This interpretative work by no means ended when Longfellow’s fame as a creative poet was at its height and there was every incentive to build for himself. When compiling (with Felton’s aid) the _Poets and Poetry of Europe_ he translated many pieces for the volume. He gave years to reproducing in English the majesty of Dante’s verse, counting himself fortunate if his transcript, made in all reverence and love, approached its great original. This disinterestedness in the exercise of his art is so greatly to his honor that praise becomes impertinent. Catholic in his attitude toward workers in the field of poesy, Longfellow recognized the truth of the line Many the songs, but song is one. Longfellow’s early verse had all the requisites for popularity; it is clear, melodious, simple in its lessons, tinged with sentiment and melancholy, dashed with romantic color, and abounding in phrases which catch the ear and pulsate in the brain. The poet voices the longings, regrets, fears, aspirations, the restlessness, or the faith, which go to make up the warp and woof of everyday life. An allegory, a moralized legend, a song, a meditation, a ballad,--these are what we find in turning the leaves of _Voices of the Night_ or the _Ballads_. Here is a certain popular quality not to be attained by taking thought. ‘A Psalm of Life,’ ‘Flowers,’ ‘The Beleaguered City,’ ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ ‘The Rainy Day,’ ‘Maidenhood,’ ‘Excelsior,’ ‘The Bridge,’ ‘The Day is Done,’ ‘Resignation,’ ‘The Builders,’ are a few among many illustrations of the type of verse which carried Longfellow’s name into every home where poetry is read. The range of emotions expressed is of the simplest. There is feeling, but no thinking. The robust reader who perchance has battened of late on sturdy diet, like _Fifine at the Fair_, hardly knows what to make of these poems, so little resistance do they offer to the mind. The meaning lies on the surface. But it is no less true that their essence is poetical. The one thing never lacking is the note of distinction. The human quality to be found in such a poem as the ‘Footsteps of Angels’ almost overpowers the poetic element. Nevertheless the poetry is there, and by virtue of this Longfellow’s early work lives.