Henry Wadsworth Longfellow THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH AND OTHER POEMS. Longfellow does a wonderful job of transporting the rhythm of Homer and Virgil to the New World.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was an American poet whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was an American poet whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", “Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!” That is a poem written on a woman’s tragic love, her lover during the deportation in the year 1755 of the Acadian people, disappears. We’d love your help.

cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answerCame from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living.Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father.Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted,Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror.Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber.In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fallLoud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window.Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunderTold her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created!Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven;Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning.Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth dayCheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession,Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore,Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings.Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beachPiled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants.All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply;All day long the wains came laboring down from the village.Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting,Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard.Thither the women and children thronged. 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation,Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. An interesting story with the conflict between old friends , Miles Standish the old soldier and John Aldren ...the bookish winner in the contest for Priscilla's hand. "Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed.Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent,—"Gone? "Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards,Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of cattleCame on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted.Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampmentsFar in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska,When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind,Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river.Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horsesBroke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows.Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maidenGazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them;And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion,Lo! Good gracious men and women have forever struggled to understand each other, even back with the pilgrims.

It is certainly not rhyming verse but obviously designed to be read as verse. as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing,So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving! '"Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand,Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle,Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning:"I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle;By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children! April 10th 2007 "Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river,Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler.Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus,Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.

the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold. Pastoral poems from famous poets and best pastoral poems to feel good.

On the riverFell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight,Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the gardenPoured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessionsUnto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews,Hung the heart of the maiden. A crucifix fastenedHigh on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines,Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it.This was their rural chapel.