, 
 And gaze into the summer skv, 
 5 • Where the sailing clouds went by, 
 
 Like ships upon the sea ; 
 
 Dreams that the soul of youth engage 
 
 Ere Fancy has been quelled ; 
 Old legends of the monkish page, 
 10 Traditions of the saint and sage, 
 
 Tales that have the rime of age, 
 
 And chronicks of Eld. 
 
 And, loving still these quaint old therm 
 Even in the city's throng 
 15 I feel the freshness ol the streams, 
 
 That, crossed by shades and sunny gleam 
 
 Water the green land of dreams, 
 
 The holy land of Song. 
 
 Therel al Pentecost, which brings 
 
 20 The Spring, clothed like a bride, 
 
 When nestling buds untold their wing 
 
 And bishop's caps have golden ring 
 
 Musing upon many thing 
 
 I sought the woodlands wide. 
 
 25 Tin- green trees whispered low and mild ; 
 It was a sound of jo 
 They were my playmates when a child, 
 
 And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
 Still they looked at me and smiled, 
 30 As if 1 were a boy ; 
 
 Bishop's cap. A planl <>f the genu Iffitell 1 tiled (roan the 
 
 ■tape of its pod. It li ill K r <."<-' n 'sli flower. 
 
PRELUDE 15 
 
 And ever whispered, mild and low, 
 
 " Come, be a child once more ! " 
 And waved their long arms to and fro, 
 And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 
 O, I could not choose but go 5 
 
 Into the woodlands hoar ; 
 
 Into the blithe and breathing air, 
 
 Into the solemn wood, 
 Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
 Nature with folded hands seemed there, 10 
 
 Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 
 
 Like one in prayer I stood. 
 
 Before me rose an avenue 
 
 Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
 Abroad their fan-like branches grew, k 
 
 And, where the sunshine darted through, 
 Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
 
 In long and sloping lines. 
 
 And, falling on my weary brain, 
 
 Like a fast-falling shower, 20 
 
 The dreams of youth came back again ; 
 Low lispings of the summer rain, 
 Dropping on the ripened grain, 
 
 As once upon the flower. 
 
 Visions of childhood ! Stay, O stay ! 25 
 
 Ye were so sweet and wild ! 
 And distant voices seemed to say, 
 " It cannot be! They pass away ! 
 Other themes demand thy lay ; 
 Thou art no more a child ! 30 
 
1 6 PRELUDE 
 
 " The land of Song within thee lies, 
 Watered by living springs ; 
 
 The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 
 
 Are gates unto that Paradise, 
 c Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, 
 
 Its clouds are angels' wings. 
 
 u Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, 
 
 Not mountains capped with snow, 
 Nor forests sounding like the sea, 
 10 Nor rivers flowing carelessly, 
 
 Where the woodlands bend to see 
 The bending heavens below. 
 
 "There is a forest where the din 
 Of iron brand ounds ! 
 
 15 A mighty liver roars between, 
 
 And whosoever looks therein 
 Sees the heavens all black with sin, 
 Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 
 
 " Athwart the swinging branches cast, 
 
 20 Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 
 
 Then comes the Fearful wintry blast ; 
 Our hopes, like withered leaves, lall fast, 
 
 Pallid lips say, ' It is past I 
 
 We can return no more ! ' 
 
 25 "Look, then, into thine heart, and write! 
 
 Yes, into Lite's deep stream ! 
 All forms of sorrow and delight, 
 All solemn Voices of the Night, 
 That can soothe thee, or affright, — 
 
 ^o Be these henceforth thy theme." 
 
HYMN TO THE NIGHT 
 
 *7 
 
 HYMN TO THE NIGHT 
 
 Uorvia, TzOrvia vvg, 
 
 virvoddreipa royv ttoTivttovdv (3poro)v ) 
 
 "'Epeftodev idi \jlo\e /uoXe Kardirrepog 
 
 ^Ayajuejuvoviov etti do/uov 
 
 vnb yap aTiyeov, vtto re avjU(f>opdc 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 'Agttciolt], TpiXktaroq. 
 
 I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night 
 Sweep through her marble halls ! 
 
 1 saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
 From the celestial walls ! 
 
 I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 
 
 Stoop o'er me from above ; 
 The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 
 
 As of the one I love. 
 
 10 
 
 *5 
 
 i. noTvia, noTvia vv£, etc. 
 
 [Awful queen, whose gentle power 
 
 Brings sweet oblivion of our woes, 
 And in the calm and gentle hour 
 Distils the blessings of repose ; — 
 Come, awful Night ;] 
 Come from the gloom of Erebus profound, 
 And spread thy sable tinctured wings around; 
 Speed to this royal house thy flight ; 
 For pale-eyed Grief, and wild Affright, 
 
 And all the horrors of Despair, 
 
 Here pour their rage, and threaten ruin here. 
 
 Euripides' Orestes, 178-188, tr. by R. Potter. 
 8. 'Ao-irao-i'rj, rptAAioTOs . . . vi/| — most welcome, earnestly prayed for 
 night. Itiad, 8, 488. 
 
1 8 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 
 
 The manifold, soft chimes, 
 That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 
 
 Like some old poet's Rhymes. 
 
 5 From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 
 
 My spirit drank repose ; 
 The fountain of perpetual peace Hows there, — 
 From those deep cisterns tlows. 
 
 O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 
 'o What man has borne betop ! 
 
 Thou layest thy linger on tin- lips of Care, 
 And they complain no mor 
 
 P< ' On Stes-llke I breathe this pi 
 
 Descend with broad-winged flight, 
 
 15 The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 
 The best beloved N ight ! 
 
 A PSALM OF LI1 
 
 WHAT THE Hi.Aki 01 THE IrOUNG MAN SAID TO 
 
 1 in PSALMIS r. 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful number 
 
 " Life is but an empty dream ! " 
 For the soul is dead that slumbei 
 20 And things are not what the\ ii. 
 
