Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Student's Tale; The Falcon Of Ser Federigo

Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain,To this small farm, the last of his domain,His only comfort and his only careTo prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear;His only forester and only guestHis falcon, faithful to him, when the rest,Whose willing hands had found so light of yoreThe brazen knocker of his palace door,Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch,That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch.Companion of his solitary ways,Purveyor of his feasts on holidays,On him this melancholy man bestowedThe love with which his nature overflowed.
And so the empty-handed years went round,Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound,And so, that summer morn, he sat and musedWith folded, patient hands, as he was used,And dreamily before his half-closed sightFloated the vision of his lost delight.Beside him, motionless, the drowsy birdDreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heardThe sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dareThe headlong plunge through eddying gulfs of air,Then, starting broad awake upon his perch,Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church,And, looking at his master, seemed to say,'Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day?'
Ser Federigo thought not of the chase;The tender vision of her lovely face,I will not say he seems to see, he seesIn the leaf-shadows of the trellises,Herself, yet not herself; a lovely childWith flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild,Coming undaunted up the garden walk,And looking not at him, but at the hawk.'Beautiful falcon!' said he, 'would that IMight hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly!'The voice was hers, and made strange echoes startThrough all the haunted chambers of his heart,As an aeolian harp through gusty doorsOf some old ruin its wild music pours.
'Who is thy mother, my fair boy?' he said,His hand laid softly on that shining head.'Monna Giovanna. Will you let me stayA little while, and with your falcon play?We live there, just beyond your garden wall,In the great house behind the poplars tall.'
So he spake on; and Federigo heardAs from afar each softly uttered word,And drifted onward through the golden gleamsAnd shadows of the misty sea of dreams,As mariners becalmed through vapors drift,And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift,And hear far off the mournful breakers roar,And voices calling faintly from the shore!Then, waking from his pleasant reveriesHe took the little boy upon his knees,And told him stories of his gallant bird,Till in their friendship he became a third.
Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime,Had come with friends to pass the summer timeIn her grand villa, half-way up the hill,O'erlooking Florence, but retired and still;With iron gates, that opened through long linesOf sacred ilex and centennial pines,And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone,And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown,And fountains palpitating in the heat,And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet.Here in seclusion, as a widow may,The lovely lady whiled the hours away,Pacing in sable robes the statued hall,Herself the stateliest statue among all,And seeing more and more, with secret joy,Her husband risen and living in her boy,Till the lost sense of life returned again,Not as delight, but as relief from pain.Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength,Stormed down the terraces from length to length;The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit,And climbed the garden trellises for fruit.But his chief pastime was to watch the flightOf a gerfalcon, soaring into sight,Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall,Then downward stooping at some distant call;And as he gazed full often wondered heWho might the master of the falcon be,Until that happy morning, when he foundMaster and falcon in the cottage ground.
And now a shadow and a terror fellOn the great house, as if a passing-bellTolled from the tower, and filled each spacious roomWith secret awe, and preternatural gloom;The petted boy grew ill, and day by dayPined with mysterious malady away.The mother's heart would not be comforted;Her darling seemed to her already dead,And often, sitting by the sufferer's side,'What can I do to comfort thee?' she cried.At first the silent lips made no reply,But moved at length by her importunate cry,'Give me,' he answered, with imploring tone,'Ser Federigo's falcon for my own!'
No answer could the astonished mother make;How could she ask, e'en for her darling's sake,Such favor at a luckless lover's hand,Well knowing that to ask was to command?Well knowing, what all falconers confessed,In all the land that falcon was the best,The master's pride and passion and delight,And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight.But yet, for her child's sake, she could no lessThan give assent to soothe his restlessness,So promised, and then promising to keepHer promise sacred, saw him fall asleep.
The morrow was a bright September morn;The earth was beautiful as if new-born;There was that nameless splendor everywhere,That wild exhilaration in the air,Which makes the passers in the city streetCongratulate each other as they meet.Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood,Passed through the garden gate into the wood,Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheenOf dewy sunshine showering down between. The one, close-hooded, had the attractive graceWhich sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face;Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that rollFrom the gulf-stream of passion in the soul; The other with her hood thrown back, her hairMaking a golden glory in the air,Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush,Her young heart singing louder than the thrush.So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade,Each by the other's presence lovelier made,Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend,Intent upon their errand and its end.
They found Ser Federigo at his toil,Like banished Adam, delving in the soil;And when he looked and these fair women spied,The garden suddenly was glorified;His long-lost Eden was restored again,And the strange river winding through the plainNo longer was the Arno to his eyes,But the Euphrates watering Paradise!
Monna Giovanna raised her stately head,And with fair words of salutation said:'Ser Federigo, we come here as friends,Hoping in this to make some poor amendsFor past unkindness. I who ne'er beforeWould even cross the threshold of your door,I who in happier days such pride maintained,Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained,This morning come, a self-invited guest,To put your generous nature to the test,And breakfast with you under your own vine.'To which he answered: 'Poor desert of mine,Not your unkindness call it, for if aughtIs good in me of feeling or of thought,From you it comes, and this last grace outweighsAll sorrows, all regrets of other days.'
And after further compliment and talk,Among the asters in the garden walkHe left his guests; and to his cottage turned,And as he entered for a moment yearnedFor the lost splendors of the days of old,The ruby glass, the silver and the gold,And felt how piercing is the sting of pride,By want embittered and intensified.He looked about him for some means or wayTo keep this unexpected holiday;Searched every cupboard, and then searched again,Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain;'The Signor did not hunt to-day,' she said,'There's nothing in the house but wine and bread.' Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shookHis little bells, with that sagacious look,Which said, as plain as language to the ear,'If anything is wanting, I am here!'Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird!The master seized thee without further word.Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round; ah me!The pomp and flutter of brave falconry,The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood,The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood,All these forevermore are ended now;No longer victor, but the victim thou!
Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread,Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread,Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot,The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot;Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed,And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced.Ser Federigo, would not these sufficeWithout thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice?
When all was ready, and the courtly dameWith her companion to the cottage came,Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fellThe wild enchantment of a magic spell!The room they entered, mean and low and small,Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall,With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown;The rustic chair she sat on was a throne;He ate celestial food, and a divineFlavor was given to his country wine,And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice,A peacock was, or bird of paradise!
When the repast was ended, they aroseAnd passed again into the garden-close.Then said the lady, 'Far too well I know,Remembering still the days of long ago,Though you betray it not with what surpriseYou see me here in this familiar wise.You have no children, and you cannot guessWhat anguish, what unspeakable distressA mother feels, whose child is lying ill,Nor how her heart anticipates his will.And yet for this, you see me lay asideAll womanly reserve and check of pride,And ask the thing most precious in your sight,Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight,Which if you find it in your heart to give,My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live.'
Ser Federigo listens, and replies,With tears of love and pity in his eyes:'Alas, dear lady! there can be no taskSo sweet to me, as giving when you ask.One little hour ago, if I had knownThis wish of yours, it would have been my own.But thinking in what manner I could bestDo honor to the presence of my guest,I deemed that nothing worthier could beThan what most dear and precious was to me,And so my gallant falcon breathed his lastTo furnish forth this morning our repast.'
In mute contrition, mingled with dismay,The gentle lady turned her eyes away,Grieving that he such sacrifice should make,And kill his falcon for a woman's sake,Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride,That nothing she could ask for was denied;Then took her leave, and passed out at the gateWith footstep slow and soul disconsolate.
Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bellTolled from the little chapel in the dell;Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said,Breathing a prayer, 'Alas! her child is dead!'Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chimeRang from the chapel bells at Christmas-time;The cottage was deserted, and no moreSer Federigo sat beside its door,But now, with servitors to do his will,In the grand villa, half-way up the hill,Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his sideMonna Giovanna, his beloved bride,Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair,Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair,High-perched upon the back of which there stoodThe image of a falcon carved in wood,And underneath the inscription, with date,'All things come round to him who will but wait.'
About the author

About the poet
Henry Wadsworth was an American poet and educator whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. He was also the first American to translate Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy and was one of the five Fireside Poets.
Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, then part of Massachusetts, and studied at Bowdoin College. After spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and, later, at Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). Longfellow retired from teaching in 1854 to focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in a former headquarters of George Washington. His first wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining burns from her dress catching fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and focused on his translation. He died in 1882.
Longfellow predominantly wrote lyric poems which are known for their musicality and which often presented stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.
