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February 22nd (search for this): chapter 18
is diary, How barren of all poetic production and even prose production this last year has been! For 1853 I have absolutely nothing to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work. The family absorbs half the time, and letters and visits take out a huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain? These golden days are driven like nails into the fabric. Who knows but they help it to hold fast and firm? On February 22, he writes, You are not misinformed about my leaving the professorship. I am pawing to get free. On his birthday, February 27, he writes, in the joy of approaching freedom, I am curious to know what poetic victories, if any, will be won this year. On April 19 he writes, At eleven o'clock in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my last lecture—the last I shall ever deliver, here or anywhere. Life, II. 262, 263, 265, 266, 268. The following are the letters explaining this, and hitherto un
February 27th (search for this): chapter 18
thing to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work. The family absorbs half the time, and letters and visits take out a huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain? These golden days are driven like nails into the fabric. Who knows but they help it to hold fast and firm? On February 22, he writes, You are not misinformed about my leaving the professorship. I am pawing to get free. On his birthday, February 27, he writes, in the joy of approaching freedom, I am curious to know what poetic victories, if any, will be won this year. On April 19 he writes, At eleven o'clock in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my last lecture—the last I shall ever deliver, here or anywhere. Life, II. 262, 263, 265, 266, 268. The following are the letters explaining this, and hitherto unpublished, but preserved in the Harvard College archives. Cambridge, February 16, 1854. Gentlemen,—In pursuance of conver
April 19th (search for this): chapter 18
huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain? These golden days are driven like nails into the fabric. Who knows but they help it to hold fast and firm? On February 22, he writes, You are not misinformed about my leaving the professorship. I am pawing to get free. On his birthday, February 27, he writes, in the joy of approaching freedom, I am curious to know what poetic victories, if any, will be won this year. On April 19 he writes, At eleven o'clock in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my last lecture—the last I shall ever deliver, here or anywhere. Life, II. 262, 263, 265, 266, 268. The following are the letters explaining this, and hitherto unpublished, but preserved in the Harvard College archives. Cambridge, February 16, 1854. Gentlemen,—In pursuance of conversations held with Dr. Walker, the subject of which he has already communicated to you,—I now beg leave to tender you my resignation of th<
November 10th (search for this): chapter 18
ians seen in books, but on those he had himself observed in Maine, the Sacs and Foxes he had watched on Boston Common, and an Ojibway chief whom he had entertained at his house. As for the poetic measure, a suitable one had just been suggested to him by the Finnish epic of Kalevala, which he had been reading; and he had been delighted by its appropriateness to the stage character to be dealt with and the type of legend to be treated. Hiawatha was begun on June 25, 1854, and published on November 10 of that year. He enjoyed the work thoroughly, but it evidently seemed to him somewhat tame before he got through, and this tendency to tameness was sometimes a subject of criticism with readers; but its very simplicity made the style attractive to children and gave a charm which it is likely always to retain. With his usual frankness, he stated at the outset that the metre was not original with him, and it was of course a merit in the legends that they were not original. The book recei
n of Dante, having taken it up on February 1, 1853, Life, II. 248. after ten years interval; and moreover another new literary project had occurred to him purely in the realm of fancy, as he describes it, and his freedom became a source of joy. He had been anxious for some years to carry out his early plan of works upon American themes. He had, as will be remembered, made himself spokesman for the Indians on the college platform. His list of proposed subjects had included as far back as 1829, Tales of the Quoddy Indians, with a description of Sacobezon, their chief. After twenty-five years he wrote in his diary (June 22, 1854), I have at length hit upon a plan for a poem on the American Indians which seems to be the right one and the only. It is to weave together their beautiful traditions into a whole. I have hit upon a measure, too, which I think the right one and the only one for the purpose. He had to draw for this delineation not merely upon the Indians seen in books, b
