_The old house by the linden Stood silent in the shade, And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played._ _I saw the nursery windows Wide open to the air; But the faces of the children, They were no longer there._ _The large Newfoundland house-dog Was standing by the door; He looked for his little playmates Who would return no more._ _They walked not under the linden, They played not in the hall; But shadow and silence, and sadness Were hanging over all._ _The birds sang in the branches, With sweet familiar tone; But the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone!_ _And the boy that walked beside me, He could not understand Why close in mine, ah! closer, I pressed his little hand!_ When Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote these lines perhaps he was thinking of the home of his boyhood in Portland, which his grandfather, General Peleg Wadsworth, built in 1785. The house was the wonder of the town, for it was the first brick building erected there. The brick had been brought from Virginia. Originally there were but two stories; the third story was added when the future poet was eight years old. Longfellow was born in the house at the corner of Fourth and Hancock streets, but he was only eight months old when he was carried within the inviting front doors of the Wadsworth house, and the mansion was home to him for at least thirty-five years. He was only five years old when he declared that he wanted to be a soldier and fight for his country. The War of 1812 was then in progress. His aunt wrote one day, "Our little Henry is ready to march; he had his gun prepared and his head powdered a week ago." But, agreeing with his parents that school was a better place for him than the army, he began his studies when he was five years old. A year later his teacher gave him a certificate which read: "Master Henry Longfellow is one of the best boys we have in school. He spells and reads very well. He also can add and multiply numbers. His conduct last quarter was very correct and amiable." Life in the Longfellow home was delightful. Samuel Longfellow, the poet's brother, has given a pleasing picture: