New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1863-12-05
the truth OF history 1t is perhaps tho most rssdat
bio book of the season. and cannot fail to be crowned
with the popular favor which has been 80 literally
accorded to the former productions Of the author.
LONGFELLOW,s wAYSIDE INN.

LONGFELLOW'S WAYSIDE INN.
TALES or A WAYsIDE INN. BY HEsRY WAsswoR1a
LoyGFYILow. Emo. pp 22J Boston: 1icknor FeIdas
The pleasant fiction of q company Of guests at
village inn, which he's been favorite framework
with so many eminent writers of narrative both In
poetry and prose- is here turned to excellent account
by the dainty pen of Mr.. Longfellow. An ancienS
hostelry in the obscure little town Of Sudbury,
Massachusetts, forms the gatheringplace for stu.
dent, Spanish Jew, q Sicilian, musician, theo'
Logan, and poet, who together with the landlord
of tho i'm, divert the hours Of long evening ~
the recital Of variety Of tales, legends, and hs'
torical traditions Of different countries. MI. Long,
fellow has connected the stories by silyery thread
Of description, preparing the reader for tho suc'
cessive styles of poetry, to which he has lent oil mo
entertainments Of his versatile and entcing rhyme.
The Introductory lines in which we are introduces
to the old country tavern present q truly natural
picture OF rural life:
Ore Autumn nirl IN Sudbury town.
Across tie meade bare and brown.
The Windows Of T. wayside inn
CLEANED red Will light through .he leaves
OF woodbine, hanging from the caves
Their crimson curtains rent and Tim
Asancent is this hostelry
asany in the land may be,
Built ia the Ole Colonial dav
When IpcR lived IN grander way,
With smyer hospitality;
A kind OF old HobgObIi1 He'll
Now eomewhat fallen TO decay.
With weather stains rpon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy DOORS
And cracking and uneven floors,
And ehimDeys huge. ard TIED and 'aiL
region o, repcse IL seems.
4 place OF sluEher and Of dreams
Remote among the wooded hills
For there no noisy railway speeds,
lis toIch-race scattering smoke ard gleedst
But noon and night, tire painting teams
stop under the great oaks, that throw
TsDgles OF light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines Of stsls their mows Of hsy
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The waited cocks strut TO ana fro.
Ard half eficed by rain ard shine.
The Red Horse Frances On the sign
Round this CID fashioned quaint abode
Deep silence regned, save when gust
Went rushing down the county road.
And skeletons of leaves. and dust,
moment quckencl by its breath,
Shudderei and danced their dance OF death.
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices nodled anu Heu.
The interior is not less attractive:
Bu. from the psrlor Of the inn
A pleasant murmur snote the ear,
Like Welfr rushing
or interrupted by the din
OF laughter and Of loud applause.
And in each intervening pause.
The music OF violin.
Tho freight, shedding over all
The splendor OF its rudy glow,
Filled the whole parlor large and low;
IL cleaned or wainscot and on wall
Ittouched with more than wonted grace
Fair Princess Msry's pictured face;
IL brOnzed the raiters overhead
On the Old spiIets ivory keys
IL played inaudiDe melodies,
IL crowned the soinber clock with fame.
The hands, the hours. tho makers name,
And painted with a lyeer red
The landlords coat.ofarms again;
And flashing on the window.pale,
Emb!azoned with Its light and shade
Tie jogial rhymes, that still remain.
Wnt near century ago.
BY the great Major Moneaux
Whom Hawthorne has immortal made.