THE CHILDREN'S OWN LONGFELLOW ***
Produced by Patricia Peters and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE CHILDREN'S OWN LONGFELLOW
Illustrated
1908
Publishers' Note
Longfellow has been fitly called the children's poet. Many of his poems have from their very first appearance been favorites with youthful readers, and for many thousands of children he is the poet best beloved. It has been, therefore, the hope of the publishers that this volume, containing eight of the most popular of these poems, illustrated in color by some of the best known American artists of the present day, will find a ready welcome at the hands of young folks and their parents.
CONTENTS
THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
EVANGELINE Part the First
THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: Hiawatha's Sailing Hiawatha's Fishing
THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP
THE CASTLE-BUILDER
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE
THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS _S.M. Arthurs_ He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH _Howard Smith_ And children coming home from school Look in at the open door
EVANGELINE Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music
HIAWATHA'S FISHING And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water
THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP _C. W. Ashley_ The sun shone on her golden hair, And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair
THE CASTLE-BUILDER _Olive Rush_ A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks, And towers that touch imaginary skies
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE _Howard Smith_ A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door
THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT "Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year!"
[Illustration: THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS _S.M. Arthurs_ He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ]
THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS
It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.
"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.
