"Is it, oh, man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? "Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts; "The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! "Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease; And, like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, 'Peace!' "Peace' and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies; But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise!" SARAH H. STEEVENS. THE POEMS OF LONGFELLOW. It is probable that the writings of our English poets are studied and appreciated amongst those who constitute the constituency of the "Buff-covered Quarterly," as fully and intelligently as by any portion of the reading public. It is not, therefore, with the hope of throwing any new light on the writings of Longfellow that I venture to forward a short contribution to its pages; but I have again and again remarked their almost universal distribution on the tables and shelves of Friends, and I therefore incline to jot down a few thoughts, having reference to the cause of their popularity amongst us. "If," says Dr. Trench, "we would trace what is nearest to a nation's heart, we must first turn to its poetry; there we shall find, not what it has, but what it is reaching after-not its active work-day world, but that ideal world after which it is longing. What is true of nations is true also, for the most part, of individuals, and I think that the popularity of Longfellow amongst our members may be partly explained by this quotation. There is nothing in Longfellow that the most fastidious mind need reject; a high standard of Christian morality pervades everything he writes, and in some instances, to which I shall allude presently, the thoughts and sentiments entertained by a large portion of our Society, on important subjects, have found exquisite expression. I know that it is the fashion among poetical critics to depreciate Longfellow; I have heard his poems described as "mechanical," as the efforts of an "artist in words," rather than a poet; he has been compared to Pope, and not unfrequently contrasted most disparagingly with Tennyson and the Brownings. It is quite possible that some of his writings may supply a sufficient foundation for these criticisms; but let me at once admit that I am one of his admirers, and if I look at his productions through glasses which magnify their merits, all I can say is, that I have worn the said glasses for many years, and hope that the illusion may be excused. I think it is Coleridge who has described Poetry as the vision and faculty divine,”—a splendid definition which, to the imaginative mind, may possibly convey all that is desired, it is, however, too general and vague for ordinary acceptation. In his essay, "On the Advancement of Learning," Lord Bacon writes as follows:-" Therefore, because the acts and events of true history have not the magnitude that satisfieth the mind of man, Poetry feigneth acts and events greater and more heroical." In contradistinction to this theory, Poetry has been described by others as "the art of imitation;" "Poetry," writes Wordsworth, "is emotion recollected in tranquillity; the business of a poet is to represent out of real life, and as nearly as possible in the language of real life, scenes and events of an exciting or effective character." I will not discuss which of these definitions may be the most acceptable; but, judged by either of them, the right of Longfellow to an honoured position among the sons of song may be fairly maintained. It is probable that Longfellow is best known by his shorter pieces. Just as Tennyson's ballad, "The May Queen," will assuredly outlive his more pretentious "In Memoriam," so "The Psalm of Life," and "The Reaper and the Flowers," will remain among the "Gems of the Poets," when "The Golden Legend," and possibly even "Evangeline," are forgotten. Let it be at once conceded that the Poems of Longfellow are not, as a rule, of so highly a philosophic caste as some of Wordsworth's; that in imaginative splendour they are inferior to Tennyson; that in lyrical and rhythmical beauty they are occasionally eclipsed by Shelley; but as faithful pictures of life, as a reflex of the hopes and fears, the feelings and sentiments, of the thousands around him, I question whether he is not very nearly, if not quite, on a level, with either of the poets mentioned. I will select a few instances, in which the poems of Longfellow appear pre-eminently to satisfy the requirements of the poetic critic, always supposing them to be such as have already been described. If it be the duty of a poet to express, in language that appeals forcibly to the mind, the common passions of humanity, the joys and the sorrows of every-day life, then I am inclined to think that the poem Resignation" will be found to comply in rather a remarkable manner with the test suggested. feel certain that every parent, whose lot it may have been to stand beside the grave of one dearly loved, would desire most completely to adopt as his own a few of the stanzas in this beautifully pathetic poem: 66 "There is no death! what seems so is transition; Is but a suburb of the life elysian, "She is not dead-the child of our affection But gone unto that school, Where she no longer needs our poor protection, I Under this head must also be included "The Reaper and the Flowers. It is a piece so universally known that it need not be quoted. Then again there is an exquisite little lyric, commencing "Come to me, O ye Children," that may well claim companionship with the other two. I will extract from it the following verses : What the leaves are to the forest, Through them it feels the glow What the birds and the winds are singing It would be easy to extend quotations-"The Two Angels," "The Children's Hour," and several other minor poems supply tempting material, but I will hasten onwards. Allusion has already been made to the sympathy expressed by Longfellow in reference to one or two subjects, of great national importance, in which many of our members have long taken an especial interest. I will illustrated my meaning by quoting a few wellknown lines ; "Were half the power that fills the world with terror, "Down the dark future, through long generations, "Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals |