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melancholy heroics of Byron, and the growing popularity of Wordsworth, the star of Campbell's glory rapidly waned. It did not and probably will not, go out utterly. He has achieved the immortality of quotation and of the school-reader. He had a genuine lyrical gift, the trumpettone that stirs the blood in every man that has a country to love and die for. For such lyrics as Ye Mariners and the Battle of the Baltic, we may, with Moore, think gratefully of Thomas Campbell, as

“one whose hand Hath shed a new and deathless ray

Around the lyre of this great land;

In whose sea-odes—as in those shells

Where Ocean's voice of majesty
Seems still to sound-immortal dwells

Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea."


[S. Longfellow, Life of H. W. Longfellow (contains extracts from his Journal), Final Memorials of H. W. Longfellow; Underwood, H. W. Longfellow, 1882; Kennedy, H. W. Longfellow, 1882; Austin, Life, etc., 1883; Robertson, Life, etc., 1887 (G.W.S.). His works are published in eleven vols., Boston, 1886. The best one vol. ed. of his poems is the Cambridge ed., Boston, 1895.):

The literature of Puritan America is no cheerful field of reading. Its very subjects, — elegies, lessons, judgments, prospects of death, obituaries, days of doom, — are depressing. Quotations from Holy Writ abound in the text and scriptural annotations cover the margins. Rarely does a smile creep over the face of this lanternvisaged Muse. The poverty of her metrical art is bidden with the broad mantle of godliness, as when the compiler of the Bay Psalm Book remarks, “If the verses are not alwayes so smooth and elegant as some may desire and expect ; let them consider that God's Altar needs not our pollishings.” It is only toward the end of the eighteenth century that a mellowing influence appears, and we are conscious that it has ceased to be a crime to smile. Influenced no doubt by the new poetry of England, the working of a poetic spirit grows more manifest, but the Columbian muse bas still more patriotism than poetry. With the new century, however, what names crowd upon us — Irving, Cooper, Halleck, Lydia Sigourney, Bryant, Emerson, Hawthorne, Willis, Longfellow, Whittier, Poe. Among these, as pre-eminently the poet of his time, stands Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Longfellow was born, of good Puritan stock, in Portland, Maine, on February 27th, 1807. His native town

Iwntre elder deugs of Arts,
- Builders wroughts mich greatest; cang.
Cache minute and, unseen pants,

Sow the Gods see everquheres.
Selins do our work as well,
- Boit shrer wissen and the seen,
ele ale ihre house, where hads may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Stempes. Songfellow.

and its pictured memories are recorded by the poet in some of his best lyrics, My Lost Youth, The Rope-Walk, and Kéramos. In 1822 he left home for Bowdoin College, Brunswick, where he distinguished himself as a poet and as a student. A translation of his from Horace so favorably impressed the trustees of the College that he was called to the chair of Modern Languages, and given permission to make all due preparation at his own expense abroad. This preparation he made by residence and travel in France, Spain, and Italy, and in September, 1827, returned to America a wellequipped professor of modern languages. He taught with interest and enthusiasm, diffusing a precious literary charm throughout his class-work that raised instruction into culture. In 1834, when Mr. Ticknor resigned his professorship in Harvard College, Mr. Longfellow was called to his chair, and was again offered the privilege of European travel in further preparation for his position.

Up to this time, Longfellow's only published works, other than poems in magazines, were school-books, a translation of Coplas de Manrique, and Outre-Mer. In this last work, published in its complete form in 1835, many of the characteristics of his genius are clearly manifested,—his love of the older lands rich in literary and historical associations, a generous optimism that falls like sunlight upon whatever objects be sees or persons he encounters. In Outre-Mer he definitely entered upon what perhaps was the great mission of his life, the interpretation of the Old World to the New.

In April of 1835 Longfellow and his wife — he had married happily four years before — set out beyond seas. They visited London, Sweden, and were in the midst of

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