February's Book Review

Online Catalog

Linda Parker

P.O. Box 93

Oliver Springs, TN 37840

In Memory of my

Husband Dale

Home

USA

Coachmen 33' Class A Motorhome For Sell

HOME

February's Book Review

Prose and Poetry, The Firelight Book

Published simultaneously in Canada

Printed in the United States of America, 6812.5

Edited By Barbara Henderson, Marion T. Garretson

Frederick H. Weber

Illustrated by Guy Brown Wiser

Choral Reading By, Bess L. Crofoot and Margaret T. Palen

Unit Three: The Story of a Poet

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

An American Poet

Paragraph One:

Have you ever listened to stories of a long ago time told by your

father or grandfather? If you have, you will understand why

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow loved to visit his grandfather and

to listen to the exciting stories about the Indian wars with the

white men. One story so thrilled the young boy that he wrote

a poem about it. He called it "The Battle of Lovell's Pond."

A schoolmate who read the poem told Henry to send it to the

town newspaper to be printed. The young poet followed his

friend's suggestion. That evening and every evening he

searched the paper for his poem. Days passed, but still

the poem did not appear. Sadly the boy went to the

editor of the newspaper, and asked if he might have his

poem back. On his way home, a friend who knew of

Henry's disappointment, told him to send it to another

newspaper called The Gazette. Henry did so, and that

night he waited outside the building and eagerly listened

to the sound of the big printing press. He hoped it was

printing his poem.

The next morning he hurried down to the breakfast table.

His father was already seated, reading The Gazette.

Quickly Henry slipped behind his father's chair and looked

at the paper. There it was! Before his eyes was his poem

in print! Henry could hardly keep from shouting for joy.

When this poem was written Henry was thirteen years old.

His birthday was February 27, 1807. If Mr. Longfellow were

here to tell us about his boyhood himself he might begin

with the first stanza of his poem,

"My Lost Youth"

"Often I think of that beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

And my youth comes back to me."

Then he might tell us the story like this;

"Such a lucky lad I was to be born in the beautiful city of

Portland on the coast of Maine! Near the sea, my home

faced the blue water. Always I could see the shining

islands in the bay and build my dreams about them.

My brother and I were wild with delight whenever a

ship came into the harbor bringing its cargo from some

foreign port. The sailors were strange and wonderful

men to us, and the great boats were full of mystery.

"Fort Sumner was just over the hill. I shall never forget the

sound of the sunrise gun fired at the fort every morning.

It was one of the terrors of my childhood. But the beat of

the drum, over and over and over, made me long for a

drum of my own. My good aunt who lived with us had

already bought a toy gun for me. I thought I wanted to

be a soldier. I wrote to my father who was away at

Boston Court asking him to bring me a drum. I told him

that I already owned a gun and powdered my hair, so if

he brought a drum I should be ready to march and fight.

"How old was I? Oh, about five or six, I should think.

Rather young to be thinking about war, but the whole

country was talking about it as our country was then

at war with England. That war is now known as the

War of 1812. I can very well remember the thunder

of guns that came to us from across the bay when

the American ship Enterprise fought the English ship

Boxer. It was a fierce battle between the two vessels,

and both captains were killed. They were brought into

Portland for burial.

"As I grew older I changed my mind about being a

soldier. You will laugh when I tell you that when Fourth

of July came I stuffed cotton in my ears so I would

not hear the noise of shooting. At the age of ten, using

my brother's gun, I aimed at and shot a robin. When I

saw what I had done, I was broken-hearted. I never

fired a gun again, though I sometimes carried one as the

other boys did when we tramped the fields and woods.

" I must show you two of my report cards from school.

We called them "billets." I suppose my dear mother

was pleased with them. They have been kept safely all

this time. I am glad to show them to you.

1. Master Henry Longfellow is one of the

best boys we have in school.

He spells and reads very well. He also

can add and multiply numbers. His

conduct last quarter was very correct

and amiable.

2. Stephen and Henry have both com-

menced this quarter with an unusual

degree of diligence in their studies.

Their deportment is remarkably good.

" I went to school with my brother Stephen who was two

years older. This was a private school kept by Ma'am

Fellows. I remember that there was a long rod hanging

over the door. Later, I went to public school for a short

time. The big boys seemed pretty rough, I remember. I

was ready for college when I was fifteen.

" I liked to go to school. I liked to study at home. In my

old home at Portland you may see now in the boys' room

on the third floor a school desk at which we studied. It

shows that it was used rather hard, too. But I was one

of eight children and of course we all had our turn at it.

" In this same room were large, old wall maps on which

we traced journeys in geography and lessons in history.

" I wrote my first poem when I was nine years old, but

this poem was never published. My teacher asked me

to write a poem one day. 'Take your slate out-of-doors

and write about something you see,' she said.

"I did not know what to do but obeyed and went out by the

shed. I sat down on the ground wondering what to do. I

saw a turnip lying on the ground nearby and that gave me

an idea and soon I went to the teacher with the poem on

my slate entitled, 'The Turnip.'

"When I was young I was not very strong or well. I could

not take much part in games with the other boys, so I

spent my time reading. In the evening all of us children

would gather about the big living-room table to study

our reading and arithmetic. This I liked as the best part

of the day.

" My grandfather had a farm north of Portland. Just like

all boys who have grandfathers living on farms, I spent

my vacations there, roaming the fields and the woods.

"I also like to listen to stories of the war. My grandfather

had been a gallant general. In fact, I had several fighting

ancestors. If you ever go to my Portland home which is

open to visitors every day, you will see, among many other

things, some of their uniforms and weapons. It was in this

Portland home that I first began my writing. From the time

my first poem was published, I was always writing

whenever I could spare the time."

Continue With February's Book Review

Past Book Reviews From The Book Nook

Items We Have Sold: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50 51

Related Links Main Page 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10