Life and Work
Early Life and Education
Longfellow was born on February 27, 1807, to Stephen Longfellow and Zilpah (Wadsworth) Longfellow in Portland, Maine, then a district of Massachusetts, and he grew up in what is now known as the Wadsworth-Longfellow House. His father was a lawyer, and his maternal grandfather, Peleg Wadsworth, was a general in the American Revolutionary War and a Member of Congress. He was named after his mother's brother Henry Wadsworth, a Navy lieutenant who died only three years earlier at the Battle of Tripoli. Young Longfellow was the second of eight children; his siblings were Stephen (1805), Elizabeth (1808), Anne (1810), Alexander (1814), Mary (1816), Ellen (1818), and Samuel (1819).
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was enrolled in a dame school at the age of three and by age six was enrolled at the private Portland Academy. In his years there, he earned a reputation as being very studious and became fluent in Latin. His mother encouraged his enthusiasm for reading and learning, introducing him to Robinson Crusoe and Don Quixote. He printed his first poem – a patriotic and historical four stanza poem called "The Battle of Lovell's Pond" – in the Portland Gazette on November 17, 1820. He stayed at the Portland Academy until the age of fourteen. He spent much of his summers as a child at his grandfather Peleg's farm in the western Maine town of Hiram.
In the fall of 1822, the 15-year old Longfellow enrolled at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine, alongside his brother Stephen. His grandfather was a founder of the college and his father was a trustee. There, Longfellow met Nathaniel Hawthorne, who would later become his lifelong friend. He boarded with a clergyman for a time before rooming on the third floor of what is now Maine Hall in 1823. He joined the Peucinian Society, a group of students with Federalist leanings. In his senior year, Longfellow wrote to his father about his aspirations:
I will not disguise it in the least... the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature, my whole soul burns most ardently after it, and every earthly thought centres in it... I am almost confident in believing, that if I can ever rise in the world it must be by the exercise of my talents in the wide field of literature.
He pursued his literary goals by submitting poetry and prose to various newspapers and magazines, partly due to encouragement from a professor named Thomas Cogswell Upham. Between January 1824 and his graduation in 1825, he had published nearly 40 minor poems. About 24 of them appeared in the short-lived Boston periodical The United States Literary Gazette. When Longfellow graduated from Bowdoin, he was ranked fourth in the class, and had been elected to Phi Beta Kappa. He gave the student commencement address.
European Tours and Professorships
After graduating in 1825, he was offered a job as professor of modern languages at his alma mater. The story, possibly apocryphal, is that an influential trustee, Benjamin Orr, had been so impressed by Longfellow's translation of Horace that he was hired under the condition that he travel to Europe to study French, Spanish, and Italian. Whatever the motivation, he began his tour of Europe in May 1826 aboard the ship Cadmus. His time abroad would last three years and cost his father $2,604.24. He traveled to France, Spain, Italy, Germany, back to France, then England before returning to the United States in mid-August 1829. While overseas, he learned French, Spanish, Portuguese, and German, mostly without formal instruction. In Madrid, he spent time with Washington Irving and was particularly impressed by the author's work ethic. Irving encouraged the young Longfellow to pursue writing. While in Spain, Longfellow was saddened to learn his favorite sister, Elizabeth, had died of tuberculosis at the age of 20 that May while he was abroad.
On August 27, 1829, he wrote to the president of Bowdoin that he was turning down the professorship because he considered the $600 salary "disproportionate to the duties required". The trustees raised his salary to $800 with an additional $100 to serve as the college's librarian, a post which required one hour of work per day. During his years teaching at the college, he translated textbooks in French, Italian, and Spanish; his first published book was in 1833, a translation of the poetry of medieval Spanish poet Jorge Manrique. He also published a travel book, Outre-Mer: A Pilgrimage Beyond the Sea, first published in serial form before a book edition was released in 1835. Shortly after the book's publication, Longfellow attempted to join the literary circle in New York and asked George Pope Morris for an editorial role at one of Morris's publications.
Longfellow considered moving to New York after New York University considered offering him a newly-created professorship of modern languages, though there would be no salary. The professorship was not created and Longfellow agreed to continue teaching at Bowdoin. It may have been joyless work. He wrote, "I hate the sight of pen, ink, and paper... I do not believe that I was born for such a lot. I have aimed higher than this".
On September 14, 1831, Longfellow married Mary Storer Potter, a childhood friend from Portland. The couple settled in Brunswick, though the two were not happy there. Longfellow published several nonfiction and fiction prose pieces inspired by Irving, including "The Indian Summer" and "The Bald Eagle" in 1833.
