Impressions in and about Portland, Maine . him who gave His life in distant Tripoli ; But for the bard who sweetly sung Acadias tale of trust and woeThe home which sheltered him when young Shall with loves incense ever him the fame that time defies, Till English hearts and tongues shall cease ;His harp thrilled not to battle-cries, But voiced the sacred chords of peace. — Adelena E. Dyer. 24 THE LONGFELLOW STATUE This sculptured form, Tis but the semblance, And still it is he ! Amid the busy throng. Calmly he sits ; Of all that pass along, Heedless is he ! His gaze is fixed toward hom
Impressions in and about Portland, Maine . him who gave His life in distant Tripoli ; But for the bard who sweetly sung Acadias tale of trust and woeThe home which sheltered him when young Shall with loves incense ever him the fame that time defies, Till English hearts and tongues shall cease ;His harp thrilled not to battle-cries, But voiced the sacred chords of peace. — Adelena E. Dyer. 24 THE LONGFELLOW STATUE This sculptured form, Tis but the semblance, And still it is he ! Amid the busy throng. Calmly he sits ; Of all that pass along, Heedless is he ! His gaze is fixed toward home. He loved it well, And yet he seeth naught ! His ears attent To catch the rustling leaves Of Deering woods. But still he heareth not ! Well hath the sculptor wrought, Making the seeming — real. The fiction — fact. And, in enduring bronze, His very form hath caught ! We, living, thee of bards !Thy voice hath ceased to through the worldExcelsiors flag unfurledBears, in its strange name and fame ! 25. Thy Psalm of Life still livesAnd to the weary givesIts heaven-taught blessed words ;In pure Evangeline,The unsullied life is thine ;While from the Wayside Inn,And Village Blacksmiths din,Thy fancy weaves such formsOf beauty and of grace,That, but to speak thy all our hearts aflame,And chief of bards we placeOur Longfellow ! The poet needs no monumentIn lasting bronze or stone ;So long as man shall live,His silver words aloneShall keep his memory green !Yet, fitly, in his boyhood old town by the these arching he so loved to sculptured form we place ! And in the days and years to men are asked to nameWhom Portland honors poets fame,All shall point hitherward ! — George E. B. Jackson. 27
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectportlan, bookyear1910