 13, Orestes. In classic mythology a son <>f Agamemnon and Clytem- 
 
 nestra ; he was pursued by the Furies, who fir. >vc him mad as ,\ punishment 
 for the murder of his mother. In the tflgody "Orestes" by Euripid 
 Orestes calls on sleep as his greatest boon. 
 
A PSALM OF LIFE 19 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 5 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Find us farther than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 10 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 
 Funeral marches to the grave, 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle \ 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! x 5 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead past bury its dead ! 
 Act,— act in the living Present 1 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 20 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 
 Footsteps on the sands of time ; — 
 
 3. " Dust thou art, to dust returnest.'' Genesis iii. 19. 
 
 9. Art is long, and time is fleeting. Compare : "Ars longa, vita 
 ibrevis" {art is long, time short) — Hippocrates, Aphorism I.; " The lyfe so 
 <short, the craft so long to learn" — Chaucer's The Assembly of Fowles ; 
 ft Pie Kunst i$t lang,, das Leben kurz " — Gothe's Wilhelm Meister, vii. 9. 
 
 .24. Footsteps. In Jater editions Longfellow changed this to "footprints/' 
 
20 /'///:' REAPER AXD THE PLOW 
 
 Footsteps, that perhaps another, 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 With a heart for any fat< 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait 
 
 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS 
 There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 
 
 io And, with his sickle keen, 
 
 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
 And the tlowers that grow between. 
 
 ■'Shall I have nought that is lair nth h 
 
 " Have nought but the bearded gram ? 
 15 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 
 
 I will give them all back again." 
 
 He ga/ed at the llowers with tearful 1 
 I [e kissed their drooping leave 
 
 It was tor the Lord of Paradise 
 
 ?n He bound them in his sheaves. 
 
 " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 
 
 The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
 
 «• Dear tokens of the earth are th< 
 Where he was on. child. 
 
THE LIGHT OF STARS 21 
 
 " They shall all bloom in fields of light, 
 
 Transplanted by my care, 
 And saints, upon their garments white, 
 
 These sacred blossoms wear." 
 
 And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 5 
 
 The flowers she most did love ; 
 She knew she should find them all again 
 
 In the fields of light above. 
 
 O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 
 The Reaper came that day ; 10 
 
 T was an angel visited the green earth, 
 
 And took the flowers away. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF STARS 
 
 The night is come, but not too soon ; 
 
 And sinking silently, 
 All silently, the little moon X r 
 
 Drops down behind the sky. 
 
 There is no light in earth or heaven 
 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 And the first watch of night is given 
 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 Is it the tender star of love ? 
 
 The star of love and dreams ? 
 O no ! from that blue tent above, 
 
 A hero's armor gleams. 
 
 20 
 
 20. The red planet Mars. Mars shines with a fiery red light, probably 
 caused by the redness of its-soil. 
 
22 FOOTSTEPS OF AXGELS 
 
 And earnest thoughts within me rise, 
 
 When I behold afar. 
 Suspended in the evening skies, 
 
 The shield of that red star. 
 
 5 O star of strength ! I see thee stand 
 
 And smile upon my pain ; 
 Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
 And I am strong again. 
 
 Within my breast there is no light, 
 I0 But the cold light of Stars ; 
 
 I give the first watrh of the night 
 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 The star of the unconquered will, 
 
 I !<• rises in my breast, 
 
 15 Sen nd resolute, and still, 
 
 And calm, and self-pos ed. 
 
 And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
 
 That readest this briei psalm, 
 
 one by <>ne thy hopes depart, 
 lie resolute and (aim. 
 
 20 
 
 O fear not in a world like this, 
 And thou shalt know en long, 
 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 To Suffer and be stron. 
 
 n K)TSTEPS OF ANGELS 
 ,. Whin the hours ol I> e numbered, 
 
 And the VOiees <>t the Night 
 
 Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
 1 a holy, calm delight ; 
 
23 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 
 
 Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
 
 And, like phantoms grim and tall, 
 Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
 
 Dance upon the parlor wall ; 
 
 Then the forms of the departed 
 
 Enter at the open door ; 
 The beloved, the true-hearted, 
 
 Come to visit me once more ; 
 
 He, the young and strong, who cherished 
 
 Noble longings for the strife, 
 By the road-side fell and perished, 
 
 Weary with the march of life ! 
 
 They, the holy ones and weakly, 
 
 Who the cross of suffering bore, 
 Folded their pale hands so meekly, x - 
 
 Spake with us on earth no more ! 
 
 And with them the Being Beauteous, 
 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 More than all things else to love me, 
 
 And is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 Comes that messenger divine, 
 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
 Lays her gentle hand in mine. 
 
 And she sits and gazes at me 
 
 With those deep and tender eyes, 
 
 Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
 Looking downward from the skies. 
 
 17. Being beauteous. An allusion to his first wife. 
 
 IO 
 
 20 
 
 2 5 
 
24 FLOWERS 
 
 Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 
 Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
 Breathing from her lips of air. 
 
 O, though oft depressed and lonely, 
 All my fears are laid aside, 
 
 If I but remember only 
 
 Such as these have lived and died ! 
 
 20 
 
 FLOWERS 
 
 Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
 10 One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
 
 When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
 Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 
 
 Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
 As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
 15 Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
 Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 
 
 Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
 God hath written in those stars above ; 
 
 But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
 Stands the revelation of his love. 
 
 Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
 
 Written all over this great world of ours ; 
 
 Making evident our own creation, 
 
 In these stars of earth, — these golden flowers. 
 
