Poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

OCTOBER, 1746
FROM THE NOEI BOURGUIGNON DE GUI BAROZAI
O gift of God! O perfect day:
Simon Danz has come home again,
Awake! arise! the hour is late!
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
"A soldier of the Union mustered out,"
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Let him who will, by force or fraud innate,
I said unto myself, if I were dead,
The sun is set; and in his latest beams
"Sir, I should build me a fortification, if I
When the summer fields are mown,
The day is ending,
BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN
Sweet the memory is to me
When the warm sun, that brings
In the chapter with this title in Outre-Mer, besides Illustrations from Byron and Lockhart are the three following examples, contributed by Mr. Longfellow.
BY SIMON DACH
BY XAVIER MARMIER
Until we meet again! That is the meaning
With what a glory comes and goes the year!
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
It is autumn; not without,
BY LEFRANC DE POMPIGNAN
Dead he lay among his books!
PURGATORIO XXX. 13-33, 85-99, XXXI. 13-21.
I am poor and old and blind;
Thus then, much care-worn,
(HUT DU DICH!)
FLIGHT THE FIRST
BY SIMON DACH
Blind Bartimeus at the gates
St. Bototlph's Town! Hither across the plains
On sunny slope and beechen swell,
RESIGNATION
"Build me straight, O worthy Master!
No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
How much of my young heart, O Spain,
This song of mine
From the outskirts of the town
Garlands upon his grave,
An old man in a lodge within a park;
BY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN
Come to me, O ye children!
Sweet chimes! that in the loneliness of night
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
INTROITUS
Just above yon sandy bar,
(VEN, MUERTE TAN ESCONDIDA)
To M. Duperrier, Gentleman of Aix in Provence, on the Death of his Daughter.
I.
Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom,
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
A wind came up out of the sea,
In broad daylight, and at noon,
FROM THE CHANSON DE ROLAND
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
As one who, walking in the twilight gloom,
Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,
I
Come, old friend! sit down and listen!
Dark is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor
I
Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud
Under Mount Etna he lies,
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Have I dreamed? or was it real,
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
The shades of night were falling fast,
(OJOS TRISTES, OJOS TRISTES)
O sweet illusions of Song,
These are the tales those merry guests
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers,
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
When the hours of Day are numbered,
Something the heart must have to cherish,
"NAHANT, September 8, 1880,
O faithful, indefatigable tides,
A lovely morning, without the glare of the sun, the sea in great commotion, chafing and foaming.
Soft through the silent air descend the feathery snow-flakes;
Neglected record of a mind neglected,
BY CLEMENT MAROT
TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE
THE GRAVE (Translation)
By his evening fire the artist
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
How many lives, made beautiful and sweet
Glove of black in white hand bare,
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
One day, Haroun Al Raschid read
All houses wherein men have lived and died
MAY 23, 1864
What phantom is this that appears
As Seleucus narrates, Hermes describes the principles that rank as wholes in two myriads of books; or, as we are informed by Manetho, he perfectly unfolded these principles in three myriads six thousand five hundred and twenty-five volumes. . . .
The holiest of all holidays are those
Christ to the young man said: "Yet one thing more;
When the dying flame of day
Gaddi mi fece; il Ponte Vecchio sono;
In the village churchyard she lies,
Here lies the gentle humorist, who died
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought,
O traveller, stay thy weary feet;
No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano.
ACT I.
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep;
Turn, turn, my wheel? Turn round and round
He is dead, the beautiful youth,
A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK
Viswamitra the Magician,
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ye voices, that arose
As the birds come in the Spring,
When I compare
TRAVELLER
MAIDEN
Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes,
Oft I remember those whom I have known
Half of my life is gone, and I have let
Michel, piu che mortal, Angel divino. -- ARIOSTO.
Yes, the Year is growing old,
I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold
Beautiful valley! through whose verdant meads
Oh that a Song would sing itself to me
As a pale phantom with a lamp
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Sadly as some old mediaeval knight
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Often I think of the beautiful town
BY FELIX ARVERS
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Into the darkness and the hush of night
Envoye A M. Agassiz, La Veille De Noel 1864,
In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
What an image of peace and rest
In the Valley of the Vire
BY JOSEPH MERY
AT TOMIS, IN BESSARABIA, NEAR THE MOUTHS OF THE DANUBE.
I lay upon the headland-height, and listened
WRITTEN ON REVISITING BRUNSWICK IN THE SUMMER OF 1875
BY ESAIAS TEGNER
Once into a quiet village,
FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU
Where are the Poets, unto whom belong
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
A cold, uninterrupted rain,
The evening came; the golden vane
"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."
Of Prometheus, how undaunted
How beautiful is the rain!
BY AUGUST VON PLATEN
I see amid the fields of Ayr
BY JEAN FROISSART
(SAN MIGUEL DE LA TUMBA)
A handful of red sand, from the hot clime
Have you read in the Talmud of old,
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
(LETRILLA QUE LLEVABA POR REGISTRO EN SU BREVIARIO)
When descends on the Atlantic
A vision as of crowded city streets,
Southward with fleet of ice
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound
Out of the bosom of the Air,
(ALGUNA VEZ)
Labor with what zeal we will,
Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
She is a maid of artless grace,
And whither goest thou, gentle sigh,
FROM THE PORTUGUESE
Hark! hark!
Bell! thou soundest merrily,
BY JOHAN GAUDENZ VON SALISSEEWIS
Nowhere such a devious stream,
O precious evenings! all too swiftly sped!
BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS
I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade
The summer sun is sinking low;
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Take them, O Death! and bear away
PART FIRST
I heard a voice, that cried,
BY JEAN REBOUL, THE BAKER OF NISMES
I shot an arrow into the air,
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
In the ancient town of Bruges,
O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn!
What say the Bells of San Blas
BY WILHELM MULLER
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND
BY JACQUES JASMIN
Down from yon distant mountain height
I stood on the bridge at midnight,
Burn, O evening hearth, and waken
Once upon Iceland's solitary strand
(A UN ARROYUELO)
The brooklet came from the mountain,
All are architects of Fate,
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,
"Build me straight, O worthy Master!
RICHARD HENRY DANA
BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND
A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks
PURGATORIO II. 13-51.
I have a vague remembrance
Is it so far from thee
BY CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE
BY ESAIAS TEGNER
I
Between the dark and the daylight,
The panting City cried to the Sea,
I
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
The day is done, and the darkness
BY ERNST STOCKMANN
Nine sisters, beautiful in form and face,
Othere, the old sea-captain,
Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain,
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
"Combien faudrait-il de peaux d'Espagne pour faire un gant de cette grandeur?" A play upon the words gant, a glove, and Gand, the French for Ghent.
Lo! in the painted oriel of the West,
MAY 28, 1857
Devereux Farm, Near Marblehead
Four limpid lakes,--four Naiades
Sweet faces, that from pictured casements lean
FROM EASTERN SOURCES
Torrent of light and river of the air,
Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;
Leafless are the trees; their purple branches
She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,
(EL BUEN PASTOR)
I
There sat one day in quiet,
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
Each heart has its haunted chamber,
O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches!
Warm and still is the summer night,
(LA IMAGEN DE DIOS)
Made from a fetter of Bonnivard, the Prisoner of Chillon; the handle of wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a circlet of gold, inset with three precious stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine.
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
BY JULIUS MOSEN
The night is come, but not too soon;
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
BY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLAND
I
After so long an absence
I
THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN
THE MOTHER'S GHOST
(EL PATRIO CIELO)
BY GUIDO GUINIZELLI
Dans les moments de la vie ou la reflexion devient plus calme et plus profonde, ou l'interet et l'avarice parlent moins haut que la raison, dans les instants de chagrin domestique, de maladie, et de peril de mort, les nobles se repentirent de possede
I saw, as in a dream sublime,
Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old,
L'eternite est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement dans le silence des tombeaux:
The old house by the lindens
In Mather's Magnalia Christi,
JANUARY
THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH
LADY WENTWORTH.
CHARLEMAGNE
O ye dead Poets, who are living still
The Slaver in the broad lagoon
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS
In that desolate land and lone,
In that building, long and low,
BY HEINRICH HEINE
Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
Up soared the lark into the air,
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
THE BELL OF ATRI
THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE
Black are the moors before Kazan,
In St. Luke's Gospel we are told
God sent his Singers upon earth
"Speak! speak I thou fearful guest
In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
Loud he sang the psalm of David!
Beside the ungathered rice he lay,
[Notes from HIAWATHA follow]
On the Mountains of the Prairie,
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
Downward through the evening twilight,
Should you ask me, whence these stories?
Out of childhood into manhood
On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
Never stoops the soaring vulture
You shall hear how Hiawatha
Two good friends had Hiawatha,
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee,
"As unto the bow the cord is,
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,
Can it be the sun descending
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
In those days said Hiawatha,
In those days the Evil Spirits,
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,
Full of wrath was Hiawatha
Far and wide among the nations
Oh the long and dreary Winter!
In his lodge beside a river,
By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
SCANDERBEG
Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read
KAMBALU
AZRAEL
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
BY JULIUS MOSEN
THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE
One summer morning, when the sun was hot,
THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU
EMMA AND EGINHARD
PURGATORIO XXVIII. 1-33.
TORQUEMADA
THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL
ELIZABETH
Three Kings came riding from far away,
TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
The tide rises, the tide falls,
I saw the long line of the vacant shore,
Two angels, one of Life and one of Death,
BY GUSTAV PFIZER
I
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
A mist was driving down the British Channel,
Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore
BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE
The White Czar is Peter the Great. Batyushka, Father dear, and Gosudar, Sovereign, are titles the Russian people are fond of giving to the Czar in their popular songs.
See, the fire is sinking low,
Behold! a giant am I!
BY CHARLES CORAN
In Ocean's wide domains,
It was the schooner Hesperus,
I
Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee,
Welcome, my old friend,
BY FRANCOIS DE MALHERBE
BY VINCENZO DA FILICAJA
BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCIS
Flow on, sweet river! like his verse
Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas;
River! that in silence windest
Thou Royal River, born of sun and shower
O lovely river of Yvette!
Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]
The pages of thy book I read,
'T is late at night, and in the realm of sleep
(MANANA)
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.
As treasures that men seek,
The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
DEDICATION
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
As one who long hath fled with panting breath
Under the walls of Monterey
BY GONZALO DE BERCEO
FROM THE LATIN
VITTORIA COLONNA, on the death of her hushand, the Marchese di Pescara, retired to her castle at Ischia (Inarime), and there wrote the Ode upon his death, which gained her the title of Divine.
[Greek quotation]
[Greek poem here--Euripides.]
When Mazarvan the Magician,
Vogelweid the Minnesinger,
BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
TO ALFRED TENNYSON
O little feet! that such long years
BY WILHELM MULLER
Will ever the dear days come back again,
When winter winds are piercing chill,
Here in a little rustic hermitage
[The following translation is from the poems of Michael Angelo as revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the publication of the original text by Guasti.]

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy