Riddle 112

When from my ivied casement I look down
Upon the garden bathed in sunset glow
I see my first ranged in imposing rows
Yet distant as the poles,
I hear the noise
Of merry children romping in their glee;
I hear their laughter and I hear my last.

A hero of my youthful days there was,
Who, with inquiring mind and hatchet sharp,
Upon my whole reached everlasting fame.