Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1882-05-31
LODgfellOw.

No estimate of Longfellow, either as critic
or as poet, can be Just that makes small &C.
count of his character. He was not man
and poet, but a poetical man. His verse
was a reflection of himself, of his simpli-
city, sincerity, gentleness, sweet dignity, and
gracious goodness of heart. To some it
seemed shallow because it was translucent.
He was without disguise or affectation. He
abhorred vagueness and writing for effect.
In truth he was deep of thought, but his
thought was so saturated with feeling that
its intellectual edge was lost. Yet whoever
will take to pieces his most prosaic lines
will be aware of the profound reflection
which lay beneath them. He was a man of
reserve, quiet, meditative, interior, rather
reticent than demonstrative wholly desti-
tute OF vanity,-a remarkable trait in any
man so attractive, singular quality in one
so flattered and adored. He was the soul of
honor and of kindness, with a patience un-
weariable and charity that could not be
exhausted. "Who will be kind to them, if
am not p was his reply to remonstrance
against his docility under the pressure of
bores. What he said of Heine never could
be said of him. "With his various powers,
he wanted one great power,-the power of
truth. He wanted, too, that ennobling prin-
ciple of all human endeavor, the aspiration
after an ideal standard that is higher than
himself"
One who was Longfellow's friend for many
years, who knew him as intimately as any,
and who was as little as any liable to be i'm
posed on by great reputation, has said,
But beautiful and ample rs the expression
of himself was, it fell short of the truth.
The man was more and better than the
poet" He was such a man that London
workingmen thought it an honor to kiss his
hand. An Immortality like this the most
illustrious might envy an Immortality, if
it may not be more properly called univer-
salty, which is immortal too, for the senti-
ments which are common to humanity are
the least likely to die. The few in this gen.
Grafton are questioning and becoming skep-
tical, but the many are still growing towards
faith tender and trusting as his was, and
the doubling, denying few are happy when
they feel at home in the bosom of their kind
A poetical atmosphere, an aroma, hung
about him as about no other of our poets.
Among strangers and foreigners this was
of course due in great measure to the senti-
ment of his verse. Among his countrymen
it arose from various causes. His abstinence
from public life gave him an air of secluson
men did not think of him in their hours of
political or commercial rivalry; when they
read their paper, discussed party candidates,
or smoked at the club. lie was associated
with the old Craigie house with memories
of the early years Of the republic with the
picturesque epoch of our national existence I;
with the dawn of democratic institutions /;
with the flushing hope that Redeemed the
sky when the young nation committed itself
so cordially to the faith in man, before the
arising OF those agitating questions in phil
osophy and social ethics which divide par
ties in these days. His residence at Cam
bridge, the Oldest seat of American learning,
linked his name with those of other men
well known in the world of literature; thus
he stood aloof, in calm retirement, as Bry-
ant, for example, did not, and came in no
| bruising collisions with his fellow-men.
| His very SORROWS idealized him, making him
seem touchingly human, and in peculiar
way calling up thoughts of the divine com
passion with mortal helplessness and blame
lessness. His name was seldom spoken ex-
cept in connection with charity and good
will. The academic honors which were
heaped upon him he bore so meekly that
some forgot he ever had them, so little i'm
preston did any mark of distinction make
on him, or ON others through him. He val
ued them as recognitions, not as authentica-
tions or certificates lie was simply Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow. If that be true
which an English sonneteer, writing in
memory of him, has said, calling Longfellow
| "The bard whose sweet songs, more than
| aught beside
Have bound two worlds together"
it is true purely by force of that humanity
which unites together the family of man
kind. When they heard of his failing health
how many recalled the lines which he put
into the mouth of Walter the Minnesingel
of the Golden Legend J.
| "Ah, what a cruel sense of loss
| Like black shadow would fall across
| The hearts Of all, II he should diel
His gracious presence upon earth
Was as a fire upon hearth
| As pleasant songs, at morning sung,
| The words that dropped from his sweet tongue
| Strengthened our hearts, or, heard at night,
Made all our slumbers soft and light"
And when he died the sorrow of the great
est and of the least was equally sincere, but
the grief of the litt ones will be deep anC
lasting for the poet Sho gave voice to theil
fears and their hopes. Let our consolation
be that he sang as he did, with so full
breasted an expression, and that in what h'
left unexpressed he deepened the mystery
that surrounds us all.-June Atlantic.