The Portland daily press., 1882-02-28

| the birthday of their former member, the re-
nowned poet Longfellow, send him their fer
| vent and united wishes for his health and
| happiness
At the close Of the Judges remarks, Mr.. Ell
we'll moved congratulatory telegram be sent
to Prof Longfellow, and the following was sent
amidst great applause:
ssThe members of the Maine Historical So
ciety, assembled with friends, in honor of your
seyenty-ffth birthday send you their greetings
| and congratulations.
H. w. BRYANT,
Recording Secretary
Mr.. j. P. Baxter then read the follow ing
poem
Laus Laureati.
sing no common theme, but OF a man.
One who, ful-voiced, the highway of the King
Gladdens with sopg; inspiring lives which span
fruit ess field where little JOY may SPRING
And which, from birth, may win no better thing
Than paltry bread, and shelter from the blast,
Till unto Deaths low house they come at last.
1t needs more fluent tongue than mine TO sing,
In fitting measure of poet born,-
Greater than crosiered priest or sceptered king,
Since such are M lde, and may by chance be shorn
Of all their glory by tomorrow morn;
But born poet he shall surely be
Ever poet to eternity.
OF such strive to sing one who shall live
In Fame's high house while stars make glad the
sky
That happy house which many hapless give
Lifes choicest pearls to gain, since none may die
Who come within its halls so fair and high.
Would l might win it, with no thought but this.
That might others bring soul-health and bliss.
But Master, one who is about to die
Brings thee crown, which, though not one of bay,
May haply mind thee of some things gone by
Pleasant TO think of-matters put away
In rooms forgot, where truant memories play
AT hide and seek; for, beareth it, forsooth,
Savor OF things we'll loved by thee In youth.
Of Deering's woods, which whisper softly still,
A boys will is the winds WILL as of yore
They lisped to thee where sweet-voiced birds would
trill
In haunts wherein thou soughtest tuneful lore.
OF bluff and beach along our rugged shore,
Girting the bay, whose isles enchanted drew
Thy venturous thoughts TO hayens ever new.
Dear Master, let me take thy hand space
And lead thee gently wheresoe'er may;
With the salt seas cool breath upon thy face,
And in thine ears the music OF the spray,
Which rapt in days agone thy soul away,
Where hung full low the golden fruit OF truth,
Within the reach of thy aspiring youth
Thou knowest well the place: here built George
Cleeves
Almost two centuries before thy birth;
Here was his cornfeld; here his lowly caves
Sheltered the swallows, and around his hearth
Thou with clear vision seest them, / know,
AS they were in the flesh long years ago.
Surely the shrewd, persistent pioneer
Built better than he knew; he thought to build
A shelter for himself, his kith and gear;
But felled the trees, and grubbed and plowed and
TILED
That in the course of time might be fulfilled
A wondrous purpose, being no less than this,
Tha here poet might be born to bliss.
Ali could he but have tracked adown the dim.
Long weary path Of years, and stood to-day
With thee and me- how would the eyes of him
Have flashed with pride and joy to hear men say,
Here Cleeves built the first house in Casco Bay;
Here too, our Longfelow's place of BIRTH
And sooth, God seat his singers upon earth.
Thou canst not find Clay Cove? Twas here, wilt
When thou didst listen to the runnet's song,
Leaping to meet the full lips of the bay.
Well, let us climb Munjoy; lol good and strong,
In the same coat of red it hath so long
Dsported bravely, spite of fl cd and flame,
The old Observatory, still the same.
And there. the forts, and farther seward, yet,
pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day,
The lighthouse standeth still as firmly set
Upon Its fnty throne amidst the spray
As erst when thou didst dream thy soul away
To the hoarse Hebrides, or bright Azore,
Or flashing surges of San Salvador.
And, ere we leave, look. where still sleep the two
Brave captains, who, in bloody shrouds were
From the great sea fight, whilst the bugles blew,
And drums rolled, and gaunt cannon terror
In childish hearts; the place thou oft has sought
To dream the fight DER. while the busy hum
OF toll from wharf and street would strangely
come.
But now, along the teeming thoroughfare
Thread we way. Strange faces, sayest thou?
