Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - The Village Blacksmith
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Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
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Added: on October 1st, 2009 at 4:53 PM | Viewed: 80250 times |  Comments (97)
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The Village Blacksmith - Comments and Information
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Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Art)
Poem: 3.
The Village Blacksmith
Volume: Ballads and Other Poems
Poem of the Day:
Jan 12 2005
Comment 97 of 97, added on October 25th, 2009 at 4:46 PM.
I memorized this poem when I was in a rural, one room elementary school in 1036-37. I still recite it occasionally.
Lyell Thompson from United States
Comment 96 of 97, added on October 10th, 2009 at 11:47 PM.
This poem evokes nostalgia for a time when life was simpler, not easier necessarily, but simpler. Hard work and honesty were highly valued, and Longfellow's smith embodies these. This self-employed artisan produced, with his own hands, all the work for which he was paid. No work, no pay - also no sick leave, no entitlements. Longfellow, a superb lyrical poet, knows how to bring this to us; we admire the value system and we long for the "good life" of honest toil and pleasures.
Ray from United States
Comment 95 of 97, added on October 1st, 2009 at 4:53 PM.
This poem strikes a cord in me, not only as a poet but as a blacksmith. I am an apprentice blacksmith, and after my first lesson, my teacher read me this poem. Now, i had heard it before, and read it for my self. Bu there is just something...captivating, when the subject of the poem reads it to you, his face still smeared with coal dust and his fingers and angry red from the slag coming off the metal. Face lit from the glow of the fires of the forge. That changed the way i looked at what i was doing, it wasn't just something i enjoyed doing, or something that made my self and others happy, it was a soul lifting thing, a cleansing of my being that still leaves me feeling calm and collected...even when i mess something up.
Ian from United States
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I memorized this poem when I was in a rural, one room elementary school in 1036-37. I still recite it occasionally.
Lyell Thompson from United States