Longfellow

Gathered, his harvest and the "aftermath," The reaper laid his ringins scythe aside; His feet forsook their lonir-accustoined path, And, for hls one sad taslc, he dled! Over a hundred happy flelds of song Hls keen blade in the golden sunligUt swept; . ,, Whose mellow fruits thelr sweetness shall prolong Wheve tender eyes hls death have wept. Aud they will weep, afar- from sea to sea, O'er crowded contlnents and lonely isles, In whose pure homes his purer mlnstrelsy The fancy and the heart beguües Ob cruel Dealh, tomock our fond deslre, And snap the strings of our supremest lute, To quencn upon our hearths song's mystio 3 re, And leave the halls of Cralgie mute. The bard of Cambridge by a happy lot, Dwelt In the soldier-home of Washington ; Their lustrous names thus aplly linked, shall not Be severed while the tides flow on! If "flrst In war and first io poaoe," we shrlne Witbin our hearts, the chieftaln's deathless name,- We'llorown the author of "Evangeline" With sttll undying, though anotlier fame!