events of the revolution The spacious old rooms now occupied by the poet were once, at a memorable time, the abode of America's most ilustrious son. The writer of lyrics has taken the place of the actor of epics. When, in the early days of the war of independence, Washington was elected by Congress to the command of the colonial army, English troops had possession of Boston. The siege was formed by concentrating the patriot troops in the neighbouring towns. Washington went to New England to direct their movements in person, and fixed his head-qarters in convenient Cambridge-in this same venerable mansion where Longfellow now lives. Thence he sent out his orders, general and special; here convened, in anxious deliberation, the little knot of patriot officers, unskilled in war, collected from farm-houses and laboratories, to drill by manual and learn the art of sieges. Within this door passed the wealthy merchant, Hancock, who had turned his thoughts to "rules" and "orders of the day;" gruff Samuel Adams, a Puritan Mirabeau, putting his finger exactly on the pith of the trouble; rewards for the capture of those two had just been proclaimed over in Boston. In these quiet rooms, given up now these many years to the Muse, whence come out ever and anon gracefullest gems of the rhythmic art, a plan of campaign was drawn up, experienced ex-royal Lieutenant Washington supervising, ex-merchants, doctors, farmers, advising,-all agreeing, too, and at last succeeding; unity, a rare thing in revo lutionary councils, ever prevailing. Washington did not stir from this Longfellow's house till he could go in triumph. It is no wonder, then, that Americans visit this old place with mingled feel ings-that they find here a reminiscence as well as an attractive presence; and while gazing at the home of the first of native poets, revert to that troublous time when there was for Americe, but the grim poetry of war. THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. INTRODUCTION. 1. SHOULD you ask me, whence these stories? 10. And their wild reverberations, 34' xx I should answer, I should tell you, From the mountains, moors, and fenlands, From the lips of Nawadaha, 20. The musician, the sweet singer.' Should you ask where Nawadaha "All the wild-föŵl sang them to him, Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, If still further you should ask me, "In the Vale of Tawasentha, sa Ever sighing, ever singing, "And the pleasant water-courses, * See Vocabulary, at the end of Poem. And the rushing of great rivers Through the palisades of pine-trees, Ye who love a nation's legends, To this song of Hiawatha! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, Who have faith in God and Nature. Who believe, that in all ages Every human heart is human, That in even savage bosoms There are longings, yearnings, strivings Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles |