hooling. During the last two years he studied
Latin and French, and during the last year Spanish. His Latin and
French he continued by private study for three years longer.

He now went back to work on the farm for a season, and, as he says,
"first felt the delight and refreshment of labor in the open air. I
was then able to take the plow handle, and I still remember the pride
I felt when my furrows were pronounced even and well turned. Although
it was already decided that I should not make farming the business of
my life, I thrust into my plans a slender wedge of hope that I might
one day own a bit of ground, for the luxury of having, if not the
profit of cultivating, it. The aroma of the sweet soil had tinctured
my blood; the black mud of the swamp still stuck to my feet."

After a few weeks of farm life he was apprenticed to a printer in West
Chester for a term of four years.

CHAPTER III

HIS FIRST POEM

It is the will and the spirit that makes every life seem happy or the
reverse. If Bayard Taylor had remained a farmer in Kennett Square all
his life, he would not have looked back on his early experiences with
so much pleasure as he did. Indeed, we may safely say that he would
not have liked his life so well at the time had it not been for his
buoyant and hopeful nature, which made him feel that he was destined
for higher and better things, for a world beyond the horizon.

Already he was a poet, with all a poet's aspirations and eagerness. A
year before he left the academy his first printed poem appeared in the
_Saturday Evening Post_ of Philadelphia. It is not wonderful as
poetry. Yet we read it with interest, because it shows so plainly the
earnest and ambitious, yet cheerful, nature of the boy. He did not
merely sit and hope; he was determined to _win his way_. It is
entitled, "Soliloquy of a Young Poet."

A dream!--a fleeting dream!
Childhood has passed, with all its joy and song,
And my life's frail bark on youth's impetuous stream
Is swiftly borne along.

High hopes spring up within;
Hopes of the future--thoughts of glory--fame,
Which prompt my mind to toil, and bid me win
That dream--a deathless name.

* * * * *

I know it all is vain,
That earthly honors ever must decay,
That all the laurels bought by toil and pain
Must pass with earth away.

But still my spirit high,
Longing for fame won by the immortal mind--