Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems

I.
Thou that from the heavens art,
Every pain and sorrow stillest,
And the doubly wretched heart
Doubly with refreshment fillest,
...

A Youth, light-hearted and content,
I wander through the world
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent
And straight again is furled.
...

Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,
And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm;
...

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
...

Once into a quiet village,
Without haste and without heed,
In the golden prime of morning,
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Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas;
Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken!
Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers
...

Something the heart must have to cherish,
Must love and joy and sorrow learn,
Something with passion clasp, or perish,
...

The pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
"Servant of God! well done!"
...

How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
Close by the street of this fair seaport town,
Silent beside the never-silent waves,
At rest in all this moving up and down!
...

The White Czar is Peter the Great. Batyushka, Father dear, and
Gosudar, Sovereign, are titles the Russian people are fond of
giving to the Czar in their popular songs.
...