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Updated: June 9, 2025
Now and then at these times he brought out a faded Italian anecdote, faintly smelling of civet, and threadbare in its ancient texture. Greene was then a quivering paralytic, and he clung tremulously to Longfellow's arm in going out to dinner, where even the modern Italian poets were silent upon his lips.
That's the reason I started her as a topic of conversation. As she doesn't, I'll drop her again, at once. But what am I to do? I began this evening with a literary allusion, and found that you'd never heard of Longfellow's 'Village Blacksmith. That wasn't a very encouraging start, you'll admit.
Other presents had come to Cynthia from the hills: a gorgeous copy of Mr. Longfellow's poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket from Uncle Jethro. Judson's shop many years before, though the inscription "Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro," was within. Into the other side exactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which her father had given her when he died.
But the stir of the place's literary associations began with the sight of Longfellow's bust, which looks so much like him, in the grand simplicity of his looks, as he was when he lived; and then presently the effigies of all the "dear sons of memory" began to reveal themselves, medallion and bust and figure, with many a remembered allegory and inscription.
I have just return'd from an old forest haunt, where I love to go occasionally away from parlors, pavements, and the newspapers and magazines and where, of a clear forenoon, deep in the shade of pines and cedars and a tangle of old laurel-trees and vines, the news of Longfellow's death first reach'd me.
A junior class in the Logan School, Minneapolis, has even started the publication of a magazine called Owaissa, after the Indian name for Bluebird, as given in Longfellow's "Hiawatha." Sending Birds' Nests to City Children. Mrs.
This was three years before the publication of Longfellow's first volume of verses, The Voices of the Night. Holmes's devotion to the two Muses of science and letters was uniform and untiring, as it was also to the two literary forms of verse and prose. But although a man of letters, like the other eminent men of letters in New England, he had no trace of the Bohemian.
'Do you know what this is meant for, bad as it is? Longfellow's verses 'The phantom host that beleaguered the walls of Prague? How can you draw such things? 'So I say, observed Wilmet. 'They come and haunt me, and I feel as if I must. 'Who is this kneeling on the wall? He looks like a knight watching his armour. 'So he is, said Cherry. 'But there is nothing about him in the poem.
The long black train glided along above a sea flushed with purple and crimson and gold. Like a mirage the fair city Longfellow's "white water-lily, cradled and caressed" arose, lifting her spires those "filaments of gold" above the waters. "Can it be real?" murmured Bettina. "It seems as if all must fade away before we reach it."
Writing at this time to his friend Mr. Edmund Gosse, Stevenson expressed his satisfaction at the turn affairs were taking in these words: "Many of the thunderclouds that were overhanging me when last I wrote have silently stolen away, like Longfellow's Arabs; and I am now engaged to be married to the woman whom I have loved for three years and a half.
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