He thought it was Wolf the famous Greek scholar, and thought the epigram highly to Curtis's credit.
I have still in my memory a very bright poem of his.

I do not think I ever saw or read it written or in print.

But I remember hearing it read in one of the college clubs more than fifty years ago.

He has Longfellow's style very happily, including the dropping from a bright and sometimes a sublime line to one which is flat and commonplace, as for instance in the ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington.
Meantime without the surly cannon waited, The sky gleamed overhead.
Nothing in Nature's aspect indicated That a great man was dead.
This is Curtis's poem: Wrapped in musing dim and misty, Sit I by the fitful flame; And my thoughts steal down the vista Of old time, as in a dream.
Here the hero held his quarters, Whom America holds dear; He beloved of all her daughters, Formerly resided here.
Here you often might have seen him, Silvery white his reverend scalp, Frowned above a mighty chapeau Like a storm-cap o'er the Alp.
Up and down these rooms the hero Oftentimes would thoughtful stray, Walking now toward the window, Stalking then again away.
By the fireside, quaintly moulded Oft his humid boots would lie; And his queer surtout was folded On some strange old chair to dry.
In the yard where now before me Underclothes, wind-wafted hang Waved the banners of an army; Warriors strode with martial clang.
These things now are all departed, With us on the earth no more, But the chieftain, noble-hearted, Comes to visit me once more.
In he comes without permission, Sits him down before mine eyes, Then I tremble and demnition Curious thoughts within me rise.
Slow he speaks in accents solemn, Life is all an empty hum, Man, by adulation only Can'st thou ever great become.
I ought perhaps to mention a young man of most brilliant promise, an excellent scholar and a great favorite, who died before the class graduated, on a voyage to the East Indies which he undertook in the hope of restoring his health,-- Augustus Enoch Daniels.

He left behind him one _bon mot_ which is worth recording.