Parker Cleaveland

WRITTEN ON REVISITING BRUNSWICK IN THE SUMMER OF 1875

Among the many lives that I have known,
    None I remember more serene and sweet,
    More rounded in itself and more complete,
    Than his, who lies beneath this funeral stone.
These pines, that murmur in low monotone,
    These walks frequented by scholastic feet,
    Were all his world; but in this calm retreat
    For him the Teacher's chair became a throne.
With fond affection memory loves to dwell
    On the old days, when his example made
    A pastime of the toil of tongue and pen;
And now, amid the groves he loved so well
That naught could lure him from their grateful shade,
He sleeps, but wakes elsewhere, for God hath said, Amen!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was an American poet and educator. He wrote many lyric poems known for their musicality and often presenting stories of mythology and legend. Some of his famous works include "Paul Revere's Ride" and "The Song of Hiawatha." Longfellow was one of the most popular American poets of his time and remains a significant figure in the canon of American literature.

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English

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Here lies the gentle humorist, who died
    In the bright Indian Summer of his fame!
    A simple stone, with but a date and name,
    Marks his secluded resting-place beside
The river that he loved and glorified.
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Memories

Oft I remember those whom I have known
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    As by a magnet, and who are not dead,
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High travelling winds by royal hill
Their awful anthem sing,
And songs exalted flow and fill
The caverns of the spring.

To-night across a wild wet plain
A shadow sobs and strays;
The trees are whispering in the rain
Of long departed days.

I cannot say what forest saith
Its words are strange to me:
I only know that in its breath
Are tones that used to be.

Yea, in these deep dim solitudes
I hear a sound I know
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And while the hymn of other years
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O thicker, deeper, darker growing,
The solemn vista to the tomb
Must know henceforth another shadow,
And give another cypress room.

In love surpassing that of brothers,
We walked, O friend, from childhoods day;
And, looking back oer fifty summers,
Our footprints track a common way.

One in our faith, and one our longing
To make the world within our reach
Somewhat the better for our living,
And gladder for our human speech.

Thou heardst with me the far-off voices,
The old beguiling song of fame,
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Bayard Taylor

I.

"And where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?"
My sister asked our guest one winter's day.
Smiling he answered in the Friends' sweet way
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What wouldst thou have me see for thee?" She laughed,
Her dark eyes dancing in the wood-fire's glow
"Loffoden isles, the Kilpis, and the low,
Unsetting sun on Finmark's fishing-craft."
"All these and more I soon shall see for thee!"
He answered cheerily: and he kept his pledge
On Lapland snows, the North Cape's windy wedge,
And Tromso freezing in its winter sea.
He went and came. But no man knows the    track
Of his last journey, and he comes not back!

II.

He brought us wonders of the new and old;
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A Gleam Of Sunshine

This is the place.    Stand still, my steed,
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Here runs the highway to the town;
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The shadow of the linden-trees
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Thy dress was like the lilies,
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