Henry Wadsworth Longfellow · 1840
The Village Blacksmith
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow · 1840
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 bear 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 hard, 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.
Public domain in the UK and the US · serany.app
What Serany thinks about this poem
Background
Longfellow wrote it in 1840 about a blacksmith who worked on his own street in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Generations of schoolchildren afterwards learned it by heart.
Meaning
A man gets up, does his work, raises his children and goes to bed tired, year after year. The poem's whole argument is that this is not a small life but how a life gets made.
Who's it for
A working man who provided, turned up, and never made anything of it. Someone whose children still remember the sound of him getting on with the day.
Photograph by Hanfstaengl. Public domain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
American · 1807 – 1882
Longfellow was the most widely read poet in America in his own lifetime, and Victorian children on both sides of the Atlantic learned him by heart. His second wife Frances died in 1861 when her dress caught fire, and he grew the beard he is always pictured in to cover the burns from trying to save her.
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