10
UNIVERSITY COURIER.
but the poems which Longfellow has written at Cambridge ; how they echo the sacred memories which lovingly linger about "The Old Craigie House." Those peaceful surroundings are painted by the poet's pen, as he says :
"The Old House by the lindened Stands silent in the shade;
And o'er the gravel pathway The lights and shadows played."
And we can almost see
"The old-fashioned country seat Across whose antique portico,
Talt poplar trees their shadows throw."
Not many English writing poets have addressed poems to their children. Jonson wrote some lines about a daughter who died in infancy. Coleridge sang a cradle song over his son Hartley in "Frost at Midnight." Shelley bewailed the death of his son William, and Leigh Hunt, the most tuneful of all, celebrated two of his children in two characteristic poems. But Longfellow distanced all to whom childhood was a source of inspiration. His poem, "To my Child," has no superior. In it we catch a glimpse of the poet's home, of the
Whose figures grace With many a grotesque form and face The ancient chimney of the nursery. "
"The patterning footstep falls
Through these once solitary halls
Makes the old walls
Jubilant, and they rejoice."
When from the sombre background, memory recalls that
"Once within these walls
The Father of his Country dwelt.
And yonder meadows broad and damp
The fires of the besieging camp
Encircled with a burning belt."
"Yes in this very room
Sat he in those hours of gloom
Weary both in heart and head."
But the children return,
"Grave Alice and laughing Allegra
And Edith with golden hair.
A sudden rush from the stairway
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!"
Edith was the little girl who
"When she was good
Was very very good,
And when she was bad,
She was horrid."
Of his children, he writes:
"Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems
And all the rest are dead."
In a shadow he gravely speculates on the future:
"If I were dead what would befall these children
Who now are looking up to me for help and furtherance."
But he reflects.
"The world is very old, and generations pass
As they have passed a troop of shadows,
The world belongs to those who come the last.
They will find hope and strength as we have done."
Even to common things he adds a new beauty and
Even to common things he adds a new beauty and interest.
"The Village Blacksmith,
With brawny arms and face like tan,
Who looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man, goes onward, toiling-
Rejoicing—Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees it close."
The sad and mysterious "Acre of Our God" he calls The place where human harvests grew." A child is born to him and at the same hour a soul wings its flight to God. Two Angles. One of life and one of death Passed o'er our village as the morning broke."
From an afternoon in February we have a picture of the shady side of Cambridge. Where amid the cold and gloom and darkness of the short winter's day. He, "Sees through the Meadow, like a fearful shadow, Slowly passing a funeral train."
More cheerful is his apostrophe, "To the River Charles."
"Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song."
And again, in his. "It is not Always May," he exclaims:
"So blueyonwinding river flows It seems an outlet for the sky!"
The night side of the same stream is given, while
"He stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clock was striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city
Behind the dark church tower.
night side of the same stream is gi
"He stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clock was striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city
Behind the dark church tower.
Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away.
How often! O, how often
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.
But now it has fallen from me—
It is buried in the sea;
Yet, whenever I cross the river
The past sweeps over me."
MISCELLANY.
MONKEYITEMS.
The Professor of Astronomy thinks that the late comet was of the feminine gender for three reasons: First, Because it wears such a long trail; Second. It keeps the boys out too late at night; and especially because it makes so much talk.
"You have driven horses a great deal, haven't you, George, dear?" said a girlish voice from the depths of a $450 seal-skin sacque last night. "Oh, yes," replied George, chirping to his trotter; "I flatter myself that I can handle a horse about as well as the next one." Do you think you could drive with one hand without any danger of the horse running away? came softly through the night air.
They had a funeral from the house the day before, and at breakfast the land lady asked : "Is there anything