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That came of reading too much Byron. How was it that patterns of sound had power to haunt and excite you? Like the "potnia, potnia nux" that she found in the discarded Longfellow, stuck before his "Voices of the Night." Potnia, potnia nux, hypnodoteira ton polyponon broton, erebothen ithi, mole, mole katapteros ton Agamemnonion epi domon.
But genuine poets refuse to compromise themselves by admitting that they are no better than other men. They are not averse, however, to pointing out the unfitness of the public to cast the first stone. So unimpeachable a citizen as Longfellow finds even in the notoriously spotted artist, Benvenuto Cellini, an advantage over his maligners because
"Who hears the falling of the forest leaf? Or who takes note of every flower that dies?" Longfellow. The morning after Blanche and the arras had thus roughly dispelled Philippa's dream, the Lady Alianora sat in her bower, looking over a quantity of jewellery.
Leffers would have read Longfellow in our time; but now she didn't know of his poem on Nuremberg; she was intelligent enough about the place, but you could see that its quaintness was not so precious as it was to us; not so sacred." Her tone entreated him to find more meaning in her words than she had put into them.
So most of us derive a mild enjoyment from the works of such poets as Longfellow and Tennyson and Whittier; but it requires a trained taste to appreciate the subtle delights of Browning or Edgar Allan Poe.
Kit glanced up from Uncle Cassius' letter with a preoccupied expression. "Whiskers?" she repeated. "Why, I don't know; Walt Whitman, Ibsen, Longfellow, Joaquin Miller? Tolstoi had long straggly ones, didn't he?" "These were kind of bushy ones. I think it was Carlyle." "Wait a minute while I read this thing over carefully again," Kit warned them.
Longfellow, ever alert for what is excellent, and eager to do a brother author opportune and substantial service, at once came before the public with a generous estimate of the work in the North American Review; but the choice little volume, the most promising addition to American literature that had appeared for many years, made little impression on the public mind.
It is about a very important matter." And when the boy had ridden a mile or so with his fare in his hand he held it out to the conductor, who grinned and said: "That's all right. Doctor Holmes paid me your fare, and I'm going to keep that nickel if I lose my job for it." V. Going to the Theatre with Longfellow
'O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! Longfellow. 'Miss Rayner is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you, miss, was the message brought to me one afternoon. I hastened in. She had been to see me twice whilst I was ill, but neither time was I well enough to enjoy her visit.
Longfellow has made more sadly poetical than any other spot on the Western Continent. It is, this valley of the Annapolis, in the belief of provincials, the most beautiful and blooming place in the world, with a soil and climate kind to the husbandman; a land of fair meadows, orchards, and vines.
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