In December 1834, Longfellow received a letter from Josiah Quincy III, president of Harvard College, offering him the Smith Professorship of Modern Languages position with the stipulation that he spend a year or so abroad. There, he further studied German as well as Dutch, Danish, Swedish, Finnish, and Icelandic. In October 1835, during the trip, his wife Mary had a miscarriage about six months into her pregnancy. She did not recover and died after several weeks of illness at the age of 22 on November 29, 1835. Longfellow had her body embalmed immediately and placed into a lead coffin inside an oak coffin which was then shipped to Mount Auburn Cemetery near Boston. He was deeply saddened by her death, writing "One thought occupies me night and day... She is dead—She is dead! All day I am weary and sad". Three years later, he was inspired to write the poem "Footsteps of Angels" about her. Several years later, he wrote the poem "Mezzo Cammin" expressed his personal struggles in his middle years.
When he returned to the United States in 1836, Longfellow took up the professorship at Harvard. He was required to live in Cambridge to be close to the campus and rented rooms at the Craigie House in the spring of 1837, now preserved as the Longfellow House–Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site. The home, built in 1759, had once been the headquarters of George Washington during the Siege of Boston beginning in July 1775. Previous boarders also included Jared Sparks, Edward Everett, and Joseph Emerson Worcester. Longfellow began publishing his poetry, including the collection Voices of the Night in 1839. The bulk of Voices of the Night, Longfellow's debut book of poetry, was translations though he also included nine original poems and seven poems he had written as a teenager. Ballads and Other Poems was published shortly thereafter in 1841 and included "The Village Blacksmith" and "The Wreck of the Hesperus", which were instantly popular. Longfellow also became part of the local social scene, creating a group of friends who called themselves the Five of Clubs. Members included Cornelius Conway Felton, George Stillman Hillard, and Charles Sumner, the latter of whom would become Longfellow's closest friend over the next 30 years. As a professor, Longfellow was well liked, though he disliked being "constantly a playmate for boys" rather than "stretching out and grappling with men's minds."
Courtship of Frances Appleton
Longfellow began courting Frances "Fanny" Appleton, the daughter of a wealthy Boston industrialist, Nathan Appleton and sister of Thomas Gold Appleton. At first, she was not interested but Longfellow was determined. In July 1839, he wrote to a friend: "[V]ictory hangs doubtful. The lady says she will not! I say she shall! It is not pride, but the madness of passion". His friend George Stillman Hillard encouraged Longfellow in the pursuit: "I delight to see you keeping up so stout a heart for the resolve to conquer is half the battle in love as well as war". During the courtship, Longfellow frequently walked from Cambridge to the Appleton home in Beacon Hill in Boston by crossing the Boston Bridge. That bridge was replaced in 1906 by a new bridge which was later renamed the Longfellow Bridge.
During his courtship, Longfellow continued writing and, in late 1839, published Hyperion, a book in prose inspired by his trips abroad and his unsuccessful courtship of Fanny Appleton. Amidst this, Longfellow fell into "periods of neurotic depression with moments of panic" and took a six-month leave of absence from Harvard to attend a health spa in the former Marienberg Benedictine Convent at Boppard in Germany. After returning, Longfellow published a play in 1842, The Spanish Student, reflecting his memories from his time in Spain in the 1820s. There was some confusion over its original manuscript. After being printed in Graham's Magazine, its editor Rufus Wilmot Griswold saved the manuscript from the trash. Longfellow was surprised to hear that it had been saved, unusual for a printing office, and asked to borrow it so that he could revise it, forgetting to return it to Griswold. The often vindictive Griswold wrote an angry letter in response.
A small collection, Poems on Slavery, was published in 1842 as Longfellow's first public support of abolitionism. However, as Longfellow himself wrote, the poems were "so mild that even a Slaveholder might read them without losing his appetite for breakfast". A critic for The Dial agreed, calling it "the thinnest of all Mr. Longfellow's thin books; spirited and polished like its forerunners; but the topic would warrant a deeper tone". The New England Anti-Slavery Association, however, was satisfied with the collection enough to reprint it for further distribution.
On May 10, 1843, after seven years, Longfellow received a letter from Fanny Appleton agreeing to marry him and, too restless to take a carriage, walked 90 minutes to meet her at her house. They were married shortly thereafter. Nathan Appleton bought the Craigie House as a wedding present to the pair. Longfellow would live there for the remainder of his life. His love for Fanny is evident in the following lines from Longfellow's only love poem, the sonnet "The Evening Star", which he wrote in October 1845: "O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love!" He once attended a ball without her and noted, "The lights seemed dimmer, the music sadder, the flowers fewer, and the women less fair."
He and Fanny had six children: Charles Appleton (1844–1893), Ernest Wadsworth (1845–1921), Fanny (1847–1848), Alice Mary (1850–1928), Edith (1853–1915), and Anne Allegra (1855–1934). Their second-youngest daughter, Edith, married Richard Henry Dana III, son of the popular writer Richard Henry Dana, Jr., author of Two Years Before the Mast. When the younger Fanny was born on April 7, 1847, Dr. Nathan Cooley Keep administered ether as the first obstetric anesthetic in the United States to Fanny Longfellow. A few months later, on November 1, 1847, the poem "Evangeline" was published for the first time. His literary income was increasing considerably: in 1840, he had made $219 from his work but the year 1850 brought him $1,900.
On June 14, 1853, Longfellow held a farewell dinner party at his Cambridge home for his friend Nathaniel Hawthorne, who was preparing to move overseas. Shortly thereafter in 1854, Longfellow retired from Harvard, devoting himself entirely to writing. He was awarded an honorary doctorate of Laws from Harvard in 1859.
Death of Frances
On July 9, 1861, a hot day, Fanny was putting locks of her children's hair into an envelope and attempting to seal it with hot sealing wax while Longfellow took a nap. Her dress suddenly caught fire, though it is unclear exactly how; it may have been burning wax or a lighted candle which fell on her dress. Longfellow, awakened from his nap, rushed to help her and threw a rug over her, though it was too small. He stifled the flames with his body as best he could, but she was already badly burned. Over a half a century later, Longfellow's youngest daughter Annie explained the story differently, claiming that there was no candle or wax but that the fire started from a self-lighting match that had fallen on the floor. In both versions of the story, however, Fanny was taken to her room to recover and a doctor was called. She was in and out of consciousness throughout the night and was administered ether. The next morning, July 10, 1861, she died shortly after 10 o'clock after requesting a cup of coffee. Longfellow, in trying to save her, had burned himself badly enough that he was unable to attend her funeral. His facial injuries caused him to stop shaving, thereafter wearing the beard which has become his trademark.
Devastated by her death, he never fully recovered and occasionally resorted to laudanum and ether to deal with it. He worried he would go insane and begged "not to be sent to an asylum" and noted that he was "inwardly bleeding to death". He expressed his grief in the sonnet "The Cross of Snow" (1879), which he wrote eighteen years later to commemorate her death:
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
Later Life and Death
Longfellow spent several years translating Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy. To aid him in perfecting the translation and reviewing proofs, he invited friends to weekly meetings every Wednesday starting in 1864. The "Dante Club", as it was called, regularly included William Dean Howells, James Russell Lowell, Charles Eliot Norton and other occasional guests. The full three-volume translation was published in the spring of 1867, though Longfellow would continue to revise it, and it went through four printings in its first year. By 1868, Longfellow's annual income was over $48,000. In 1874, Samuel Cutler Ward helped him sell the poem "The Hanging of the Crane" to the New York Ledger for $3,000; it was the highest price ever paid for a poem.
During the 1860s, Longfellow supported abolitionism and especially hoped for reconciliation between the northern and southern states after the American Civil War. He wrote in his journal in 1878: "I have only one desire; and that is for harmony, and a frank and honest understanding between North and South". Longfellow, despite his aversion to public speaking, accepted an offer from Joshua Chamberlain to speak at his fiftieth reunion at Bowdoin College; he read the poem "Morituri Salutamus" so quietly that few could hear him. The next year, 1876, he declined an offer to be nominated for the Board of Overseers at Harvard "for reasons very conclusive to my own mind".
On August 22, 1879, a female admirer traveled to Longfellow's house in Cambridge and, unaware to whom she was speaking, asked Longfellow: "Is this the house where Longfellow was born?" Longfellow told her it was not. The visitor then asked if he had died here. "Not yet", he replied. In March 1882, Longfellow went to bed with severe stomach pain. He endured the pain for several days with the help of opium before he died surrounded by family on Friday, March 24, 1882. He had been suffering from peritonitis. At the time of his death, his estate was worth an estimated $356,320. He is buried with both of his wives at Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His last few years were spent translating the poetry of Michelangelo; though Longfellow never considered it complete enough to be published during his lifetime, a posthumous edition was collected in 1883. Scholars generally regard the work as autobiographical, reflecting the translator as an aging artist facing his impending death.
