The Longfellow War — 1902 historical reading — reading text

this zeal is any thing but well. Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing? A crucifix whereon to register A pious vow? [He hands her his gun.] Not that! — Oh! no! — no! no! [Shuddering.] Not that! not that! I tell thee, holy man, Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me! Stand back! I have a crucifix myself — I have a crucifix! Methinks ’t were fitting The deed — the vow — the symbol of the deed And the deed's register should tally, father! Behold the cross wherewith a vote like mine Is written in Heaven! [Draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high.] Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter! And speak a purpose unholy — thy lips are livid Thine eyes are wild — tempt not the wrath divine Pause ere too late! — oh! be not — be not rash! Swear not the oath — oh! swear it not! Lalage. ’T is sworn! The coincidences here are too markedly peculiar to be gainsayed. The sitting at the table with books, etc. — the flowers on the one hand, and the garden on the other — the presence of the pert maid — the reading aloud from the book — the pausing and commenting — the plaintiveness of what is read, in accordance with the sorrow of the reader — the abstraction — the frequent calling of the maid by name — the refusal of the maid to answer — the jewels — the “begone” — the unseen entrance of a third person from behind — and the drawing of the dagger — are points sufficiently noticeable to establish at least the imitation beyond all doubt. Let us now compare the concluding lines of Mr. Longfellow's “Autumn” with that of Mr. Bryant's “Thanatopsis.” Mr. B. has it thus: So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of Death, Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. Mr. L. thus: To him the wind, aye and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. Again, in his “Prelude to the Voices of the Night,” Mr. Longfellow says: Look then into thine heart and write! Sir Philip Sidney in the “Astrophel and Stella” has: Foole, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart and write! Again, in Longfellow's “Midnight ‘Mass” we read: And the hooded clouds like friars. The Lady in Milton's “Comus” says: —— When the grey-hooded even Like a sad votarist in palmer's weeds. And again: — these lines by Professor Longfellow will be remembered by everybody: Art is long and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. But if any one will turn to page 66 of John Sharpe's edition of Henry Headley's “Select Beauties of Ancient English Poetry,” published at London in 1810, he will there find an Exequy on the death of his wife by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester, and therein also the following lines, where the author is speaking of following his wife to the grave: But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum, Beats my approach — tells thee I come! And slow howe’er my marches be, I shall at last sit down by thee. Were I disposed indeed, to push this subject any farther, I should have little difficulty in culling, from the works of the author of “Outre Mer,” a score or two of imitations quite as palpable as any upon which I have insisted. The fact of the matter is, that the friends of Mr. Longfellow, so far from undertaking to talk about my “carping littleness” in charging Mr. Longfellow with imitation, should have given me credit, under the circumstances, for great moderation in charging him with imitation alone. Had I accused him, in loud terms, of manifest and continuous plagiarism, I should but have echoed the sentiment of every man of letters in the land beyond the immediate influence of the Longfellow coterie. And since I, “knowing what I know and seeing what I have seen” — submitting in my own person to accusations of plagiarism for the very sins of this gentleman against myself — since I contented myself, nevertheless, with simply setting forth the merits of the poet in the strongest light, whenever an opportunity was afforded me, can it be considered either decorous or equitable on the part of Professor Longfellow to beset me, upon my first adventuring an infinitesimal sentence of dispraise, with ridiculous anonymous letters from his friends, and moreover, with malice prepense, to instigate against me the pretty little witch entitled “Miss Walter;” advising her and instructing her to pierce me to death with the needles of innumerable epigrams, rendered unnecessarily and therefore cruelly painful to my feelings by being first carefully deprived of the point? V. [April 5, 1845.] It should not be supposed that I feel myself individually aggrieved in the letter of Outis. He has praised me even more than he has blamed. In replying to him, my design has been to place fairly and distinctly before the literary public certain principles of criticism for which I have been long contending, and which through sheer misrepresentation, were in danger of being misunderstood. Having brought the subject, in this view, to a close in the last Journal, I now feel at liberty to add a few words of postscript, by way of freeing myself of any suspicion of malevolence or discourtesy. The thesis of my argument, in general, has been the definition of the grounds on which a charge of plagiarism may be based, and of the species of ratiocination by which it is to be established: this is all. It will be seen by any one who shall take the trouble to read what I have written, that I make no charge of moral delinquency against either Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Aldrich, or Mr. Hood: — indeed, lest in the heat of argument, I may have uttered any words which may admit of being tortured into such an interpretation, I here fully disclaim them upon the spot. In fact, the one strong point of defence for his friends has been unaccountably neglected by Outis. To attempt the rebutting of a charge of plagiarism by the broad assertion that no such thing as plagiarism exists, is a sotticism, and no more — but there would have been nothing of unreason in rebutting the charge as urged either against Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Aldrich, or Mr. Hood, by the proposition that no true poet can be guilty of a meanness — that the converse of the proposition is a contradiction in terms. Should there be found any one willing to dispute with me this point, I would decline the disputation on the ground that my arguments are no arguments to him. It appears to me that what seems to be the gross inconsistency of plagiarism as perpetrated by a poet, is very easily thus resolved: — the poetic sentiment (even without reference to the poetic power) implies a peculiarly, perhaps an abnormally keen appreciation of the beautiful, with a longing for its assimilation, or absorption, into the poetic identity. What the poet intensely admires, becomes thus, in very fact, although only partially, a portion of his own intellect. It has a secondary origination within his own soul — an origination altogether apart, although springing from its primary origination from without. The poet is thus possessed by another's thought, and cannot be said to take of it, possession. But, in either view, he thoroughly feels it as his own — and this feeling is counteracted only by the sensible presence of its true, palpable origin in the volume from which he has derived it — an origin which, in the long lapse of years it is almost impossible not to forget — for in the meantime the thought itself is forgotten. But the frailest association will regenerate it — it springs up with all the vigor of a new birth — its absolute originality is not even a matter of suspicion — and when the poet has written it and printed it, and on its account is charged with plagiarism, there will be no one in the world more entirely astounded than himself. Now from what I have said it will be evident that the liability to accidents of this character is in the direct ratio of the poetic sentiment — of the susceptibility to the poetic impression; and in fact all literary history demonstrates that, for the most frequent and palpable plagiarisms, we must search the works of the most eminent poets. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 41:] 1. Vol. X. 2. Vol. XI. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 53:] 1. I would be a Parody, written by a ninny, Not worth a penny, and sold for a guinea, &c. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 66:] 1. Section second is not signed, though all the others have “E. A. P.” — ED. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 71:] 1. Here Poe quotes the paragraphs pp. 51, 52. — ED. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of age 76:] 1. This is as accurate a description as can be given of the alternating (of the second and fourth) lines in few words. The fact is, they are indescribable without more trouble than they are worth — and seem to me either to have been written by some one ignorant of the principles of verse, or to be misquoted. The line, however, That tells me thou hath seen and loved my Clare, answers the description I have given of the alternating verses, and was, no doubt the general intention for all of them. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 79:] 1. The two poems are omitted here. See p. 45. — ED. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 94:] 1. See Graham's Magazine, May, 1845, for Longfellow's letter denying conscious plagiarism, and explaining his position, Vol. XVII. — ED. [The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 96:] 1. Sammlung vorzüglicher Volkslieder der bekanntesten Nationen, gröstentheils zum ersten male metrisch in das Deutsche übertragen. Frankfurt, 1837.