The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1904-03-17
A CHAT WITH A POET
THE STORY OF AN INTERESTING
EVENING WITH LONGFELLOW.

asking him TO give me some account OF
she circumstances under which he
wrote 1.-THE Bridget stood on the
bridge at midnight''-a poem which an
eminent English critic has called 1.-THE
most sympathetic in this language"
| received in return a cordial note from
the poet in which he said, IF you will
come 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 long, hall-like room, dimly lighted,
in which were a broad table, antique
furniture and 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 know
something about the inspiration OF
some of my poems-what led me to
write them?" he said when we were
seated. "Well, you are very kind.
81 will tell you first how l came to
write the Psalm Of Life / was
young man then. l can recall the
| time. 1t was bright day, and the
trees were blooming, and | felt an i'm
pulse to write out my aim and purpose
| in the world. l wrote it for myself.
/ did not intend it for publication.
Some months afterward | was asked
for poem by a popular magazine.
recalled my Psalm Of Life / copied
it and sent it to the periodical. It saw
| the light, took wings and flew over the
world. There you may see it written
on Japanese screen"
| He pointed to a high, richly orna-
mented screen which stood before a
great fireplace. He added an anecdote
which 1 have always regarded as a
true picture Of his soul:
"When / was in England I was hon.
ored by receiving an invitation from
the queen. AS | was leaving the pal
ace yard my carriage was hindered by
the crowd of vehicles. There came to
the door of the coach a noble looking
| English workingman.
care you Professor Longfellow? he
said.
81 bowed.
"May [ ask, sir, if you wrote the
''Psalm of Life?"'
81 answered that did.
"'Would you be willing, sir, to take
q workingman by the hand?
81 extended my hand to him. He
elasped it, and never in my life have
received a compliment which gave me
so much satisfaction.
ST wrote Excelsior" he continued,
"after receiving letter full of lofty
sentiments from Charles Sumner at
Washington. In one Of the sentences
occurred the word excelsior As /
dropped the letter that word again
caught my eye. l 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 fleet in an
autumn storm, l met the words Nor
mans VICE. | retired for the night aft
er reading the report of the disaster,
but the scene haunted me. I arose to
write. and the poem came to me in
whole stanzas.
'"The clock in the corner of the room,"
he went on, sis not the one to which I
refer in my old Clock on the Stair
no in,
Of my father-in-law at PittsfieId, among
the Berkshire hills"
The great clock in the room was beat
ing the air in the shadows as he spoke.
could seem to hear it say:
'"Toujours-jamais!
Jamais-toujours!'
1t was these words by French au-
thor that had suggested to him the
solemn refrain:
"Forever-never!
Never-foreveI!"
Excelsior had been set to popular
music by the Hutchinsons when the
poet met one evening the minstrel fam
lily after concert in Boston, Music
hall. 81 have" he said, another poem
ulCh L w LII SCLO " yOQ Lie SIO OOs
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. It 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. "-Hezekiah
ButterW, nth in American Author.
His Economical Way.
"My husband has strange ideas of