 10. One who dwelleth. He who thus spake so well was Carove" in his 
 
 Story without an End. 
 
FLOWERS 21 
 
 And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
 
 Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a pare 
 Of the self-same, universal being, 
 
 Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 
 
 Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 5 
 
 Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
 Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
 
 Buds that open only to decay ; 
 
 Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 
 
 Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 10 
 
 Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 
 Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 
 
 These in flowers and men are more than seeming ; 
 
 Workings are they of the self-same powers ; 
 Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Y t 
 
 Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 
 
 Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
 Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 
 
 Others, their'blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
 
 Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; 2 o 
 
 Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
 And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, 
 
 But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
 In the centre of his brazen shield ; 
 
 Not alone in meadows and green alleys, 
 On the mountain-top, and by the brink 
 
 Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
 Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 
 
 20 Ruth amid the golden corn. Ruth ii. 3. 
 
 «S 
 
26 THE BELEAGUERED CITY 
 
 Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
 Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 
 
 But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
 On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 
 
 5 In the cottage of the rudest peasant, 
 
 In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, 
 Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
 Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 
 
 In all places, then, and in all seasons, 
 10 Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 
 
 Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
 How akin they are to human things. 
 
 And with childlike, credulous affection 
 We behold their tender buds expand ; 
 15 Emblems of our own great resurrection, 
 Emblems of the bright and better land 
 
 THE BELEAGUERED CITY 
 
 I have read, in some old marvellous tale, 
 
 Some legend strange and vague, 
 That a midnight host of spectres pale 
 20 Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 
 
 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
 With the wan moon overhead, 
 
 There stood, as in an awful dream, 
 The army of the dead. 
 
 25 White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
 
 The spectral camp was seen, 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
 The river flowed between. 
 
THE BELEAGUERED CITY 27 
 
 No other voice nor sound was there, 
 
 No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 
 The mist-like banners clasped the air, 
 
 As clouds with clouds embrace. 
 
 But, when the old cathedral bell 5 
 
 Proclaimed the morning prayer, 
 The white pavilions rose and fell 
 
 On the alarmed air. 
 
 Down the broad valley fast and far 
 
 The troubled army fled ; 10 
 
 Up rose the glorious morning star, 
 
 The ghastly host was dead. 
 
 I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 
 
 That strange and mystic scroll, 
 That an army of phantoms vast and wan 15 
 
 Beleaguer the human soul. 
 
 Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 
 
 In Fancy's misty light, 
 Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 
 
 Portentous through the night. 20 
 
 Upon its midnight battle-ground 
 
 The spectral camp is seen, 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
 
 Flows the River of Life between. 
 
 No other voice, nor sound is there, 25 
 
 In the army of the grave ; 
 No other challenge breaks the air, 
 
 But the rushing of Life's wave. 
 
 I 
 
28 MIDXIGHT MASS FOR THE DYIXG YEAR 
 
 And, when the solemn and deep church-bell 
 
 Entreats the soul to pray, 
 The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 
 
 The shadows sweep away. 
 
 Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 
 
 The spectral camp is fled ; 
 Faith shineth as a morning star, 
 
 Our ghastly fears are dead. 
 
 MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR 
 
 Yes, the Year is growing old, 
 >o And his eye is pale and bleared ! 
 
 Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
 Plucks the old man by the beard, 
 Sorely, — sorely ! 
 
 The leaves are falling, falling, 
 *.S Solemnly and slow ; 
 
 "Caw ! caw ! " the rooks are calling, 
 It is a sound ot woe, 
 A sound of woe ! 
 
 Through the woods and mountain passes 
 20 The winds, like anthems, roll ; 
 
 They are chanting solemn masses, 
 Singing ; " Pray for this poor soul, 
 Pray, — pray ! " 
 
 And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
 25 Tell their beads in drops of rain, 
 
 And patter their doleful prayers ; — 
 But their prayers are all in vain, 
 All In vain ! 
 
MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR 29 
 
 There he stands in the foul weather, 
 
 The foolish, fond Old Year, 
 Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, 
 
 Like weak, despised Lear, 
 
 A king, — a king ; -> 5 
 
 Then comes the summer-like day, 
 
 Bids the old man rejoice ! 
 His joy ! his last ! O, the old man gray 
 
 Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
 
 Gentle and low. 10 
 
 To the crimson woods he saith, — 
 
 To the voice gentle and low 
 Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, — 
 
 "Pray do not mock me so ! 
 
 Do not laugh at me ! " 15 
 
 And now the sweet day is dead ; 
 
 Cold in his arms it lies ; 
 No stain from its breath is spread 
 
 Over the glassy skies, 
 
 No mist or stain ! 20 
 
 Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 
 
 And the forests utter a moan, 
 Like the voice of one who crieth 
 
 In the wilderness alone, 
 
 " Vex not his ghost ! " 25 
 
 4. Weak, despised Lear. Lear, mythical king of Britain, at the age 
 of fourscore resolved to divide his kingdom among his three daughters in 
 proportion to their love. The two eldest said they loved him more, than 
 tongue could express, but the youngest said she loved him as it became a 
 daughter to love her father. This answer of his youngest daughter dis- 
 pleased the old king and he disinherited her. When the elder daughters 
 were put to the test, however, they proved ungrateful and treated their 
 father with scant courtesy, while the youngest showed herself loving and 
 true. Shakespeare's King Lear, 
 
30 MIDXIGHT MASS FOR THE DYIXG YEAR 
 
 Then comes, with an awful roar, 
 Gathering and sounding on, 
 
 The storm- wind from Labrador, 
 The wind Euroclydon, 
 5 The storm-wind ! 
 
 Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 
 
 Sweep the red leaves away ! 
 Would the sins that thou abhorrest, 
 O Soul ! could thus decay, 
 10 And be swept away ! 
 
