There is a suggestion of Poe, whom Willson greatly admired, in the repetition, with slight variation, of the third line of the stanza; but such points Willson always considered carefully. He was certainly not servilely imitative, and he is an ungenerous critic who would pick flaws in a poem that is so fine as a whole. “The Old Sergeant” is entitled to a place with the best poems of the war--with Mrs. Howe’s “Battle Hymn,” Brownell’s stirring pieces, Will H. Thompson’s “High Tide at Gettysburg,” and Ticknor’s “Little Giffen.” These stand apart from Lowell’s “Commemoration Ode” and similar poems, which are civic rather than military. In “The Rhyme of the Master’s Mate,” Willson turned again to the heroic, and while the poem is less artistic than “The Old Sergeant,” it has a swing and a stroke that fit his theme well. His volume contains a number of mystical pieces, colored by his belief in spiritualism, and a few lyrics, as “The Estray” and “Autumn Song,” which have an elusive charm and increase admiration for his talents. Willson was emphatically a masculine character. In literature and in life he liked what he called “muscle,” and he certainly showed a sinewy grasp in his best poems. It is related that once during the war he organized, and armed at his own expense, a home guard to protect New Albany in a dangerous crisis, and at other times he displayed great personal courage. If it had not been for his ill health he would undoubtedly have enlisted. Willson was not immediately identified at Cambridge as the author of “The Old Sergeant.” As Dr. Holmes said after Willson’s death, “He came among us as softly and silently as a bird drops into his nest,” and it was not like him to call attention to his own performances. After the death of his wife and infant child, October 13, 1864, Willson was often at Gilmore’s house, where he first saw Emerson. Gilmore relates that he returned home one day from Boston to find Lowell lying at full length on a lounge in the library, in animated conversation with Willson. On this occasion an incident occurred illustrative of Willson’s gift of “second sight.” Longfellow was mentioned in the conversation, and Willson remarked that the poet would be there shortly. No one had an intimation of the visit, but Willson described the route that Longfellow was then following toward the house; and when the poet presently arrived, he affirmed the statement of his itinerary as Willson had given it. Willson’s interest in life ended with the death of his wife, whose few poems he published privately. She is remembered at New Albany as a girl of great beauty and refinement.