ought not--the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in
literature; my whole soul burns most ardently for it, and every earthly
thought centers in it. There may be something visionary in this, but I
flatter myself that I have prudence enough to keep my enthusiasm from
defeating its own object by too great haste. Surely, there never was a
better opportunity offered for the exertion of literary talent in our
own country than is now offered. To be sure, most of our literacy men
thus far have not been professedly so, until they have studied and
entered the practice of theology, law, or medicine. But this is
evidently lost time. I do believe that we ought to pay more attention
to the opinion of philosophers, that 'nothing but Nature can qualify a
man for knowledge.'
"Whether Nature has given me any capacity for knowledge or not, she has
at any rate given me a very strong predilection for literary pursuits,
and I am almost confident in believing that, if I can ever rise in the
world, it must be by the exercise of my talent in the wide field of
literature. With such a belief, I must say that I am unwilling to
engage in the study of the law."
Nevertheless, Stephen Longfellow was not convinced by his son's words
of the wisdom of the course proposed, and at length replied in no
uncertain terms: "A literary life, to one who has the means of support,
must be very pleasant. But there is not wealth enough in this country
to afford encouragement and patronage to merely literary men. And as
you have not had the fortune (I will not say whether good or ill) to be
born rich, you must adopt a profession which will afford you
subsistence as well as reputation." In the same letter, however, he
granted willingly Henry's request to be allowed a year at Cambridge for
the study of general literature. In response, the young student, after
thanking his father for the privilege of the proposed attendance at
Cambridge, writes: "Nothing delights me more than reading and writing.
And nothing could induce me to relinquish the pleasures of literature,
little as I have yet tasted them. Of the three professions I should
prefer the law. I am far from being a fluent speaker, but practice must
serve as a talisman where talent is wanting. I can be a lawyer. This
will support my real existence, literature an _ideal_ one."
Henry's career at Bowdoin was now drawing to a close, and it is likely
that like most other students he regarded his graduation with some
degree of regret. For in addition to the deeper pleasure that he had
gained from his studies, he had found not a little enjoyment in the
social life at the college. His handsome appearance made him an
attractive figure at all gatherings; and his amiability and courtesy
caused him to be as well liked by the young women whom he met on these
occasions as by his classmates. In fact, the unusual refinement
expressed by his clear, fair complexion, the sincerity reflected in his
blue eyes, with their steadfast gaze, and the erect bearing of his
slender figure, won confidence and admiration everywhere.
Whatever anxiety Henry Longfellow may have felt in looking forward to
the period that lay beyond his graduation from Bowdoin College was
wholly cleared away by a most surprising event that occurred at the
time of the closing exercises. A gift of money had been made to the
college for the purpose of founding a Professorship of the Modern
Languages, and it was now decided to establish this position. It is
said that one of the trustees of the college who had been very
favorably impressed by Henry Longfellow's translation of an ode of
Horace, proposed that he be appointed to the new office. As a result,
it was made known to the young graduate that if he would prepare
himself by a period of study in Europe, the professorship would be his
to accept.
This unexpected good fortune was so gratifying to Henry's parents as
well as to himself that they decided at once to send him abroad at
their own expense. However, the plan could not be immediately carried
out; it was necessary to wait several months for a favorable sailing
season. The period of delay Henry spent partly in the composition of
various articles and poems, and partly in studying law. At length, when
spring was well advanced, he set sail from New York and a month later
reached the French city of Havre. Then began the period of three years
spent in travel through France, Spain, Italy and Germany, during which
he gave himself diligently to the study of the languages and
literatures of these countries and to extensive observation of manners
and customs, works of art, points of historic interest and to all else
that is of value to an eager, open-minded student. Thus he imbibed much
of the national spirit of these lands and came into such vital
appreciation of this spirit as it is expressed in literature that later
he was able to become a most successful translator and to use foreign
legends with excellent effect in his own compositions.
During his second year abroad, in the midst of most satisfactory
progress, Henry received from his father the startling news that
Bowdoin College had withdrawn the offer of the professorship. The
mingled feelings thus awakened, and especially the reserve strength of
the young man's character, are made plain in his reply:
"I assure you, my dear father, I am very indignant at this. They say I
am too young! Were they not aware of this three years ago? If I am not
capable of performing the duties of the office, they may be very sure
of my not accepting it. I know not in what light they may look upon it,
but for my own part, I do not in the least regard it as a favor
conferred upon me. It is no sinecure; and if my services are an
equivalent for my salary, there is no favor done me; if they be not, I
do not desire the situation. . . . I feel no kind of anxiety for my
future prospects. Thanks to your goodness, I have received a good
education. I know you cannot be dissatisfied with the progress I have
made in my studies. I speak honestly, not boastingly. With the French
and Spanish languages I am familiarly conversant, so as to speak them
correctly, and write them with as much ease and fluency as I do the
English. The Portuguese I read without difficulty. And with regard to
my proficiency in the Italian, I have only to say that all at the hotel
where I lodge took me for an Italian until I told them I was an
American."
Nevertheless, when Henry returned to Portland in the summer of 1829, he
received the appointment to the desired professorship at Bowdoin
College, and went to live at Brunswick. His success was assured from
the start, for he had thoroughly prepared himself for his work, was
enthusiastic in his desire to share with his classes the impressions
received from the culture of the Old World, and was so young in years
and at heart that he could readily awaken the interest and sympathy of
youthful students. The earnestness and industry with which he devoted
himself to his duties at this time may be judged from the following
extract from a letter dated June 27, 1830:
"I rise at six in the morning, and hear a French recitation of
Sophomores immediately. At seven I breakfast, and am then master of my
time till eleven, when I hear a Spanish lesson of Juniors. After that I
take a lunch; and at twelve I go into the library, where I remain till
one. I am then at leisure for the afternoon till five, when I have a
French recitation of Juniors. At six, I take coffee; then walk and
visit friends till nine; study till twelve, and sleep till six, when I
begin the same round again. Such is the daily routine of my life. The
intervals of college duty I fill up with my own studies. Last term I
was publishing text-books for the use of my pupils, in whom I take a
deep interest. This term I am writing a course of lectures on French,
Spanish and Italian literature. I shall commence lecturing to the two
upper classes in a few days. You see, I lead a very sober, jog-trot
kind of life. My circle of acquaintances is very limited. I am on very
intimate terms with three families, and that is quite enough. I like
intimate footings; I do not care for general society."
In the following year (1831) the routine of his life at Brunswick was
interrupted by his marriage with Mary Storer Potter, one of the most
beautiful and generally liked young women of Portland. Her education
and tastes were such that they enabled her to share heartily her
husband's interests, and this sympathetic association in the work to
which he was devoted seemed to fill the measure of the young
professor's happiness.
During the years spent in teaching at Bowdoin the career of Henry
Longfellow as a professional writer had run parallel with that of
teaching. In response to an invitation he had contributed various prose
articles to the _North American Review_ had written some poetry, and by
1835 had completed his _Outre-Mer_, a collection of prose sketches of
his travels.
Not long before the publication of this work the author had received a
most desirable offer of the Smith professorship of Modern Languages at
Harvard University, with a salary of fifteen hundred dollars a year. In
accepting the position the young man decided upon a trip abroad for the
purpose of further study. Accordingly, with his wife he set sail for
Hamburg in June, 1835. They stayed for a short time in London, where
they met Carlyle, traveled then to Stockholm and Copenhagen, where the
summer was passed in learning the Swedish and Danish languages, and in
October reached Amsterdam. Here Mrs. Longfellow fell ill, and while she
was recovering her husband undertook the study of Dutch. In Rotterdam
Mrs. Longfellow again became ill, and died in that city on October 29.
The loss fell so heavily upon Longfellow that he could not speak nor
write of it. However, he disciplined himself to work and spent several
months at Heidelberg, gaining a fuller knowledge of the German language
and literature. In this city he met for the first time the poet Bryant.
After traveling in Switzerland he returned to America late in 1836.
At the close of the same year he established himself at Cambridge, and
there began a career of large usefulness and success at Harvard
University. At the same time he wrote extensively both prose and verse,
and by the time of his third visit to Europe, in 1842, had produced the
prose romance _Hyperion_ as well as the volumes of verse entitled
_Voices of the Night_ and _Ballads and Other Poems_ and the drama _The
Spanish Student_.
At this period of his life, Longfellow's journals and letters show much
unrest and even at times a loss of interest in his work. His trip
abroad for his health did not restore the satisfaction and contentment
that he had once known. The needs of both heart and mind must be
supplied in order that he might be at peace. Consequently we are not
surprised by his marriage, in July, 1843, to Frances Appleton, the
heroine of the romance _Hyperion_, and a most admirable and attractive
young woman, fitted in every way to be the companion of the poet. The
couple went to live in the Craigie House [Footnote: This house is
celebrated not only as the poet's home but as having been at one time
the headquarters of Washington.] at Cambridge, and entered upon a life
of almost ideal domestic harmony.
Year after year passed, with little to mar the calm of the Longfellow
home. The professor's days were filled with lectures to the college
classes, with composition of original verse or translation from foreign
literature and with letter writing, answers to unnumbered requests for
autographs and calls from distinguished persons or from obscure but
aspiring writers. Only a man of rare patience and kindness would have
given such a great portion of his time as Longfellow gave during these
and all the subsequent years of his life to answering the many
inexcusable and often ridiculous requests for explanation of the
motives and meaning of his writings, for help in obtaining public
recognition, for criticism of poems that the writers submitted and for
a variety of other favors.