 For there shall come a mightier blast, 
 
 There shall be a darker day ; 
 And the stars, from heaven downcast, 
 Like red leaves be swept away ! 
 15 Kyrie, eleyson ! 
 
 Christe, eleyson ! 
 
 4. Euroclydon. A tempestuous southeast wind, which raises great 
 waves. The name is derived from the Greek euros, the southeast wind and 
 k/ydoft, a wave. 
 
 15. Kyrie, Eleyson ! Christe, Eleyson. In Greek, " Lord have 
 pity, Christ have pity." Brief petitions used as responses in the Roman 
 Catholic Church. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 
 
 [The following ^allad was suggested to me while riding on 
 the seashore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton 
 had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded 
 armor ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the 
 Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the 
 Old Wind-Mill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work 
 of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de 
 la Societe Roy ale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 1 838-1839, says : 
 
 " There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which 
 the more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, 
 the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic archi- 
 tecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, 
 diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North 
 of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the close 
 of the 1 2th century; that style, which some authors have, 
 from one of its most striking characteristics, called the round 
 arch style, the same which in England is denominated Saxon 
 and sometimes Norman architecture. 
 
 " On the ancient structure in Newport there are no orna- 
 ments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide 
 us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no 
 vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approx- 
 imation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later 
 period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we 
 can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am 
 persuaded that all, who are familiar with Old-Northern archi- 
 tecture, will concur, that this building was erected at a 
 
 PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE 1 2TH CENTURY. 
 
 This remark applies, of course, to the original building only, 
 and not to the alterations that it subsequently received ; for 
 there are several such alterations in the upper part of the 
 building which cannot be mistaken, and which were most likely 
 occasioned by its being adapted in modern times to various 
 
 31 
 
<( 
 
 IO 
 
 '5 
 
 3 2 THE SKELE TON IN A RMOR 
 
 uses, for example as the substructure of a wind-mill, and lat- 
 terly as a hay magazine. To the same times may be referred 
 the windows, the fireplace, and the apertures made above the 
 columns. That this building could not have been erected for 
 a wind-mill, is what an architect will easily/discern." 
 
 I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is suffi- 
 ciently well established for the purpose of a ballad ; though 
 doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed 
 his days within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to 
 exclaim with Sancho : " God bless me ! did I not warn you to 
 have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing 
 but a wind-mill ; and nobody could mistake it, but one who 
 had the like in his head." 
 
 Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
 Who, with thy hollow breast 
 Still in rude armor drest, 
 
 Comest to daunt me ! 
 Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
 But with thy fleshless palms 
 Stretched, as if asking alms, 
 
 Why dost thou haunt me ? " 
 
 Then, from those cavernous eyes 
 Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
 As when the Northern skies 
 
 Gleam in December ; 
 And, like the water's flow 
 Under December's snow, 
 Came a dull voice of woe 
 
 From the heart's chamber. 
 
 5. Eastern balms. In ancient Egypt and in other Eastern countries, 
 
 it was common to embalm the bodies of the dead with spices and various 
 aromatic substances. 
 
 11. Northern skies. The aurora borealis, or streams of light that ap- 
 pear in the northern sky in winter, is probably caused by the passage of 
 electricity through the upper regions of the air, though under conditions 
 not as yet entirely understood. 
 
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 33 
 
 " I was a Viking old ! 
 My deeds, though manifold, 
 No Skald in song has told, 
 
 No Saga taught thee ! 
 Take heed, that in thy verse 5 
 
 Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
 Else dread a dead man's curse ! 
 
 For this I sought thee. 
 
 " Far in the Northern land, 
 By the wild Baltic's strand, 1Q 
 
 I, with my childish hand, 
 
 Tamed the ger-falcon ; 
 And, with my skates fast-bound, 
 Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
 That the poor whimpering hound 15 
 
 Trembled to walk on. 
 
 " Oft to his frozen lair 
 Tracked I the grisly bear, 
 While from my path the hare 
 
 Fled like a shadow ; 
 Oft through the forest dark 
 Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
 Until the soaring lark 
 
 Sang from the meadow. 
 
 3. Skald. The Skalds were the ancient Scandinavian minstrels who 
 composed poems in honor of distinguished men and sang them on public 
 occasions. <■ 
 
 4. Saga. The long legends or tales of mythological or historical events 
 which formed the literature of the ancient Norsemen. 
 
 12. Ger=falcon. The large falcon of northern Europe, in great demand 
 for the sport of hawking. Ger comes from the same root as the German 
 gierigy eager, greedy. 
 
 22. Were=wolf. A human being turned into a wolf while retaining 
 human intelligence. The transformation could be voluntarily made by 
 
 3 
 
 20 
 
34 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 
 
 u But when I older grew, 
 Joining a corsair's crew, 
 O'er the dark sea I flew 
 With the marauders. 
 $ Wild was the life we led ; 
 
 Many the souls that sped, 
 Many the hearts that bled, 
 By our stern orders. 
 
 " Many a wassail-bout 
 io Wore the long Winter out ; 
 
 Often our midnight shout 
 
 Set the cocks crowing, 
 As we the Berserk's tale 
 Measured in cups of ale, 
 j- Draining the oaken pail, 
 
 Filled to o'erflowing, 
 
 " Once as I told in glee 
 Tales of the stormy sea, 
 Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
 20 Burning yet tender ; 
 
 And as the white stars shine 
 On the dark Norway pine, 
 On that dark heart of mine 
 Fell their soft splendor. 
 