Yet names well known to thee, some haply bear,
And shouldst thou scan more closely face and brow
Old looks would come we'll known TO thee enoH,
Which shone on faces of the girls and boys,
Who shared with thee the sweets of youthful joys.
And. now we come where rough with rent and scar
The ancient rope walk stood, low-roofed a. gray,
Emhalmed with scent of oakum, fax and tar,
CobWebbed and dim, and crammed with strange
OF things which lure the thoughts of youth away
To wondrous climes, where never chip hath been,
Nor foot hath trod, nor curious eye hath seen.
Gone, why dreamt. A moment since twas there.
Or seemed to be. Their lives frail thread, tits true
The spnners long since spun; the maidens fair,
Swinging and laughing as their shadows flew
Along the grass, have swung from earthly view
And the gay mountebanks have yaulted quite
Into oblivion's eternal night.
And they are gone. The woman at the we'll,
The old man ringing In the noontide heat;
The shameless convicts with their faces fell
The boyand kite, and steeds with flying feet,
And sportsmen ambushed MIDST of LEAKAGE sweet;
Aye. and the ships rejoicing in the breeze,
Are rotting on the shores of unknown seas.
But Master let us fare to old Bramhan
Up Free and Main Streets-this is State, full well
The house where Mellen lived you must recall
Seeing poet once therein might dwell;
Though short of Fames fair house he hapless fell,
Tracing his name half listless, in the reach
OF every tide which sweeps Times treacherous
beach.
And here is cool Bramha1l and thero still stands
The Deering house, as thou hast known it long;
Where Brackett's house Stood ere with murderous
hands
The Indians thronged around it-witched of
One August day, with torch and savage song.
And swept it from the earth. Ali void of hope
Might feeble Falmouth then midst ruin grope.
But time hath made all right now. Lo a-west
Whittier the redman gazed with fervid eyes,
vDi1apasg drHSt
He called the crystal hills. and, childishwise,
Did fondly deem, that way lay Paradise;
Whittier each evening went the chief of day,
Bedecked with painted robes and feathers gay.
Twas not so far amiss for type more grand
OF the celestial hills, no eye may see
Towering in splendid majesty, they stand
Like the fixed portals of eternity,
Curtalned with shining clouds unanimously,
Which rise and fall, yet ever seem to hold
mystery bosomed 10 each shadowy fold.
Pile upon pile they rise and meet the sky,
Blue, over-agching, like mighty dome.
Even such temple doth my spirits eye
To wellwon fame. Lo! in this glorious home
see them sit august and, crowned with bays,
Across the silent centuries calmly gaze.
Homer unkempt, with close, sagacious look;
Plato. in whose calm face pale mysteries bide;
Virgil, smooth-ch seked. with oaten pipe ana crook:
Grave Sopbocles. with eyes unsatished,
Where riddles all unread in ambush hide;
Keen-eyed Euripides, whose books were men,
And jovial Horace with satiric pen.
And dear old Chaucer, loved of gods and men,
Benign Keen -witted, childlike quaint and WISE
Spenser pure knight whose lance was his good per,
The praise of ladyes fayre his loved emprise;
Great Shakespear, with seer's unhindered eyes;
Blind Milton, listening for seraph's wings,
And Burns, in whose blithe face sky-lark sings.
Wordsworth. SO simple; and poor, fragile Keats
Who pou ed his heart out like nightingale,
Whose afluent verse half clogs with wealth of
sweets;
master, spie of faulty work and frail,
Whose luckless loss the world full long shall wall:
And here placed fairly in this hall of Fame,
A glorious seat with newly name.
IT'S plain, dear Master, tits thy name forsooth
Deep craven in the everlasting stone,
There shall it be untouched of Times sharp tooth,
While sunshine kisses bud to bloom and zone
Answers to zone with fruitage all its own;
And quiring stars with universal song
The boundless arch of heavens majestic throng
Here will bid thee, Master, fond good bye,
Wishing thee soul-health and full many a day
Of-blissful living ere thou mayest try
The scope of other joys. And now, i may,
This wreath from Deering's woods, o Master lay
Upon thy brow. God speed thee while the sun
Shines on the faithful work which thou hast done.
Near the close, at the words
''This wreath from behring's woods, o master,
lay upon thy brow
the sneaker gently lifted the oak chanlet and