egend of Brittany, Miscellaneous Poems and Sonnets." A marked
advance in his art was immediately noticed. His lyrical strength, his
passion, his terse vocabulary, his exquisite fancy and tenderness
illumed every page, giving it dignity and color. The legend reminded
the reader of an Old World poem, and "Prometheus" too, might have been
written abroad. "Rhoecus" was cast in the Greek mold, and told the
story, very beautifully and very artistically, of the wood-nymph and
the bee. But there were other poems in the collection, such as "To
Perdita Singing," "The Heritage," and "The Forlorn," which at once
caught the ear of lovers of true melody. A volume of prose essays
succeeded this book. It was entitled "Conversations on some of the Old
Poets," and when Mr. Lowell became Mr. Longfellow's successor in the
chair of modern languages and _belles-lettres_ at Harvard, much of
this material was used in his lectures to the students. But later on,
we will concern ourselves more directly with the author's prose.

In December, 1844, Mr. Lowell espoused Miss Maria White, of Watertown.
She was a lady of gentle character, and a poet of singular grace. The
marriage was a most happy one, and it was to her that many of the love
poems of Lowell were inscribed. Once he wrote:--

"A lily thou wast when I saw thee first,
A lily-bud not opened quite,
That hourly grew more pure and white,
By morning, and noon-tide, and evening nursed:
In all of Nature thou had'st thy share;
Thou wast waited on
By the wind and sun;
The rain and the dew for thee took care;
It seemed thou never could'st be more fair."

She died on the 27th of October, 1853, the day that a child was born
to Mr. Longfellow. The latter's touching and perfect poem, "The Two
Angels," refers to this death and birth:--

"'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine,
The angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine,
Whispered a word that had a sound like death.

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,
A shadow on those features fair and thin;
And softly, from that hushed and darkened room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God! If He but wave His hand,
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,
Till with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud."

A privately