I TO H. W. L., ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 27TH FEBRUARY, 1867. By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 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 Surely if skill in song the shears may stay And of its purpose cheat the charmed abyss, Long days be his, and each as lusty-sweet 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. One of the fine things about good poetry is that it will not only bear study and examination, but will yield new beauty and new pleasure as it is better understood. For instance, take the first stanza above. Lowell says Longfellow's poetry is sweet and easily understood and that one line follows another smoothly. To make us see how smoothly, he makes a beautiful comparison, draws for us an exquisite picture. As smooth, he says, as is our own river Charles when at night, fearing to disturb by so much as a single ripple the reflection of the crescent moon, a mirrored skiff, it glides along noiselessly but whispering gently to the reeds that line its shores. Again, Lowell says that the very winds love Longfellow, and waft his name about the world, giving him fame and honor; but his friends know him to be a man with a loving heart, and so they steal up to him and murmur through the noisy shoutings of the crowd a simple God bless you! which they know Longfellow will appreciate on his birthday more than all his fame. To understand the first line in the third stanza, we must know of the three Fates who in the old Greek myth controlled the life of every man. One spun the thread of life, a second determined its course, and the third stood by with shears ready to cut the thread where death was due. Lowell says if being a skillful poet will make a man immortal, if our life can be lengthened by a song, then Longfellow shall not leave us even though his body goes, and in another generation his fame shall be doubly great. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW UND NDER a spreading chestnut-tree The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp and black and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat,- And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night. And children, coming home from school, They love to see the flaming forge, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, |