Writing
Style
Though much of his work is categorized as lyric poetry, Longfellow experimented with many forms, including hexameter and free verse. His published poetry shows great versatility, using anapestic and trochaic forms, blank verse, heroic couplets, ballads and sonnets. Typically, Longfellow would carefully consider the subject of his poetic ideas for a long time before deciding on the right metrical form for it. Much of his work is recognized for its melody-like musicality. As he says, "what a writer asks of his reader is not so much to like as to listen".
As a very private man, Longfellow did not often add autobiographical elements to his poetry. Two notable exceptions are dedicated to the death of members of his family. "Resignation", written as a response to the death of his daughter Fanny in 1848, does not use first-person pronouns and is instead a generalized poem of mourning. The death of his second wife Frances, as biographer Charles Calhoun wrote, deeply affected Longfellow personally but "seemed not to touch his poetry, at least directly". His memorial poem to her, a sonnet called "The Cross of Snow", was not published in his lifetime.
Longfellow often used didacticism in his poetry, though he focused on it less in his later years. Much of his poetry imparts cultural and moral values, particularly focused on promoting life as being more than material pursuits. Longfellow also often used allegory in his work. In "Nature", for example, death is depicted as bedtime for a cranky child. Many of the metaphors he used in his poetry as well as subject matter came from legends, mythology, and literature. He was inspired, for example, by Norse mythology for "The Skeleton in Armor" and by Finnish legends for The Song of Hiawatha. In fact, Longfellow rarely wrote on current subjects and seemed detached from contemporary American concerns. Even so, Longfellow, like many during this period, called for the development of high quality American literature. In Kavanagh, a character says:
We want a national literature commensurate with our mountains and rivers... We want a national epic that shall correspond to the size of the country... We want a national drama in which scope shall be given to our gigantic ideas and to the unparalleled activity of our people... In a word, we want a national literature altogether shaggy and unshorn, that shall shake the earth, like a herd of buffaloes thundering over the prairies.
He was also important as a translator; his translation of Dante became a required possession for those who wanted to be a part of high culture. He also encouraged and supported other translators. In 1845, he published The Poets and Poetry of Europe, an 800-page compilation of translations made by other writers, including many by his friend and colleague Cornelius Conway Felton. Longfellow intended the anthology "to bring together, into a compact and convenient form, as large an amount as possible of those English translations which are scattered through many volumes, and are not accessible to the general reader". In honor of Longfellow's role with translations, Harvard established the Longfellow Institute in 1994, dedicated to literature written in the United States in languages other than English.
In 1874, Longfellow oversaw a 31-volume anthology called Poems of Places, which collected poems representing several geographical locations, including European, Asian, and Arabian countries. Emerson was disappointed and reportedly told Longfellow: "The world is expecting better things of you than this... You are wasting time that should be bestowed upon original production". In preparing the volume, Longfellow hired Katherine Sherwood Bonner as an amanuensis.
Critical Response
Longfellow's early collections, Voices of the Night and Ballads and Other Poems, made him instantly popular. The New-Yorker called him "one of the very few in our time who has successfully aimed in putting poetry to its best and sweetest uses". The Southern Literary Messenger immediately put Longfellow "among the first of our American poets". Poet John Greenleaf Whittier said that Longfellow's poetry illustrated "the careful moulding by which art attains the graceful ease and chaste simplicity of nature". Longfellow's friend Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. wrote of him as "our chief singer" and one who "wins and warms... kindles, softens, cheers [and] calms the wildest woe and stays the bitterest tears!"
The rapidity with which American readers embraced Longfellow was unparalleled in publishing history in the United States; by 1874, he was earning $3,000 per poem. His popularity spread throughout Europe as well and his poetry was translated during his lifetime into Italian, French, German, and other languages. As scholar Bliss Perry later wrote, Longfellow was so highly praised that criticizing him was a criminal act like "carrying a rifle into a national park". In the last two decades of his life, he often received requests for autographs from strangers, which he always sent. John Greenleaf Whittier suggested it was this massive correspondence that led to Longfellow's death, writing: "My friend Longfellow was driven to death by these incessant demands".
