PRESIDENT GARFIELD by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Written as a tribute to President James A.
The poem
"E venni dal martirio a questa pace." These words the poet heard in Paradise, Uttered by one who, bravely dying here, In the true faith was living in that sphere Where the celestial cross of sacrifice Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies; And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear, Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain, Were not the suffering followed by the sense Of infinite rest and infinite release! This is our consolation; and again A great soul cries to us in our suspense, "I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"
Written as a tribute to President James A. Garfield, who was shot by an assassin in 1881 and died after months of pain, this sonnet references a line from Dante's *Paradiso* to portray Garfield's death as a form of martyrdom that brings heavenly peace. Longfellow uses the imagery of souls shining like jewels on a celestial cross to suggest that those who die bravely for a just cause are honored. Ultimately, the poem conveys a message of comfort: enduring great suffering with courage leads to rest and liberation.
Line-by-line
"E venni dal martirio a questa pace." / These words the poet heard in Paradise,
Uttered by one who, bravely dying here, / In the true faith was living in that sphere
Where the celestial cross of sacrifice / Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies;
And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, / The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear,
Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. / Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain,
Were not the suffering followed by the sense / Of infinite rest and infinite release!
This is our consolation; and again / A great soul cries to us in our suspense,
"I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"
Tone & mood
The tone is solemn and comforting, with an undercurrent of genuine grief beneath the formal exterior. Longfellow isn't merely expressing sorrow — at 74, he had experienced his own share of tragedy, and the poem reflects a man who has deeply contemplated suffering and discovered, if not a solution, at least a structure that provides support. There is a sense of reverence throughout, both for Garfield and for Dante, and the closing repetition of the Italian line in English resonates with a quiet, dignified finality instead of a dramatic flourish.
Symbols & metaphors
- The celestial cross — The cross in the Heaven of Mars, directly inspired by Dante's *Paradiso*, is the resting place for the souls of martyrs and warriors. In this poem, it symbolizes the notion that sacrifice possesses a cosmic significance — that giving your life for a cause greater than yourself elevates you into a lasting, radiant order.
- Jewels / crystal clear souls — The souls on the cross sparkle like clear jewels, representing purity, permanence, and value. Jewels form under pressure, subtly supporting the poem's message that suffering creates something precious and enduring.
- Darkness / discipline of pain — Pain is depicted as darkness — something that hides and weighs down. However, referring to it as a "discipline" shifts its perception to something intentional rather than arbitrary, a tough lesson instead of just cruelty. This struggle between darkness and the bright jewels above forms the poem's core emotional conflict.
- The repeated Italian line — The Dante quotation, which appears first as an epigraph and then as Garfield's own words, acts as a frame or seal. It links a 13th-century Florentine poet, a 19th-century American president, and the shared experience of witnessing someone die slowly. This connection implies that such grief and consolation are not new but are part of a long-standing human tradition.
- Infinite rest and infinite release — The repetition of "infinite" is intentional. It challenges the limited nature of earthly suffering and asserts that what comes after death is fundamentally different — not merely a longer pause, but a rest of an entirely different kind. This is Longfellow's clearest theological assertion in the poem.
Historical context
President James A. Garfield was shot on July 2, 1881, only four months into his presidency, by a frustrated office-seeker named Charles J. Guiteau. He didn’t die right away — instead, he lingered for 79 days as the nation looked on, his health deteriorating partly due to poor medical care. He passed away on September 19, 1881. The assassination stunned Americans who had believed the era of political violence was behind them after Lincoln's assassination. Longfellow, then in his mid-seventies and one of the most renowned poets in the English-speaking world, composed this sonnet as an elegy. He drew inspiration from Dante's *Paradiso* — particularly the Heaven of Mars in Canto XV, where the soul of Cacciaguida speaks — to frame Garfield's death in terms of martyrdom and transcendence. It was one of Longfellow's last poems before he died in March 1882.
FAQ
It translates to "And I came from martyrdom to this peace" and is taken from Dante's *Paradiso*, Canto XV, line 148. In the poem, these words are spoken by Cacciaguida, Dante's great-great-grandfather, who perished during a Crusade. Longfellow employs this line to echo Garfield's death in similar terms: a courageous man who endured suffering and died for a cause greater than himself, now at peace.
Garfield was shot while fulfilling his public duty and then suffered through nearly three months of painful, slow decline in front of the public. To Longfellow and many Americans, this mix of violent attack and enduring suffering appeared as martyrdom — a death that signified something greater than just the individual. Presenting it in this light also provided solace: in the Christian tradition, martyrdom is seen not as a waste but as a journey to glory.
It’s an image drawn straight from Dante’s *Paradiso*. In the Heaven of Mars, Dante notices a brilliant cross, upon which rest the souls of those who battled and perished for their faith — both warriors and martyrs. Longfellow takes this image to position Garfield among that group of noble, brave souls.
Yes, it is a Petrarchan (Italian) sonnet: 14 lines split into an octave (8 lines) and a sestet (6 lines). The octave portrays the Dantean vision of martyred souls on the celestial cross, while the sestet shifts focus to the living, providing them with comfort. The rhyme scheme adheres to the classic Petrarchan pattern of ABBAABBA in the octave, with a variation in the sestet.
Longfellow views suffering as a tough but meaningful form of education. Here, "discipline" refers to the training or instruction that molds us, even when it causes pain. The line poses the question: how would we endure pain if it didn’t lead us to something greater? The poem suggests that it ultimately guides us to "infinite rest and infinite release."
The repetition carries both structural and emotional weight. Initially, the line is attributed to Dante's martyr in *Paradiso*. By the end, Longfellow passes it to Garfield—now the president articulates those same words from the same location. This circular structure implies that Garfield has finished a journey and become part of a long-standing tradition of souls who endured suffering and discovered peace. It also imparts a liturgical, nearly prayerful essence to the poem.
Yes. Longfellow passed away on March 24, 1882, just months after penning this poem. He was 75 years old. Garfield died in September 1881, and Longfellow joined him in death within the same year. This biographical detail adds depth to the poem — an elderly man, nearing the end of his life, reflecting on the comforts of facing death with courage.
It is historically specific. For 79 days after the shooting, the American public was in real suspense—daily updates were shared about Garfield's condition, and people nationwide followed his gradual decline. "Suspense" perfectly captures that agonizing time of uncertainty, filled with both hope and fear. Longfellow directly addresses that shared experience of anxious waiting.