 "1 wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
 Yielding, yet half afraid, 
 
 Infernal aid or by witchcraft. Men were tried on the charge of being irate* 
 wofrae'at late ai the seventeenth century. The snpersthiofl still exists in 
 
 certain parts of Europe where wolves abound. From the Anglo-S.i\on :eer t 
 man and wolf, a man-wolf, literally 
 
 1 1. Berserk. Berserker was a redoubtable hero in Scandinavian mythol- 
 who had twelve sons who inherited the battle fren/yor berserker rage. 
 The sagas are full of tales of heroes who are seized with this fierce longing 
 for carnage The name means Afar shirt. 
 
 ^5 
 
a 
 
 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 35 
 
 ■ 
 And in the forest's -shade 
 
 Our vows were plighted. 
 Under its loosened vest 
 Fluttered her little breast, 
 Like birds within their nest 5 
 
 By the hawk frighted. 
 
 Bright in her father's hall 
 Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
 Loud sang the minstrels all, 
 
 Chanting his glory ; 10 
 
 When of old Hildebrand 
 I asked his daughter's hand, 
 Mute did the minstrels stand 
 
 To hear my story. 
 
 " While the brown ale he quaffed, 15 
 
 Loud then the champion laughed, 
 And as the wind-gusts waft 
 
 The sea-foam brightly, 
 So the loud laugh of scorn, 
 Out of those lips unshorn, 20 
 
 From the deep drinking-horn 
 
 Blew the foam lightly. 
 
 " She was a Prince's child, 
 I but a Viking wild, 
 And though she blushed and smiled, 25 
 
 I was discarded ! 
 Should not the dove so white 
 Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
 Why did they leave that night 
 
 Her nest unguarded ? 30 
 
36 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 
 
 <« 
 
 Scarce had I put to sea, 
 Bearing the maid with me, — 
 Fairest of all was she 
 
 Among the Norsemen ! — 
 When on the white sea-strand, 
 Waving his armed hand, 
 Saw we old Hildebrand, 
 
 With twenty horsemen. 
 
 "Then launched they to the blast, 
 10 Bent like a reed each mast, 
 
 Vet we were gaining fast, 
 
 When the wind tailed us ; 
 And with a sudden flaw- 
 Came round the gusty Skaw, 
 15 So that our foe we saw 
 
 Laugh as he hailed us. 
 
 •« And as to catch the gale 
 Round veered the flapping sail, 
 Death! was the helmsman's hail, 
 20 Death without quartei 
 
 Mid-ships with iron keel 
 
 Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
 
 Down her black hulk did reel 
 Through the black water ! 
 
 25 " As with his wings aslant, 
 
 Sails the tierce cormorant, 
 Seeking some rocky haunt, 
 With his prey laden, 
 
 1 j. Skaw. A word of Icelandic extraction meaning headland. 
 
THE SKELE TON IN A RMOR 3 7 
 
 So toward the open main, 
 Beating to sea again, 
 Through the wild hurricane, 
 Bore I the maiden. 
 
 " Three weeks we westward bore, 5 
 
 And when the storm was o'er, 
 Cloud-like we saw the shore 
 
 Stretching to lee-ward ; 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower, IO 
 
 Which, to this very hour, 
 
 Stands looking sea-ward. 
 
 " There lived we many years ; 
 Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
 She had forgot her fears, 15 
 
 She was a mother ; 
 Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
 Under that tower she lies ; 
 Ne'er shall the sun arise 
 
 - On such another ! 20 
 
 " Still grew my bosom then, 
 Still as a stagnant fen ! 
 Hateful to me were men, 
 
 The sunlight hateful ! 
 In the vast forest here, 25 
 
 Clad in my warlike gear, 
 Fell I upon my spear, 
 
 O, death was grateful ! 
 
 "Thus, seamed with many scars, 
 Bursting these prison bars, 30 
 
 Up to its native stars 
 My soul ascended ! 
 
38 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 
 
 There from the flowing bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
 Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal J" 
 — Thus the tale ended. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 
 
 15 It was the schooner Hesperus, 
 
 That sailed the wintry sea ; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter 
 To bear him company. 
 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
 10 Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
 With his pipe in his mouth, 
 15 And watched how the veering Haw did blow 
 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then 11 p and spake an old Sailor, 
 Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
 " I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
 20 For I fear a hurricane. 
 
 3. Skoal. "In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when 
 drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in 
 order t<> preserve the ( <>rrec t pronunciation." Author s note. 
 
 18. Spanish Main. The northeast coatl <>i Smith America, between 
 the Orinoco River and the Isthmus of Panama, and the ad joining pari <>f the 
 Caribbean Se.u The Spanish maiu used to be a favorite hauut of piral 
 
THE WRECK OE THE HESPERUS 39 
 
 " Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
 
 And to-night no moon we see ! " 
 The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
 
 And a scornful laugh laughed he. 
 
 1 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, * 
 
 A gale from the Northeast ; 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
 
 And the billows frothed like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain, 
 
 The vessel in its strength ; I0 
 
 She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, 
 
 Then leaped her cable's length. 
 
 "Come hither! come hither ! my little daughter, 
 
 And do not tremble so ; 
 For I can weather the roughest gale, !q 
 
 That ever wind did blow." 
 
 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, 
 
 Against the stinging blast ; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar 
 
 And bound her to the mast. 20 
 
 " O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " 
 And he steered for the open sea. 
 
 11 O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 2 e 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 " Some ship in distress that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea ! " 
 
40 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 
 
 " O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 But the father answered never a word, 
 
 A frozen corpse was he. 
 
 5 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
 With his face to the skies, 
 The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
 On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
 
 Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 
 10 That saved she might be ; 
 
 And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave, 
 On the Lake of Galilee. 
 
 And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
 Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
 15 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
 
 Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 
 
 And ever the fitful gusts between 
 
 A sound came from the land ; 
 It was the sound of the trampling surf, 
 20 On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
 
 She drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles from her deck. 
 