Contemporary writer Edgar Allan Poe wrote to Longfellow in May 1841 of his "fervent admiration which [your] genius has inspired in me" and later called him "unquestionably the best poet in America". However, after Poe's reputation as a critic increased, he publicly accused Longfellow of plagiarism in what has been since termed by Poe biographers as "The Longfellow War". His assessment was that Longfellow was "a determined imitator and a dextrous adapter of the ideas of other people", specifically Alfred, Lord Tennyson. His accusations may have been a publicity stunt to boost readership of the Broadway Journal, for which he was the editor at the time.Longfellow did not respond publicly, but, after Poe's death, he wrote: "The harshness of his criticisms I have never attributed to anything but the irritation of a sensitive nature chafed by some indefinite sense of wrong".
Margaret Fuller judged him "artificial and imitative" and lacking force. Poet Walt Whitman also considered Longfellow an imitator of European forms, though he praised his ability to reach a popular audience as "the expressor of common themes – of the little songs of the masses". He added, "Longfellow was no revolutionarie: never traveled new paths: of course never broke new paths." Lewis Mumford said that Longfellow could be completely removed from the history of literature without much effect. Towards the end of his life, contemporaries considered him more of a children's poet as many of his readers were children. A contemporary reviewer noted in 1848 that Longfellow was creating a "Goody two-shoes kind of literature... slipshod, sentimental stories told in the style of the nursery, beginning in nothing and ending in nothing". A more modern critic said, "Who, except wretched schoolchildren, now reads Longfellow?" A London critic in the London Quarterly Review, however, condemned all American poetry, saying, "with two or three exceptions, there is not a poet of mark in the whole union" but singled out Longfellow as one of those exceptions. As an editor of the Boston Evening Transcript wrote in 1846, "Whatever the miserable envy of trashy criticism may write against Longfellow, one thing is most certain, no American poet is more read".
Legacy
Longfellow was the most popular poet of his day and is generally regarded as the most distinguished poet the country had produced. As a friend once wrote to him, "no other poet was so fully recognized in his lifetime". Many of his works helped shape the American character and its legacy, particularly with the poem "Paul Revere's Ride". He was such an admired figure in the United States during his life that his 70th birthday in 1877 took on the air of a national holiday, with parades, speeches, and the reading of his poetry.
Over the years, Longfellow's personality has become part of his reputation. He has been presented as a gentle, placid, poetic soul: an image perpetuated by his brother Samuel Longfellow, who wrote an early biography which specifically emphasized these points. As James Russell Lowell said, Longfellow had an "absolute sweetness, simplicity, and modesty". At Longfellow's funeral, his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson called him "a sweet and beautiful soul". In reality, Longfellow's life was much more difficult than was assumed. He suffered from neuralgia, which caused him constant pain, and he also had poor eyesight. He wrote to friend Charles Sumner: "I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart". He had difficulty coping with the death of his second wife. Longfellow was very quiet, reserved, and private; in later years, he was known for being unsocial and avoided leaving home. He had become one of the first American celebrities and was also popular in Europe. It was reported that 10,000 copies of The Courtship of Miles Standish sold in London in a single day. Children adored him and, when the "spreading chestnut-tree" mentioned in the poem "The Village Blacksmith" was cut down, the children of Cambridge had the tree converted into an armchair which they presented to the poet. In 1884, Longfellow became the first non-British writer for whom a commemorative sculpted bust was placed in Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey in London; he remains the only American poet represented with a bust. More recently, he was honored in March 2007 when the United States Postal Service made a stamp commemorating him. A number of schools are named after him in various states as well. Neil Diamond's 1974 hit song, "Longfellow Serenade", is a reference to the poet. He is a protagonist in Matthew Pearl's murder mystery The Dante Club (2003).
Longfellow's popularity rapidly declined, beginning shortly after his death and into the twentieth century as academics began to appreciate poets like Walt Whitman, Edwin Arlington Robinson, and Robert Frost. In the twentieth century, literary scholar Kermit Vanderbilt noted, "Increasingly rare is the scholar who braves ridicule to justify the art of Longfellow's popular rhymings." 20th century poet Lewis Putnam Turco concluded "Longfellow was minor and derivative in every way throughout his career... nothing more than a hack imitator of the English Romantics."