Longfellow

By Craven Langstroth Betts (1853–1941)

(Born Feb. 27, 1807)

THE NEW-WORLD’S sweetest singer! Time may lay

Rude touch on some, thy betters, yet for thee,

Thy seat is where the throned immortals be,

The chaste affections answering to thy sway.

As fair, as fresh as children of the May,

Thy verse springs up from wood and sun-bathed lea,

Yet oft the rhythmic cadence of the sea.

Rolls ’neath thy song and speeds its shining way.

Thy borrowed robes, even, thou wear’st with grace;

Such grace our English buckram seldom yields;

Through thee the grave Italian takes his place

Among us; but across Acadian fields

Who is it moves with rapt and pensive face?

Evangeline, his heart thy love reveals!