Often there were visits to the opera or attendance at concerts, always
in company with Mrs. Longfellow. Sometimes the day was darkened by the
illness of one of the children. Then again, with the little ones of the
household, the Harvard professor, casting aside his dignity, with all
serious cares, would enter with all, his heart into some childish game.
Such a good time did he have that he found it worth while to make in
his journal such entries as: "Worked hard with the children, making
snow-houses in the front yard, to their infinite delight;" "After
dinner had all the children romping in the haymow;" "Coasted with my
boys (Charles and Ernest) for two hours on the bright hill-side behind
the Catholic Church;" "After tea, read to the boys the Indian story of
_The Red Swan._" Frequently he accompanied on pleasure excursions
his three daughters, the young girls described for us in the familiar
lines:
"Grave Alice and laughing Allegra
And Edith with golden hair."
From time to time the journal records an idea for a poem or the
beginning of the work of composition, sometimes expressing the doubts
and fears that attend this beginning. Thus under date of November 16,
1845, is the statement:
"Before church, wrote 'The Arrow and the Song,' which came into my mind
as I stood with my back to the fire, and glanced on to the paper with
arrowy speed. Literally an improvisation."
Later, on November 28, is recorded: "Set about 'Gabrielle,'[Footnote:
The poem Evangeline, to which the poet at first intended to give the
title Gabrielle.] my idyl in hexameters, in earnest. I do not mean to
let a day go by without adding something to it, if it be but a single
line. F. and Sumner are both doubtful of the measure. To me it seems
the only one for such a poem." And again, on December 7, "I know not
what name to give to--not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall it be
'Gabrielle,' or 'Celestine,' or 'Evangeline'?" In the journal for 1854
is noted on June 22, "I have at length hit upon a plan for a poem on
the American Indian, which seems to me the right one and the only. It
is to weave together their beautiful traditions into a whole. I have
hit upon a measure, too, which I think the right and only one for such
a theme;" and on June 28, "Work at 'Manabozho'; or, as I think I shall
call it, 'Hiawatha,'--that being another name for the same personage."
As these literary projects came to fill more and more the poet's
thought, he began to feel increasingly hampered by the work of his
college classes. So urgent did the desire become to rid himself of
duties that grew constantly more irksome, that at length, in 1854, he
resigned his professorship. The mingled relief and regret thus afforded
are expressed in his journal under date of September 12: "Yesterday I
got from President Walker a note, with copy of the vote of the
Corporation, accepting my resignation, and expressing regrets at my
retirement. I am now free! But there is a good deal of sadness in the
feeling of separating one's self from one's former life."
For several years thereafter Longfellow's life flowed along peacefully.
These were most profitable years, for he was always an industrious
worker and would not allow moodiness or disinclination to work to
deprive him of opportunities for worthy labor. His three greatest
works, _Evangeline_, _Hiawatha_ and _The Courtship of Miles Standish_,
appeared at intervals of a few years. But this period of comparative
ease and quiet was brought to an abrupt close by the tragic death of
Mrs. Longfellow in 1861. Her dress had taken fire from a lighted match
that had fallen to the floor, and as a result she died the next day.
The poet's grief and feeling of loss were inexpressible, yet he
maintained an appearance of calm. After a long time he became able to
resume his work, and in the years that remained to him, he produced,
besides minor writings, the two series of _The Tales of a Wayside
Inn_. But he never ceased to miss the close companionship of his
wife. He found consolation in caring for his children, sharing alike
their pleasures and their more serious interests. Then, too, he had
several intimate friends whose affection was always a source of great
joy to him. With the exception of a fourth trip to Europe, he passed
the rest of his life quietly, giving to the world the fruits of his
matured poetic powers, continually extending kindly encouragement to
struggling writers, and dispensing charity without parade of his
kindness. So fully were all the promises of his youth realized in his
character and his intellectual life during this final period, that when
death came in 1882, after a brief period of illness, the people of his
own land and those of many other nations as well felt that a great and
good man had passed from earth.
