HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
1807-1882
Almost any summer day in the early part of the century a blue-eyed,
brown-haired boy might have been seen lying under a great apple-tree
in the garden of an old house in Portland, forgetful of everything
else in the world save the book he was reading.
The boy was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and the book might have been
_Robinson Crusoe_, _The Arabian Nights_, or _Don Quixote_, all
of which were prime favorites, or, possibly, it was Irving's
_Sketch-Book_, of which he was so fond that even the covers delighted
him, and whose charm remained unbroken throughout life. Years
afterward, when, as a famous man of letters, he was called upon to pay
his tribute to the memory of Irving, he could think of no more tender
praise than to speak with grateful affection of the book which had so
fascinated him as a boy, and whose pages still led him back into the
"haunted chambers of youth."
Portland was in those days a town of wooden houses, with streets
shaded with trees, and the waters of the sea almost dashing up to its
doorways. At its back great stretches of woodland swept the country
as far as the eye could see, and low hills served as watch-towers over
the deep in times of war. It was during Longfellow's childhood that
the British ship Boxer was captured by the Enterprise in the famous
sea-fight of the War of 1812; the two captains, who had fallen in the
battle, were buried side by side in the cemetery at Portland, and
the whole town came together to do honor to the dead commanders. Long
afterward Longfellow speaks of this incident in his poem entitled _My
Lost Youth_, and recalls the sound of the cannon booming across
the waters, and the solemn stillness that followed the news of the
victory.
It is in the same poem that we have a picture of the Portland of his
early life, and are given glimpses of the black wet wharves, where the
ships were moored all day long as they worked, and also the Spanish
sailors "with bearded lips" who seemed as much a mystery to the boy
as the ships themselves. These came and went across the sea, always
watched and waited for with greatest interest by the children, who
loved the excitement of the unloading and loading, the shouts of the
surveyors who were measuring the contents of cask and hogshead; the
songs of the negroes working the pulleys, the jolly good-nature of the
seamen strolling through the streets, and, above all, the sight of
the strange treasures that came from time to time into one home or
another--bits of coral, beautiful sea-shells, birds of resplendent
plumage, foreign coins, which looked odd even in Portland, where all
the money nearly was Spanish--and the hundred and one things dear to
the hearts of children and sailors.
Longfellow's boyhood was almost a reproduction of that of some Puritan
ancestor a century before. He attended the village school, played ball
in summer and skated in winter, went to church twice every Sunday,
and, when service was over, looked at the curious pictures in the
family Bible, and heard from his mother's lips the stories of David
and Jonathan and Joseph, and at all times had food for his imagination
in the view of bay stretching seaward, on one hand, and on the other
valley farms and groves spreading out to the west.
But although the life was severe in its simplicity, it was most sweet
and wholesome for the children who grew up in the home nest, guarded
by the love that was felt rather than expressed, and guided into noble
conceptions of the beauty and dignity of living. This home atmosphere
impressed itself upon Longfellow unconsciously, as did the poetic
influences of nature, and had just as lasting and inspiring an effect
upon his character, so that truth, duty, fine courage were always
associated with the freshness of spring, the early dawn, the summer
sunshine, and the lingering sadness of twilight.
It is the spiritual insight, thus early developed, that gives to
Longfellow's poetry some of its greatest charms.
It was during his school-boy days that Longfellow published his first
bit of verse. It was inspired by hearing the story of a famous fight
which took place on the shores of a small lake called Lovell's
Pond, between the hero Lovell and the Indians. Longfellow was deeply
impressed by this story and threw his feeling of admiration into four
stanzas, which he carried with a beating heart down to the letter-box
of the _Portland Gazette_, taking an opportunity to slip the
manuscript in when no one was looking.
A few days later Longfellow watched his father unfold the paper, read
it slowly before the fire, and finally leave the room, when the sheet
was grasped by the boy and his sister, who shared his confidence,
and hastily scanned. The poem was there in the "Poets' Corner" of the
_Gazette_, and Longfellow was so filled with joy that he spent the
greater part of the remainder of the day in reading and re-reading
the verses, becoming convinced toward evening that they possessed
remarkable merit. His happiness was dimmed, however, a few hours
later, when the father of a boy friend, with whom he was passing
the evening, pronounced the verses stiff and entirely lacking in
originality, a criticism that was quite true and that was harder to
bear because the critic had no idea who the author was. Longfellow
slipped away as soon as possible to nurse his wounded feelings in his
own room, but instead of letting the incident discourage him, began,
with renewed vigor, to write verses, epigrams, essays, and even
tragedies, which he produced in a literary partnership with one of
his friends. None of these effusions had any literary value, being no
better than any boy of thirteen or fourteen would produce if he turned
his attention to composition instead of bat and ball.
Longfellow remained in Portland until his sixteenth year, when he went
to Bowdoin College, entering the sophomore class. Here he remained for
three years, gradually winning a name for scholarship and character
that was second to none.
