‘Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant,
Let the dead Past, bury its dead;
Act, act in the glorious Present,
Heart within and God o’er head.’’
‘You give the poet a great advantage,’ I said, ‘in quoting his very finest production, and picking out the choicest stanzas. Beside, his theme here is one of so general a nature, and so familiar to philosophy, that it would be hard for any one to moralize upon it in verse without accidentally hitting upon some sublimity. The commonest intellect has lofty and awful thoughts whenever it gives way to serious meditation upon our mortality.’
Seatsfield: ‘That is partly true; but Longfellow is not only great upon that ground. His realm is very extensive. No man has the power (had he only the will) of depicting the simplicity of every-day life and objects with more grace or comprehensiveness. There are some touches in his ‘Village Blacksmith’ inexpressibly beautiful, and worthy of Burns’ ‘Cotter’s Saturday Night:’
‘His hair is crisp and black and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,’ etc.