The Children's Own Longfellow   By: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

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.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church bells ring, Oh say, what may it be?" "'T is a fog bell on a rock bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, Oh say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light, Oh say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.