His love for reading still continued, Irving remaining a favorite
author, while Cooper was also warmly appreciated. From the
_Sketch-Book_ he would turn to the exciting pages of _The Spy_, and
the announcement of a new work by either of their authors was looked
forward to as an event of supreme importance. From time to time he
wrote verses which appeared in the periodicals of the day, and as his
college life neared its close he began to look toward literature as
the field for his future work, and it was with much disappointment
that he learned that his father wished him to study law.
But what the effect of such a course may have had upon his mind so
filled with the love of poetry, and so consecrated to the ideal, will
never be known, as the end of his college life brought to him a chance
which, for the moment, entirely satisfied the desire of his heart.
This was an offer from the college trustees that he should visit
Europe for the purpose of fitting himself for a professorship of
modern languages, and that upon his return he should fill that chair,
newly established at Bowdoin.
This was the happiest fortune that could come to Longfellow in the
beginning of his literary career. Accordingly, at the age of nineteen,
he sailed for France in good health, with fine prospects, and with as
fair a hope for the future as ever was given.
Longfellow remained abroad three years, studying and absorbing all the
new conditions which were broadening his mind, and fitting him for his
after-career. He visited France, Spain, Italy, and Germany, meeting
with adventure everywhere, and storing up memory after memory that
came back to his call in after-years to serve some purpose of his art.
We have thus preserved in his works the impressions that Europe then
made upon a young American, who had come there to supplement his
education by studying at the universities, and whose mind was alive to
all the myriad forms of culture denied in his own land.
The vividness of these early impressions was seen in all his work, and
was perhaps the first reflection of the old poetic European influence
that began to be felt in much American poetry, where the charm of old
peasant love-songs and roundelays, heard for centuries among the lower
classes of Spain, France, and Italy, was wrought into translations and
transcriptions so perfect and spirited that they may almost rank with
original work.
One of Longfellow's great pleasures while on this trip was the meeting
with Irving in Spain, where the latter was busy upon his _Life
of Columbus_; and Irving's kindness on this occasion was always
affectionately remembered.
Longfellow returned to America after three years' absence, and at once
began his duties at Bowdoin College, where he remained three years,
when he left to take a professorship at Harvard, which he had accepted
with the understanding that he was to spend a year and a half abroad
before commencing his work.
The results of his literary labors while at Bowdoin were the
publication of a series of sketches of European life called _Outre
Mer_, in two volumes; a translation from the Spanish of the _Coplas
de Manrique_, and some essays in the _North American Review_ and
other periodicals. And considering the demand upon his time which his
college duties made, this amount of finished work speaks well for his
industry, since it does not include a number of text-books prepared
for the use of his pupils, and numberless papers, translations,
and other literary miscellany necessary to his work as a teacher of
foreign languages. _Outre Mer_, which had first appeared in part in
a periodical, was very favorably received. It was really the story of
picturesque Europe translated by the eye and heart of a young poet.
After his return to America Longfellow settled down to the routine of
college work, which was interrupted for the next ten years only by his
literary work, which from this time on began to absorb him more and
more. Two years after his return he published his first volume of
poems and his romance _Hyperion_. In _Hyperion_ Longfellow related
some of the experiences of his own travels under the guise of the
hero, who wanders through Europe, and the book is full of the same
biographical charm that belongs to _Outre Mer_. Here the student life
of the German youth, the songs they sang, the books they read, and
even their favorite inns are noted, while the many translations of
German poetry opened a new field of delight to American readers. It
was well received by the public, who appreciated its fine poetic fancy
and its wealth of serious thought.
But it was not by his prose that Longfellow touched the deepest
sympathies of his readers, and the publication of his first volume
of poetry a few months later showed his real position in the world of
American letters. This little book, which was issued under the title
_Voices of the Night_, consisted of the poems that had so far appeared
in the various magazines and papers, a few poems written in his
college days, and some translations from the French, German, and
Spanish poets.
In this volume occurs some of Longfellow's choicest works, the gem of
the book being the celebrated _A Psalm of Life_.
It is from this point that Longfellow goes onward always as the
favorite poet of the American people. The _Psalm of Life_ had been
published previously in a magazine without the author's name, and
it had no sooner been read than it seemed to find its way into every
heart. Ministers read it to their congregations all over the country,
and it was sung as a hymn in many churches. It was copied in almost
every newspaper in the United States; it was recited in every school.
To young and old alike it brought its message, and its voice was
recognized as that of a true leader. The author of _Outre Mer_ and
_Hyperion_ had here touched hands with millions of his brothers and
sisters, and the clasp was never unloosened again while he lived.
In the same collection occurs _The Footsteps of Angels_, another
well-beloved poem, and one in which the spirit of home-life is made
the inspiration.
Longfellow's poems now followed one another in rapid succession,
appearing generally at first in some magazine and afterward in book
form in various collections under different titles.
His greatest contributions to American literature are his _Evangeline_
and _Hiawatha_, and a score of shorter poems, which in themselves
would give the author a high place in any literature.
In _Evangeline_ Longfellow took for his theme the pathetic story of
the destruction of the Acadian villages by the English during the
struggle between the English and French for the possession of Canada.
