New-York tribune., 1907-02-27

& Co.
The celebration OF literary anniversaries is
one Of the favorite dissirations Of this ma
terialisfic and yet curiousy hcro-worshipping
age. Very often it testhes to nothing more than
the desire Of parcel of nonentities TO dine in
public and make themselves conspicuous. or il
F:gnifes that some second rate author has
been made the object Of a cult. and that his
disciples doing their best TO hide the fact
that their ido has feet Of clay. The public at
large mas small concern with these dubious man
ifestat!ons of thu commemorative spirit But
there are occasions on which demonstrations in
honor Of some man Of letters command public
sympathy as by unquestonable right and it is
such an occasion that is provided today. The
Tooth anniversary Of the birth Of Longfeow
must be q matter Of interest TO all his country
men. for he has placed them all in his debt.
There are. We believe. epicene critics who would
dismiss this view Of the matter with a wave of
the hand; but right-n1iuded readers will turn,
for example TO The Skeleton IN Armour" and
agree with Mr.. Stedman that this heroic ballad
is worth a years product Of
Kensington-stitch verse" They VIII celebrate
Longfellow's centenary with gratitude and con-
viction.
There is no better way Of doing him honor
than by turning again to his poetry, and TO
thoughts Of his life and character. Nr Nortons
little volume forms 2 charming introduction 10
renewed intercourse with the beloved poet.
Briefly, and with touch that is at bnce affec-
tionate and judicious, he sketches that long and
beautiful life in which Longfellow exercised his
absolutely welded gifts of poetry and goodness.
The critics 10 whom have alluded
little uneasy about the goodness. They are
quite sure that il ought not to have had any
thing to do with the poets art. Yet.
call certain oft quoted lines we recall that they
have been quoted wth admiration by all manner
Of men. mona Of them given 10 phstire en-
thusiasms. Even such apostles of Drawn and
muscle Mr. Kipling and the late William
Ernest Henley have found JOY in passages like
this:
rereInber the black waaTves and the slips
AA5 9? s6gnsT a6 ~dos {2fTns tb ssefT6ed fT ps
And the beauty and mystery of the ships
And the magic Of the sea.
What Longfellow does in these lines. and IN
countless Others has been perfectly expressed by
Nj Stedman in the essay from which have
already quoted. and which wish might have
been printed With Mr.. Norton's biographical
sketch 10 give the volume critical weight
as We'll as the interest Of a personal record.
LongfeIlow helped. we are told. to quicken the
New World sense Of beauty He quickened it
and nourished it almost from the start, for If his
early European experiences first resulted in little
more than the delicate water color effects os
Hyperion they confirmed in him romantic
tendency destined TO give his work time
on. an ever richer and warmer character. He
was not one of the worlds great poets. In his
own field he could be singularlv uneven. At one
moment writing on the death of Hawthorne he
can write like this:
There in seciusiou and remote from men
The wizard hand lies cold.
which at It's topInost speed let fall the pen
And left the tale half told
An who shall lift that wand Of magic power,
-h1 51,-.syisEed Uin,5rvss in A1sddfn's tower
Unfinished must remain!
Il seems almost incredible. but It Is neverthe-
Jess true. that the author Of these stanzas could
also. in writing poem on the death Of Welling-
ton, bring il 10 close in this appalling
fashion:
Meanwhile. without. the surIy cannon waited.
The sun rose bright o.erhesad;
Nothing in Natures aspect lntlmated
That great man was dead
The contrast is no doubt, distressing but be-
fore the reader takes il TOO seriously let him ask
himself IL he could not make comparisons just
as startling in the writings Of Wordsworth. say
or even in those Of Shelley. Il is IDLE 10 ignore
Longfellcw's limitations, his lapses into COM
rnonpace his not nfrequent substitution OF
fancy for Imagination. But It is equally idle 10
deny the healing power Of that great body OF
work in which he addressed himself TO the
sr-plest emotions in human life or the efortless
magic with which he quickens sense of
beauty It is only Of the true poet that
thiHn when We read poems like these
ENDYMIoN.
Ire rising moon has hid the stars:
IIcr level RAYS like golden bars,
Lie tho landscape green.
With shadows brown between.
Ard silver white tho river CLEANS,
Il Diana. ia hey dreams.
Had dropped her silver Dow
I-pcn the meadows low.
on such 2 tranquil night this
Sne woke FndyniOn with kiss
When. sleeping in the grove.
He dreamed Of her love
Like Dian's kiss. unssked. uusousht.
Love gives itself. bot iz not bought
Nor voice sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze
Y con1es-the bes utiful The free,
The crown Of all fums nifty
u silence and alone
TC seek the elected one.
llfts the bou=1s. whose shadows deep
Are Lies oblivion. th~ souls sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him who slumber1ng lies.
. weary hearts o slumbeTing eyes,
o drooping souls. whose destines
are fraught with fear and pain,