44 The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Longfellow’s famous tribute to a manual laborer offers a vision of a “worthy” life. Is it a dignified life as well?
The blacksmith’s arms are like a machine (“iron bands”) and their action is like the ringing of the village bell, by the sexton. What might the poem mean by linking the blacksmith both to something subhuman and to something lofty?
Longfellow admires the blacksmith not only for his physical power, but for what he has attained: He “owes not any man,” and earns his “night’s repose.” The blacksmith knows that this entitles him to “[look] the whole world in the face.” Is the blacksmith entirely self-sufficient?
The blacksmith hears his daughter singing in the choir and is reminded of his late wife. Remembering her, “With his hard, rough hand he wipes a tear out of his eyes.” Are you surprised by his reaction? Is the roughness of his hand a sign of his character?
In the last stanza, Longfellow thanks the blacksmith “For the lesson thou has taught.” He then asserts that our every “burning deed and thought” must be shaped “thus,” on the “sounding anvil” of life. What is the meaning of the lesson? Is it as generalizable as Longfellow would have us believe? – Leon Kass
The Village Blacksmith
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.
Watch silent film legend Buster Keaton in The Blacksmith (1922) 21:50
Buster Keaton was Charlie Chaplin’s counterpart in the USA, a silent film star who acted and directed in many silent film classics from 1920-1929. His trademark was physical comedy with a consistent deadpan expression. Visit Buster Keaton’s official website for more information.
Consider this:
- Longfellow’s famous tribute to a manual laborer offers a vision of a “worthy” life. Is it a dignified life, as well?
The blacksmith’s arms are like a machine (“iron hands”) and their action is like the ringing of the village bell, by the sexton. What might the poet mean by linking the blacksmith both to something subhuman and to something lofty?
Longfellow admires the blacksmith not only for his physical power, but for what he has attained: He “owes not any man” and earns hi “night’s repose.” The blacksmith knows that this entitles him to “[look] the whole world in the face.” Is the blacksmith entirely self-sufficient? - The blacksmith hears his daughter singing in the choir and is reminded of his late wife. Remembering her, “With his hard, rough hand he wipes a tear out of his eyes.” Are you surprised by his reaction? Is the roughness of his hand a sign of his character?
- In the last stanza, Longfellow thanks the blacksmith “For the lesson thou has taught.” He then asserts that our every “burning deed and thought” must be shaped “thus,” on the “sounding anvil” of life. What is the meaning of the lesson? Is it as generalizable as Longfellow would have us believe?
- How does Buster Keaton’s depiction in “The Village Blacksmith” demonstrate the quality of the Everyman?