One who reads the journal and the letters in which the home life of
Longfellow is plainly pictured is impressed perhaps even more than by
his poems with the fitness of his title, _The Children's Poet_. One
cannot fail to find, in such words as those in the following extract
from a letter, the gentleness of his regard for children: "My little
girls are flitting about my study, as blithe as two birds. They are
preparing to celebrate the birthday of one of their dolls; and on
the table I find this programme, in E.'s handwriting, which I purloin
and send to you, thinking it may amuse you. What a beautiful world this
child's world is! So instinct with life, so illuminated with
imagination! I take infinite delight in seeing it go on around me, and
feel all the tenderness of the words that fell from the blessed lips:
'Suffer the little children to come unto me.' After that benediction
how can any one dare to deal harshly with a child!" To this loving
interest children everywhere have responded. On the poet's seventy-
second birthday, about seven hundred children of Cambridge gave him an
armchair made of the chestnut-tree celebrated in _The Village
Blacksmith_. A poem was written in answer to the gift, and a copy of
this was given to every child who came to visit the poet and sit in his
chair. And children did come to visit him in great numbers. On one
occasion, in the summer of 1880, the journal records: "Yesterday I had
a visit from two schools: some sixty girls and boys, in all. It seems
to give them so much pleasure that it gives me pleasure." The last
letter that the poet is known to have written was one addressed to a
little girl who had sent him a poem on his seventy-fifth birthday; and
only four days before his death he received a visit from four Boston
boys in whose albums he placed his autograph.
The strongest claim to the high regard in which Longfellow's poems are
held is based on the very qualities that endear him to his child-
readers. All his life, even in the midst of affliction and sorrow, he
was governed by true, deep kindness for all living things, and by a
spirit of helpfulness that is the most beautiful thing expressed in his
poetry. Then, too, he was willing always to write simply, that all
might be benefited by his pure, high thinking. So consistently and with
such power did he put into practice the religion of good will and
service to others that his life seems to have been a realization of the
desire expressed in Wordsworth's lines:
"And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety."
Some of Longfellow's poems that children like most are named in the
following paragraphs:
Perhaps the most interesting for the youngest readers are _Paul Revere's
Ride_ and _The Wreck of the Hesperus; The Children's Hour_, in which the
poet tells of the daily play-time with his little girls; and _The
Village Blacksmith_, together with the verses _From My Arm-Chair_,
written when the children gave the chair made from the chestnut tree
that had once shaded the Village Blacksmith.
Story-telling poems that children of from ten to twelve years of age
can enjoy are: _The Happiest Land_, _The Luck of Edenhall_, _The Elected
Knight_, _Excelsior_, _The Phantom Ship_, _The Discoverer of the North
Cape_, _The Bell of Atri_, _The Three Kings_, _The Emperor's Bird's
Nest_ and _The Maiden and the Weathercock_. _The Windmill_ and the
translation _Beware_ are especially lively, little poems; and _The Arrow
and the Song_ and _Children_ are quite as cheerful though quieter. More
serious is _The Day Is Done_, well liked for the restful melody; _The
Old Clock on the Stairs_, with its curious refrain; and the famous
_Psalm of Life_, the lesson of which has helped many a young boy and
girl.
Among the story-poems for children older than twelve years are
Longfellow's greatest works, _Evangeline_, _Hiawatha_ and _The Courtship
of Miles Standish_; and the minor poems, _Elizabeth_, _The Beleaguered
City_ and _The Building of the Ship_. Nature poems that appeal to
readers of this age are the _Hymn to the Night_, _The Rainy Day_, _The
Evening Star_, _A Day of Sunshine_, _The Brook and the Wave_, _Rain in
Summer_, and _Wanderer's Night Songs_.
Children who are fond of imagining will enjoy _The Belfry of Bruges_ and
_Travels by the Fireside_, and those who like song-poems may select _The
Bridge_ or _Stay, Stay at Home, My Heart_.
Nearly all of the poems that have been named are found in collections
of Longfellow's works under the titles of the volumes in which they
were originally published. _A Psalm of Life_, for example, is one of the
group entitled _Voices of the Night_; and _Paul Revere's Ride_ is one of
the _Tales of a Wayside Inn_.
[Illustration: HER GENTLE HAND IN MINE]
FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS
_By_ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
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 roadside 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,
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.
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!
*[Footnote: This refers to Longfellow's first wife, Mary Storer Potter,
whom he married in 1831. On his second visit to Europe, Mrs. Longfellow
died at Rotterdam in 1835.]
TO H. W. L.,
ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 27TH FEBRUARY, 1867.
_By_ JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
I need not praise the sweetness of his song,
Where limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds
Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong
The new moon's mirrored skiff, he slides along,
Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds.
With loving breath of all the winds his name
Is blown about the world, but to his friends
A sweeter secret hides behind his fame,
And Love steals shyly through the loud acclaim,
To murmur a _God bless you!_ and there ends.
* * * * *
Surely if skill in song the shears may stay
And of its purpose cheat the charmed abyss,
If our poor life be lengthened by a lay,
He shall not go, although his presence may,
And the next age in praise shall double this.
Long days be his, and each as lusty-sweet
As gracious natures find his song to be;
May Age steal on with softly-cadenced feet
Falling in music, as for him were meet
Whose choicest verse is harsher-toned than he!
While this little tribute may not be as simple to read as some of the
things in this book, yet it is beautiful to those who can read it.
[Illustration: LONGFELLOW'S HOME AT CAMBRIDGE]