 2 r She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
 Looked soft as carded wool, 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
 Like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 41 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
 With the masts went by the board ; 
 
 Like a vessel of glass, she strove and sank. 
 Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared I 
 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 5 
 
 A fisherman stood aghast, 
 To see the form of a maiden fair, 
 
 Lashed close to a drifting mast. 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
 
 The salt tears in her eyes ; 10 
 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 
 
 On the billows fall and rise. 
 
 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
 
 In the midnight and the snow ! 
 Christ save us all from a death like this, 15 
 
 On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 
 
 THE. LUCK OF EDENHALL 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 [The tradition, upon which this ballad is founded, and the 
 " shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The 
 goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart., 
 of Eden Hall, Cumberland; and is not so entirely shattered, 
 as the ballad leaves it.] 
 
 Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
 Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
 He rises at the banquet board, 
 
 16. Norman's Woe. A dangerous reef at the entrance to the harbor of 
 Gloucester, Massachusetts. A schooner called the Hesperus actually went 
 to pieces on the rocks here in the winter of 1839. Longfellow heard of it in 
 a newspaper and composed the famous balled in a single night. 
 
42 THE LUCK 01 EDENHALL 
 
 And cries, 'mid the drunken revell 11, 
 
 • Now bring; me the Luck of Kdenhall ! " 
 
 The butler hears the words with pain, 
 The house's oldest seneschal, 
 5 Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
 
 The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
 They call it the Luck of Kdenhall. 
 
 Then said the Lord : " This glass to prais- 
 Fill with red win >m Portugal ! " 
 io The [ ird with trembling hand obeys ; 
 
 A purple light shines 1 1 ill, 
 
 It beams from the Luck of Kdenhall. 
 
 en speaks the Lord, and w. t light, 
 
 rhis i Lshing 1 tall 
 
 ) my sires the Fountain-Sprit< 
 
 She wrote in it : //*///: </<>/// /<///, 
 
 Farewell tlun, O Luck of Edenhalli 
 
 \ was right a goblet the Fate should 
 t m tl ous i enhall ! 
 
 20 Deep dr. nights drink we right willingly; 
 
 nd willingly ring, with merry call, 
 Kling : k to the- Lu< k of Edenhall : 
 
 Iirst rings it deep, and lull, and mild, 
 Like to the sot htmg.il' 
 
 Then like theroarofa torrent wild 
 Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
 
 The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 >r its keeper tak <»i might, 
 
 The fragile goblet ol il tall ; 
 
 
THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 43 
 
 It has lasted longer than is right ; 
 
 Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all 
 
 Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! " 
 
 As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
 
 Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 5 
 
 And through the rift, the wild flames start ; 
 
 The guests in dust are scattered all ; 
 
 With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! 
 
 In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
 
 He in the night had scaled the wall, 10 
 
 Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, 
 
 But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
 
 The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
 
 The gray-beard in the desert hall, j . 
 
 He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, 
 
 He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
 
 The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 "The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, 
 
 Down must the stately columns fall ; 20 
 
 Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; 
 
 In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
 
 One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " 
 
44 THE ELECTED KNIGHT 
 
 THE ELECTED KNIGHT 
 
 FROM THE DANISH. 
 
 [The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad i> 
 from Nyenip and Rahbek's Danshe Vtserot the Middle 
 
 It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the 
 North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three 
 maidens I suppose to be Faith. Hope, and Charity. Tin- 
 irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in 
 the translation.] 
 
 Sir ( M it he ricleth over the plain, 
 
 Full Seven miles broad and seven miles wid 
 
 But never, ah never can meet with the man 
 
 A tdt with him dare rich 
 5 He saw under the hill-side 
 
 A Knight full well equipped ; 
 
 His Steed was black, bis helm was barred ; 
 
 1 le was riding at full speed. 
 
 I le wore Upon bis spurs 
 i T .vclve little golden bird 
 
 ion he spurred bis steed with a clai 
 And tin it all the birds and sang. 
 
 He wore upon bis mail 
 
 Twelve little- golden wheels ; 
 
 ,- Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 
 
 And round and round the wheels they ilew. 
 
 I le wore before bis breast 
 
 A Lance that was poised in rest ; 
 And it was sharper than diamond-stone, 
 2Q It made Sir Olut's heart to n. 
 
 
THE ELECTED KNIGHT 45 
 
 He wore upon his helm, 
 
 A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
 And that gave him the Maidens Three, 
 
 The youngest was fair to behold. 
 
 Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 5 
 
 If he were come from heaven down ; 
 
 " Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
 11 So will I yield me unto thee." 
 
 " I am not Christ the Great, 
 
 Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; 10 
 
 I am an unknown Knight, 
 
 Three modest Maidens have me bedight." 
 
 " Art thou a Knight elected, 
 
 And have three Maidens thee bedight ; 
 So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 15 
 
 For all the Maidens' honor ! " 
 
 The first tilt they together rode 
 
 They put their steeds to the test ; 
 The second tilt they together rode, 
 
 They proved their manhood best. 20 
 
 The third tilt they together rode, 
 
 Neither of them would yield ; 
 The fourth tilt they together rode, 
 
 They both fell on the field. 
 
 Now lie the lords upon the plain, 25 
 
 And their blood runs unto death ; 
 Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 
 
 The youngest sorrows till death. 
 
46 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut tree 
 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 c And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron hands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 
 
 1 lis face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 I0 He earns whate'er he can, 
 
 And looks tin- whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his billows blow ; 
 15 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 
 With measured beat and slow, 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 20 Look in at the open door ; 
 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing floor. 
 
