The Roswell daily record. [volume] (Roswell, N.M.) 1903-current, 1904-11-19
. CHAT WITH A POET
THE STORY or AN INTERESTING
EVENING WITH LoNGFELLow.


"The Bridge" Was horn of sorrow.
l once wrote to the poet Longfellow
asking him 10 give me some account OF
the circumstances under which he
wrote ''The Bridge"-"I stood on the
bridge at midnight''-a poem which an
eminent English critic has called the
most sympathetic In this language"
l received in return a cordial note from
the poet in which he said. IF you will
rome over and pass an evening with
me it will give me pleasure TO tell you
the history OF the poem and also OF any
of my poems that may interest you"
A few evenings later found me at the
poets door at his Cambridge home. He
was then verging on seventy years, in
the fullness Of his experience and the
ripeness of his fame. ! was shown in
to a long, hall-like room. dimly lighted.
In which were a broad table, antique
furniture and a tall colonial clock. The
poet was there alone. He arose to
meet me and formed a striking and
~statuesque figure. with his kindly smile
and long white hair and beard.
And so you would like to knO
something about the inspiration of
some Of my poems-what led ME to
write them|' he said when we were
seated. We'll, you are very kind.
II will tell you first how l came to
write the Psalm of Life | was a
young man then. l can recall the
time. 1t was a bright day, and the
A.-o~ -xo.o LI~~.~ - IERolA ~, fn
pulse to write out my aim and purpose
in the world. wrote it for myself.
| did not intend it for publication.
Some months afterward | vas asked
for q poem by n popular magazine. |
recalled my Psalm of Life | copied
Ii and sent it to the periodical. 1t saw
the light. took wings and flew over the
world. There you may see it written
on a Japanese screen"
He pointed to a high. richly orna-
mented screen which stood before a
great fireplace. He added an anecdOte
which | have always regarded as a
true picture of his soul:
When | was in England was hon.
ored by receiving an invitation from
the queen. AS | was leaving the pal
ace yard my carriage was lindered by
the crowd of vehicles. There came to
the door Of the coach a noble looking
English ~workingman.
"'Are you Professor LongfellowY he
said.
II bowed.
MAY | ask. sir. If you wrote the
psalm of Life?'
Il answered that / did.
Would you be willing, sir, to take
a workingman by the hand?
Il extended my hand TO him. He
clasped it. and never in my life nave l
received a compliment which gave me
so much satisfaction.
~ wrote Excelsior" he continued,
"after receiving a letter full of lofty
sentiments from Charles Sumner at
Washington. In one of the sentences
occurred the word excelsior AS I
dropped the letter that word again
caught my eye. turned over the let
ter and wrote my poem. | wrote the
Wreck of the Hesperus' because, after
reading an account of the loss of a part
of the Gloucester fishing feet in an
autumn storm. | met the words Nor
mans woe | retired for the night AFT.
err reading the report Of the disaster.
but the scene haunted me. l arose to
write. and the poem came to me in
whole stanZas.
1.-The clock in the corner of the ROOM"
he went on, lis not the one to which
refer in my Old Clock on the Stair.
That clock stood in the country house
Of my fatherin-law at Pittsfield. among
the Berkshire hills"
The great clock in the room was beat
l could seem to hear it say:
"Toujours-jamais!
Jamais-touJours!"
1t was these words by a French au-
thor that had suggested to him the
solemn refrain:
"Forever-never!
Never-foreVeri"
Excelsior had been set to popular
music by the H~utchinsons when the
poet met one evening the minstrel fam
lily after a concert in Boston Music
hall. Il have" he said. another poem
which | will send to you He did SO.
1t was the first copy of the "Old Clock
on the Stair" One of the family set
the words to music.
My poem entitled The Bridge" he
said in effect. was written in sorrow.
which made me feel for the loneliness
of others. | was a widower at the
time, and / used to sometimes go over
the bridge to Boston evenings to meet
friends and to return near midnight by
the same way. The way was silent
save here and there a belated foOtstep.
The sea rose and fell among the wood
en- piers. and there was a great furnace
ON the Brighton hills whose red light
was reflected by the waves. 1t was on
such a late, solitary walk that the spir-
1t of the poem came upon me. The
bridge has been greatly altered. but
the place of it is the same eZekiah
Butterworth in American Author.