England
poets, whether by example or avoidance. That he sometimes touched
Lowell, and not for good, is unquestionable, in respect to rhythm; but
it will always remain a question whether his influence did not work in
the other direction with Longfellow in making him limit himself more
strictly to a narrow range of metrical structure. It was an admirable
remark of Tennyson's that "every short poem should have a definite shape
like the curve, sometimes a single, sometimes a double one, assumed by a
severed tress, or the rind of an apple when flung to the floor."{104}
This type of verse was rarely attempted by Longfellow, but he chose it
most appropriately for "Seaweed" and in some degree succeeded. Poe
himself in his waywardness could not adhere to it when he reached it,
and after giving us in the original form of "Lenore," as published in
"The Pioneer," perhaps the finest piece of lyric measure in our
literature, made it over into a form of mere jingling and hackneyed
rhythm, adding even the final commonplaceness of his tiresome
"repetend." Lowell did something of the same in cutting down the
original fine strain of the verses beginning "Pine in the distance," but
Longfellow showed absolutely no trace of Poe, unless as a warning
against multiplying such rhythmic experiments as he once tried
successfully in "Seaweed." On the other hand, with all his love for
Lowell, his native good taste kept him from the confused metaphors and
occasional over-familiarities into which Lowell was sometimes tempted.

Perhaps the most penetrating remark made about Longfellow's art is that
of Horace Scudder: "He was first of all a composer, and he saw his
subjects in their relations, rather than in their essence." As a
translator, he was generally admitted to have no superior in the English
tongue, his skill was unvarying and absolutely reliable. Even here it
might be doubted whether he ever attained the wonderful success
sometimes achieved in single instances, as, for instance, in Mrs. Sarah
Austen's "Many a Year is in its Grave," which, under the guise of a
perfect translation, yet gives a higher and finer touch than that of the
original poem of Rueckert. But taking Longfellow's great gift in this
direction as it was, we can see that it was somewhat akin to this
quality of "composition," rather than of inspiration, which marked his
poems.

He could find it delightful

"To lie
And gaze into a summer sky
And watch