In this event many families and friends were separated never again to
be reunited, and the story of _Evangeline_ is the fate of two young
lovers who were sent away from their homes in different ships, and who
never met again until both were old, and one was dying in the ward of
a public hospital. Longfellow has made of this sad story a wondrously
beautiful tale, that reads like an old legend of Grecian Arcadia.
The description of the great primeval forests, stretching down to the
sea; of the villages and farms scattered over the land as unprotected
as the nests of the meadow lark; of the sowing and harvesting of the
peasant folk, with their _fetes_ and churchgoing, their weddings and
festivals, and the pathetic search of Evangeline for her lost lover
Gabriel among the plains of Louisiana, all show Longfellow in his
finest mood as a poet whom the sorrows of mankind touched always with
reverent pity, as well as a writer of noble verse.
Everywhere that the English language is read _Evangeline_ has passed
as the most beautiful folk-story that America has produced, and the
French Canadians, the far-away brothers of the Acadians, have included
Longfellow among their national poets. Among them _Evangeline_ is
known by heart, and the cases are not rare where the people have
learned English expressly for the purpose of reading Longfellow's poem
in the original, a wonderful tribute to the poet who could thus touch
to music one of the saddest memories of their race.
In _Hiawatha_ Longfellow gave to the Indian the place in poetry that
had been given him by Cooper in prose. Here the red man is shown with
all his native nobleness still unmarred by the selfish injustice of
the whites, while his inferior qualities are seen only to be those
that belong to mankind in general.
_Hiawatha_ is a poem of the forests and of the dark-skinned race who
dwelt therein, who were learned only in forest lore and lived as near
to nature's heart as the fauns and satyrs of old. Into this legend
Longfellow has put all the poetry of the Indian nature, and has made
his hero, Hiawatha, a noble creation that compares favorably with the
King Arthur of the old British romances. Like Arthur, Hiawatha has
come into the world with a mission for his people; his birth is
equally mysterious and invests him at once with almost supernatural
qualities. Like Arthur, he seeks to redeem his kingdom from savagery
and to teach the blessing of peace.
From first to last Hiawatha moves among the people, a real leader,
showing them how to clear their forests, to plant grain, to make for
themselves clothing of embroidered and painted skins, to improve their
fishing-grounds, and to live at peace with their neighbors. Hiawatha's
own life was one that was lived for others. From the time when he was
a little child and his grandmother told him all the fairy-tales of
nature, up to the day when, like Arthur, he passed mysteriously away
through the gates of the sunset, all his hope and joy and work were
for his people. He is a creature that could only have been born from a
mind as pure and poetic as that of Longfellow.
All the scenes and images of the poem are so true to nature that they
seem like very breaths from the forest. We move with Hiawatha through
the dewy birchen aisles, learn with him the language of the nimble
squirrel and of the wise beaver and mighty bear, watch him build his
famous canoe, and spend hours with him fishing in the waters of the
great inland sea, bordered by the pictured rocks, painted by nature
herself. Longfellow's first idea of the poem was suggested, it is
said, by his hearing a Harvard student recite some Indian tales.
Searching among the various books that treated of the American Indian,
he found many legends and incidents that preserved fairly well the
traditional history of the Indian race, and grouping these around one
central figure and filling in the gaps with poetic descriptions of the
forests, mountains, lakes, rivers, and plains, which made up the abode
of these picturesque people, he thus built up the entire poem. The
metre used is that in which the Kalevala, the national epic of the
Finns is written, and the Finnish hero, Wainamoinen, in his gift of
song and his brave adventures, is not unlike the great Hiawatha. Among
Longfellow's other long poems are: _The Spanish Student_, a dramatic
poem founded upon a Spanish romance; _The Divine Tragedy_, and _The
Golden Legend_, founded upon the life of Christ; _The Courtship of
Miles Standish_, a tale of Puritan love-making in the time of the
early settlers, and _Tales of a Wayside Inn_, which were a series of
poems of adventure supposed to be related in turn by the guests at an
inn.
But it is with such poems as _Evangeline_ and _Hiawatha_, and the
shorter famous poems like _A Psalm of Life_, _Excelsior_, _The Wreck
of the Hesperus_, _The Building of the Ship_, _The Footsteps of
Angels_ that his claim as the favorite poet of America rests.
_Evangeline_ and _Hiawatha_ marked an era in American literature in
introducing themes purely American, while of the famous shorter poems
each separate one was greeted almost with an ovation. _The Building of
the Ship_ was never read during the struggle of the Civil War without
raising the audience to a passion of enthusiasm, and so in each of
these shorter poems Longfellow touched with wondrous sympathy the
hearts of his readers. Throughout the land he was revered as the
poet of the home and heart, the sweet singer to whom the fireside and
family gave ever sacred and beautiful meanings.
Some poems on slavery, a prose tale called _Kavanagh_, and a
translation of _The Divine Comedy_ of Dante must also be included
among Longfellow's works; but these have never reached the success
attained by his more popular poems which are known by heart by
millions to whom they have been inspiration and comfort.
Longfellow died in Cambridge in 1882, in the same month in which was
written his last poem, _The Bells of San Blas_, which concludes with
these words:
"It is daybreak everywhere."