LONGFELLOW, born in 1807 and dying in 1882, lived through the period of the first and, so far, the best American literature. A New Englander of excellent family, he graduated in a famous class at the old New England college of Bowdoin, and spent his life in one of the most renowned New England towns, as Professor in Harvard for seventeen years, and thenceforward as the most widely known of New England poets. Twice-in 1831 and in 1843-he was happily married; four times, with an interval of forty years between the first and last visit, he sojourned in Europe. Though not rich, he never knew poverty; he was orthodox in his social and moral views; with the exception of the terrible tragedy of the burning of his second wife in 1861, his life was a studious, uneventful peace. He contemplated with intelligence and sympathy the life around him, and it is reflected in his poetry, enriched and enlarged with the tints and chiaroscuro derived from catholic culture. Without a trace of vulgarity, without stooping to the arts of the demagogue or falling into the crudity of didacticism, he is the poet of the people. The abiding perception of the disproportion between human facts and universal truths, which we call humor, was lacking in him; but he was always sincere and often eloquent and elevated. Imagination he had, gently romantic rather than grand and creative; but his success was due to the harmony of his nature, in which was nothing discordant or out of measure; poetry was his normal utterance. During his long career he produced much that lacks permanent value, but

much also that is true and lasting poetry. His translations from the German and other foreign languages attest his scholarship, but do not illustrate his faculty; his "Dante's Divine Comedy," in spite of its dignity and frequent felicities, is not as a poem within measurable distance of the original. His prose books-"Outre-Mer," in 1834, "Hyperion" in 1839, and "Kavanagh," ten years later, are amiable but feeble books; "The Spanish Student" (1843) and "The Golden Legend" (1851) are essays in drama which indicate the limitations of the writer. The lyric, the ballad and the narrative poems are Longfellow's true field, and to them he thenceforward restricted himself. In each of them he touched high levels. During the Abolition epoch he wrote effective poems against slavery, and the Civil War elicited such fine ballads as "The Cumberland" and "Paul Revere," the latter aiming to stimulate the soldier of to-day by recalling the simple heroism of the night-rider of the past. But in general he preferred to moralize on life, and to depict its homely pathos and familiar charms and picturesqueness. "Excelsior," "The Psalm of Life," "The Day is Done," "The Open Window," "The Old Clock on the Stairs," "The Village Blacksmith " and many another, have entered into the language, and deservedly. But occasionally he showed, as in "Pegasus in Pound," that he could make pure allegory vibrate with tenderest life; and ever and anon he would summon his energies and achieve such long and lofty flights as "Evangeline" or "Hiawatha," which contain poetry to be long remembered among the honorable achievements of American literature.

In "Evangeline" the two Acadian lovers, parted by the edict of exile, seek each other for years, sometimes passing, unknowing, almost within arm's reach; and meet at last only when Gabriel, dying in the hospital, is found by Evangeline, who, for the sake of her lost lover, had dedicated herself to the succor of the suffering This beautiful story suited the writer's genius, and the long, unrhymed verses gave opportunity for the music of words which was among his fortunate gifts. There are many passages of exquisite and haunting loveliness; that describing the lovers' meeting is Longfellow's best work; and the character of the Acadian maiden

herself, gentle, faithful and strong, is the finest he ever drew.

"Hiawatha" has the short meter and quaint simplicity of the Norse eddas; it unites in an artistic group the most picturesque of our Indian legends. Nature and wild animals play their parts with men, women and supernatural creatures, as personages in the drama; the Indian spirit is preserved. throughout, and in this strange world nothing is familiar but the beating of the universal human heart, which harmonizes and reconciles all. The figure of Hiawatha is noble, impressive and lovable, and Minnehaha wins our affections as she won his. The canto in which her death is described (The Famine) is deeply moving and beautiful. The poem, ridiculed at its first appearance, has conquered respect; it is a bold and unique achievement, and, of itself, secures the author's renown. Longfellow is one of the least pretentious of poets, but his importance may be estimated by imagining the gap which would be caused by the absence of his blameless and gracious figure.

THE OPEN WINDOW.

THE old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.

I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.

The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.

They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness,
Were hanging over all.

The birds sang in the branches,

With sweet, familiar tone;

But the voices of the children

Will be heard in dreams alone!

And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand

Why closer in mine, ah! closer,

I pressed his warm, soft hand!

PEGASUS IN POUND.

ONCE into a quiet village,

Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet's wingèd steed.

It was Autumn, and incessant

Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples

Burned among the withering leaves.

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing
From its belfry gaunt and grim:

'Twas the daily call to labor,

Not a triumph meant for him.

Not the less he saw the landscape,
In its gleaming vapor veiled;
Not the less he breathed the odors
That the dying leaves exhaled.

Thus, upon the village common,

By the school-boys he was found;
And the wise men, in their wisdom,
Put him straightway into pound.

Then the sombre village crier,
Ringing loud his brazen bell,
Wandered down the street proclaiming
There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people,
Rich and poor, and young and old,

Came in haste to see this wondrous
Wingéd steed, with mane of gold.

Thus the day passed, and the evening
Fell, with vapors cold and dim;
But it brought no food nor shelter,
Brought no straw nor stall, for him.

Patiently, and still expectant,

Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, Saw the tranquil, patient stars;

Till at length the bell at midnight
Sounded from its dark abode,

And, from out a neighboring farm-yard,
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.

Then, with nostrils wide distended
Breaking from his iron chain,
And unfolding far his pinions,

To those stars he soared again.

On the morrow, when the village
Woke to all its toil and care,
Lo! the strange steed had departed,
And they knew not when nor where.

But they found, upon the greensward
Where his struggling hoofs had trod,
Pure and bright, a fountain flowing
From the hoof-marks in the sod.

From that hour, the fount unfailing
Gladdens the whole region round,
Strengthening all who drink its waters,
While it soothes them with its sound.

THE CUMBERLAND.

Ar anchor in Hampton Roads we lay

On board of the Cumberland sloop of war; And at times from the fortress across the bay