nywhere. Life, II. 262, 263, 265, 266, 268. The following are the letters explaining this, and hitherto unpublished, but preserved in the Harvard College archives. Cambridge, February 16, 1854. Gentlemen,—In pursuance of conversations held with Dr. Walker, the subject of which he has already communicated to you,—I now beg leave to tender you my resignation of the Smith Professorship of the French and Spanish Languages and Literatures, which I have held in Harvard College since the year 1835. Should it be in your power to appoint my successor before the beginning of the next Term, I should be glad to retire at once. But if this should be inconvenient, I will discharge the duties of the office until the end of the present Academic Year. I venture on this occasion, Gentlemen, to call your attention to the subject of the salaries paid to the several Instructors in this Department, and to urge, as far as may be proper, such increase as may correspond to the increased expenses
Chapter 17: resignation of Professorship—to death of Mrs. Longfellow On the last day of 1853, Longfellow wrote in his diary, How barren of all poetic production and even prose production this last year has been! For 1853 I have absolutely nothing to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work. The family absorbs half the time, and letters and visits take out a huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain1853 I have absolutely nothing to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work. The family absorbs half the time, and letters and visits take out a huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain? These golden days are driven like nails into the fabric. Who knows but they help it to hold fast and firm? On February 22, he writes, You are not misinformed about my leaving the professorship. I am pawing to get free. On his birthday, February 27, he writes, in the joy of approaching freedom, I am curious to know what poetic victories, if any, will be won this year. On April 19 he writes, At eleven o'clock in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my last lecture—the last I shall ever delive
February 1st, 1853 AD (search for this): chapter 18
anwhile he sat for his portrait by Lawrence, and the subject of the fugitive slave cases brought to the poet's face, as the artist testified, a look of animation and indignation which he was glad to catch and retain. On Commencement Day, July 19, 1854, he wore his academical robes for the last time, and writes of that event, The whole crowded church looked ghostly and unreal as a thing in which I had no part. He had already been engaged upon his version of Dante, having taken it up on February 1, 1853, Life, II. 248. after ten years interval; and moreover another new literary project had occurred to him purely in the realm of fancy, as he describes it, and his freedom became a source of joy. He had been anxious for some years to carry out his early plan of works upon American themes. He had, as will be remembered, made himself spokesman for the Indians on the college platform. His list of proposed subjects had included as far back as 1829, Tales of the Quoddy Indians, with a de
January 4th, 1854 AD (search for this): chapter 18
Chapter 17: resignation of Professorship—to death of Mrs. Longfellow On the last day of 1853, Longfellow wrote in his diary, How barren of all poetic production and even prose production this last year has been! For 1853 I have absolutely nothing to show. Really there has been nothing but the college work. The family absorbs half the time, and letters and visits take out a huge cantle. Yet four days later he wrote, January 4, 1854, Another day absorbed in the college. But why complain? These golden days are driven like nails into the fabric. Who knows but they help it to hold fast and firm? On February 22, he writes, You are not misinformed about my leaving the professorship. I am pawing to get free. On his birthday, February 27, he writes, in the joy of approaching freedom, I am curious to know what poetic victories, if any, will be won this year. On April 19 he writes, At eleven o'clock in No. 6 University Hall, I delivered my last lecture—the last I shall ever deliv
February 16th, 1854 AD (search for this): chapter 18
ered my last lecture—the last I shall ever deliver, here or anywhere. Life, II. 262, 263, 265, 266, 268. The following are the letters explaining this, and hitherto unpublished, but preserved in the Harvard College archives. Cambridge, February 16, 1854. Gentlemen,—In pursuance of conversations held with Dr. Walker, the subject of which he has already communicated to you,—I now beg leave to tender you my resignation of the Smith Professorship of the French and Spanish Languages and Litetion with the College, I have the honor to be, Gentlemen, Your Obt. Servt. Henry W. Longfellow.Harvard College Papers [Ms.], 2d ser. XX. 345. To the President and Corporation of Harvard University. [to President Walker.] Cambridge, Feb. 16, 1854. my dear Sir,—I inclose you my note to the Corporation. Will you be kind enough to look at it, before handing it to them; for if it is not in proper form and phrase, I will write it over again. I also inclose the letters of Schele de
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