BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

[From the June Lippincott.]

What an image of peace and rest

Is this little church among its graves!
All is so quiet; the troubled breast,
The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed,
Here may find the repose it craves.

See how the ivy climbs and expands
Över this humble hermitage,

And seems to caress with its little hands
The rough, gray stones, as a child that stands
Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age.

You cross the threshold, and dim and small

Is the space that serves for the Shepherd's fold:

The narrow aisle, the bare white wall,

The pews, and the pulpit quaint and tall,
Whisper and say, "Alas! we are old."

Herbert's chapel at Bemerton

Hardly more spacious is than this, But Poet and Pastor, blent in one, Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun, That lowly and holy edifice.

It is not the wall of stone without

That makes the building small or great, But the soul's light shining round about, And the faith that overcometh doubt,

And the love that stronger is than hate. Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, Were I a pastor of Holy church,

More than a bishop's diocese

Should I prize this place of rest and release
From further longing and further search.

Here would I stay, and let the world

With its distant thunder roar and roll: Storms do not rend the sail that is furled, Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and whirled

In an eddy of wind, is the anchored soul.

And Other Poems.

BY

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

London:

WARD, LOCK, & CO., WARWICK HOUSE,
DORSET BUILDINGS, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.

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PREFACE.

T

HESE latest productions of the genius of LONGFELLOW will be accepted as worthy of his great reputation and as fitting successors of those works which have made him so eminent among the poets whom England, as America, is proud to claim.

No writer of the New World has sympathized so completely with the spirit and traditions of the Old World, or felt so intensely and realized so perfectly the meaning of some of the beautiful old religious legends current among the simple, unlettered, but faithful folk of the Middle Ages; and "The Legend Beautiful" of this volume is a not unworthy companion of some of the more exquisite passages of the "Golden Legend" of the same author. "Monte Cassino" and "Castles in Spain' exhibit that power of recalling the memories of the past, when visiting localities made famous by association with great spirits, which in its wide sympathy and subtle

appreciation of picturesque accessories is almost peculiar to LONGFELLOW.

“Kéramos" is a poem worthy of the beautiful ceramic art which suggested it. Graceful in form, delicate in colouring, varied in details, it appropriately reflects the characteristics of the productions which are now collected with such eagerness; and the refrain of the artist-worker, intermingled with the vivid descriptions, is another embodiment of the old Scripture metaphors in which "clay in the hand of the potter" is so profoundly suggestive.

A word of explanation may be necessary in reference to the quaint title, "Wapentake," prefixed to the sonnet, so full of generous appreciation, addressed to TENNYSON. Ordinarily the word is only used to signify a local division in the north of England, and in that sense would be without meaning in the present connexion. But the older meaning, according to some authorities, is that of weapon-touching," and refers to the homage accorded by a knight to his superior in rank, by reverentially touching the lance of the other with his own. In this sense, Longfellow says to the English Laureate, "Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine."

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