 25 lie goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach, 
 He hears his daughter's voice 
 
 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 47 
 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 5 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
 
 Onward through life he goes ; 10 
 
 Each morning sees some task begin, , 
 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 15 
 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 Thus at the flaming forge of life 
 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 
 Each burning deed and thought ! 20 
 
48 ENDMYION 
 
 ENDYMION 
 
 The rising moon has hid the stars ; 
 
 Her level rays, like golden bars, 
 Lie on the landscape green, 
 With shadows brown between. 
 
 5 And silver white the river gleams, 
 
 As if Diana, in her dreams, 
 • Had dropt her silver bow 
 
 Upon the meadows low. 
 
 On such a tranquil night as this, 
 io She woke Kndymion with a kis^, 
 
 When, sleeping in tin- grove, 
 He dreamed not of her love. 
 
 Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
 Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
 15 Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
 
 Its deep, impassioned ga/e. 
 
 It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
 Tl: >wn of all humanity, — 
 
 In silence and alone 
 2Q To seek the elected one. 
 
 10. Endymion. In classic mythology Kndymion was a beautiful youth 
 
 who, while sleeping 00 Mount I.atmus. een by tin Moon Godd 
 
 Diana, whose <<>ld heart was so wanned by his beauty that she came to him 
 and kissed him. The ttOTy is a peitonification ol the moon sinking down 
 behind the mountains. 
 
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR 49 
 
 It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep 
 Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, 
 
 And kisses the closed eyes 
 
 Of hirn, who slumbering lies. 
 
 O, weary hearts ! O, slumbering eyes ! c 
 
 O, drooping souls, whose destinies 
 
 Are fraught with fear and pain, 
 
 Ye shall be loved again ! 
 
 No one is so accursed by fate, 
 
 No one so utterly desolate, 10 
 
 But some heart, though unknown, 
 
 Responds unto his own. 
 
 Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
 An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
 And whispers, in its song, 
 " Where hast thou stayed so long ? " 
 
 THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER. 
 
 A youth, light-hearted and content, 
 I wander through the world ; 
 
 Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
 And straight again is furled. 
 
 Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
 Close in my heart was locked, 
 
 And in the sweet repose of life 
 A blessed child I rocked. 
 
 20 
 
 
SO IT IS NOT AL IVA VS MA Y 
 
 I wake. Away that dream, — away ! 
 
 Too long did it remain ! 
 So long-, that both by night and day 
 
 It ever comes again. 
 
 5 The end lies ever in my thought ; 
 
 To a grave so cold and deep 
 The mother beautiful was brought ; 
 Then dropt the child asleep. 
 
 But now the dream is wholly o'er, 
 10 I bathe mine eyes and see ; 
 
 And wander through the world once more, 
 A youth so light and free. 
 
 Two locks, — and they are wondrous fair, — 
 Left me that vision mild ; 
 15 The brown is from the mother's hair, 
 
 The blond is from the child. 
 
 And when I sec that lock of gold, 
 Pale grows the evening-red ; 
 
 And when the dark lock I behold, 
 20 I wish that I were dead. 
 
 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 
 
 No hay pijarofl m los oidofl de antafio. 
 
 uiish Proverb* 
 
 THE sun is bright, — the air is clear, 
 
 The darting swallows soar and sing, 
 And from the stately elms I hear 
 
 The blue-bird prophesying Spring. 
 
 21. No hay pajaros en los nidus de antafio. lor translation sec 
 k\st line of third stanza. 
 
THE RAINY DAY 51 
 
 So blue yon winding river flows, 
 
 It seems an outlet from the sky, 
 Where waiting till the west wind blows, 
 
 The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
 
 All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves, 5 
 
 That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 
 
 And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
 There are no birds in last year's nest ! 
 
 All things rejoice in youth and love, 
 
 The fulness of their first delight ! 10 
 
 And learn from the soft heavens above 
 
 The melting tenderness of night. 
 
 Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, 
 
 Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; 
 Enjoy the fragments of thy prime, 15 
 
 For O ! it is not always May ! 
 
 Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
 To some good angel leave the rest ; 
 
 For Time will teach thee soon the truth, 
 
 There are no birds in last year's nest ! 20 
 
 THE RAINY DAY 
 
 The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 4. Freighted clouds. Longfellow was fond of comparing clouds to 
 §hips. Compare the fifth stanza of the Prelude to Voices of the Night, 
 
52 GOD'S ACRE 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
 5 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
 Into each life some rain must fall, 
 10 Some days must be dark and dreary. 
 
 GODS-ACRE 
 
 I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
 The burial-ground God's-Acn It is just; 
 
 It consecrates each grave within its walls, 
 
 And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 
 
 15 God's-Acn Yes, that blessed name imparts 
 1 omfort to those, who in the grave have sown 
 
 The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, 
 Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 
 
 Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 
 20 In the sure faith that we shall ris ain 
 
 At the great harvest, when tin- archangel's blast 
 
 Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 
 
 Then shall the I stand in immortal bloom, 
 
 In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 
 25 And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume 
 
 With that of Bowers, which never bloomed on earth. 
 
TO THE RIVER CHARLES 53 
 
 With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
 And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 
 
 This is the held and Acre of our God. 
 
 This is the place, where human harvests grow ! 
 
 TO THE RIVER CHARLES 
 
 River ! that in silence windest c 
 
 Through the meadows, bright and free, 
 
 Till at length thy rest thou findest 
 In the bosom of the sea ! 
 
 Four long years of mingled feeling, 
 
 Half in rest, and half in strife, I0 
 
 I have seen thy waters stealing 
 
 Onward, like the stream of life. 
 
 Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 
 
 Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
 Thou hast been a generous giver ; lr - 
 
 I can give thee but a song. 
 
 Oft in sadness and in illness, 
 
 I have watched thy current glide, 
 Till the beauty of its stillness 
 
 Overflowed me, like a tide. 
 
 20 
 
 And in better hours and brighter, 
 When I saw thy waters gleam, 
 
 I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
 And leap onward with thy stream. 
 
 5. River Charles. Craigie House, Longfellow's home in Cambridge, 
 
 overlooked the Charles River. 
 
54 TO THE RIVER CHARLL 
 
 Not for this alone I love tin 
 
 Nor because thy waves ot blue 
 From celestial seas above thee 
 
 Take their own celestial hue. 
 
 5 Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 
 
 And thy waters disappear, 
 
 Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 
 And have made thy margin dear. 
 
 More than this ; — thy name remind 
 10 I >f three friends, all true and tried ; 
 
 And that n.ime, like magic, binds me 
 
 Closer, closer to thy sid< 
 
 Friends my soul with joy remembei 
 How like quivering flames they start, 
 
 15 When I tan the living embers 
 
 On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 
 
 ris t«»r this, thou Silent Rivei 
 That my spirit leans to the 
 Thou hast been .1 generous giver, 
 20 Take this idle ^<>n^ from m 
 
 I rirruls I luxe. I rdl Ikmik , BlfflWQ tint up 
 
 the ri . 
 
 Three friends. Pi !>.il>ly Charici Sumner, Clurlcs Ward, .nut 
 
 
BLIND BARTIMEUS 55 
 
 BLIND BARTIMEUS 
 
 Blind Bartimeus at the gates 
 
 Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
 
 He hears the crowd ; — he hears a breath 
 
 Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " 
 
 And calls, in tones of agony, 5 
 
 'Ir/oov, kMrjoov fie ! 
 
 The thronging multitudes increase ; 
 
 Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
 
 But still, above the noisy crowd, 
 
 The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 10 
 
 Until they say, " He calleth thee ! " 
 
 Qdpaeij eyeipcu (povel ge 
 
 Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
 
 The crowd, " What wilt thou at my hands ? " 
 
 And he replies, " O give me light ! i$ 
 
 Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight. 
 
 And Jesus answers, "Tnaye, 
 
 'H TCLOTig GOV GEGUKE GE / 
 
 Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
 
 In darkness and in misery, 20 
 
 Recall those mighty Voices Three, 
 
 'Itjgov, fkerjoov /ue ! 
 
 QdpGEf, eyeipai, viraye ! 
 
 1 H TTlGTiq GOV GEGOKe GE ! 
 
 i. Blind Bartimeus. Mark x. 46. 
 6. 'IrjcroO, eAe'Tjow fie ! Jesus pity me. 
 
 12. ©aptrei, eyetpat, <fxovei <re ! Be of good comfort, rise, he calleth thee. 
 18. *Y7raye* 'H 7ri<rri9 <rov o-ecrw/ce <re ! Go thy way ; thy faith hath made 
 thee whole. 
 
 > » 
 t 1 
 1 » > 
 
 > 
 
56 MAIDENHOOD 
 
 MAIDENHOOD 
 
 Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
 In whose orbs a shadow lies 
 Like the dusk in evening skies ! 
 
 Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
 5 Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
 
 As the braided streamlets run ! 
 
 Standing, with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 
 
 10 Gazing, with a timid glance, 
 
 On the brooklet's swift advance, 
 
 1 >n the river's broad expans 
 
 Deep and Still, that gliding stream 
 
 Beautiful to thee must seem, 
 
 15 As the river of a dream. 
 
 Then why pause with indeeision, 
 When bright angels in thy vision 
 I'm . kon thee to fields Klysian ? 
 
 Seest thou shadows sailing bj 
 20 As the dove, with startled eye, 
 
 Sees the falcon's shadow tly ? 
 
 I [earest thou voices on the shoi 1 
 That our . ive no moi 
 
 Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 
 
 F ields Elysian. In Greek mythology, the abode of the Messed 
 after death. 
 
MAIDENHOOD 57 
 
 O, thou child of many prayers ! 
 
 Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! 
 
 Care and age come unawares ! 
 
 Like the swell of some sweet tune r 
 
 Morning rises into noon, 5 
 
 May glides onward into June. 
 
 Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
 Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
 Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 
 
 Gather, then, each flower that grows, 10 
 
 When the young heart overflows, 
 To embalm that tent of snows. 
 
 Bear a lily in thy hand ; 
 
 Gates of brass cannot withstand 
 
 One touch of that magic wand. 15 
 
 Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 On thy lips the smile of truth. 
 
 O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
 
 Into wounds, that cannot heal, 20 
 
 Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 
 
 And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
 Into many a sunless heart, 
 For a smile of God thou art 
 
58 EXCELSIOR 
 
 EXCELSIOR 
 
 The shades of night were falling fast, 
 As through an Alpine village passed 
 A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
 A banner with the strange device 
 5 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 
 Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, 
 And lik clarion rung 
 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 10 Excelsior ! 
 
 In happy homes he saw the light 
 
 ( >f household tires gleam warm and bright ; 
 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
 
 And from his lips i groan, 
 
 i ; Excelsior ! 
 
 not the 1 " the old man said ; 
 
 Dark lowers the tempc erhead, 
 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" 
 And loud that clarion voire replied, 
 
 jo Excelsior 
 
 ly," the maiden said, •• and rest 
 
 Thy w head upon this breast ! " 
 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
 Bill still he answered with a sigh, 
 
 •o Excelsior ! 
 
 RxcellJOT. ["hii poem d to I ongfellow by the arms of 
 
 ik State with the motto " 1 tcclnt 
 
EXCELSIOR 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
 Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
 This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
 A voice replied, far up the height, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried through the startled air, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
 Half-buried in the snow was found, 
 Still grasping in his hand of ice, 
 That banner with the strange device 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 There in the twilight cold and gray, 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 59 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
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