Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!Bird thou never wert,That from Heaven, or near it,Pourest thy full heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher still and higherFrom the earth thou springestLike a cloud of fire;The blue deep thou wingestAnd singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden lightningOf the sunken sun,O'er which clouds are bright'ning,Thou dost float and run;Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple evenMelts around thy flight;Like a star of heaven,In the broad daylightThou art unseen,--but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
Keen as are the arrowsOf that silver sphere,Whose intense lamp narrowsIn the white dawn clearUntil we hardly see--we feel that it is there.
All the earth and airWith thy voice is loud,As, when Night is bare,From one lonely cloudThe moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;What is most like thee?From rainbow clouds there flow notDrops so bright to seeAs from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a Poet hiddenIn the light of thought,Singing hymns unbiddenTill the world is wroughtTo sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-born maidenIn a palace tower,Soothing her love-ladenSoul in secret hourWith music sweet as love,--which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm goldenIn a dell of dew,Scattering unbeholdenIts aërial hueAmong the flowers and grass which screen it from the view:
Like a rose emboweredIn its own green leaves,By warm winds deflowered,Till the scent it giveMakes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:
Sound of vernal showersOn the twinkling grass,Bain-awakened flowers,All that ever wasJoyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass,
Teach us, Sprite or Bird,What sweet thoughts are thine;I have never heardPraise of love or wineThat panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Chorus Hymeneal,Or triumphal chaunt,Matched with thine, would be allBut an empty vaunt,A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountainsOf thy happy strain?What fields or waves or mountains?What shapes of sky or plain?What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?
With thy clear keen joyanceLanguor cannot be;Shadow of annoyanceNever came near thee;Thou lovest--but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleepThou of death must deemThings more true and deepThan we mortals dream--Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
We look before and after,And pine for what is not;Our sincerest laughterWith some pain is fraught;Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet if we could scornHate and pride and fear;If we were things bornNot to shed a tear,I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Better than all measuresOf delightful sound,Better than all treasuresThat in books are found,Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladnessThat thy brain must know,Such harmonious madnessFrom my lips would flow,The world should listen then--as I am listening now.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Biographical and Historical:Percy Bysshe Shelley was born in 1792. He was an English poet who traveled much in Europe, and found Italy especially to his liking. His life was short and full of storm and stress, although he never allowed his personal sufferings to embitter his spirit. While only thirty, on a pleasure cruise off the coast of Italy, he was drowned.
"To a Skylark" and "The Cloud" are rare poems because of their wonderful harmony of sound.
The skylark is found in northern Europe. It is noted for its lofty flights and wonderful song. Note that Shelley, Wordsworth, and James Hogg have all written poems about the skylark.
Notes and Questions.
What country is the home of these poets? What does this fact suggest to you?
Explain the simile in the fifth stanza. In the sixth.
In the seventh stanza what two words are contrasted?
Note the four comparisons--stanzas eight, nine, ten and eleven. Which do you like best? Why?
In line 86 emphasize the first word and explain the stanza.
In line 95 emphasize the fifth word and explain the stanza.
In line 96 to end, what does Shelley say would be the result if a poet could feel such joy as the little bird seems to feel?
If we had no dark days do you think we could appreciate the bright days?
If we had no sadness could we appreciate the songs of gladness?
If Shelley had never experienced sadness could he have written this beautiful poem of gladness?
Explain the following:
"There is no music in the lifeThat sounds with empty laughter wholly;There's not a string attuned to mirthBut has its chord in melancholy."
What does the skylark mean to Shelley?
If we think only of being happy shall we be very helpful to others?
Make a list of all the names he gives the skylark.
Enumerate the expressions Shelley uses in characterizing the song.
Which stanza do you like best? Why?
"wert" rhymes with heart. (In England the sound is broad, er=är).
"even"--a contraction of evening.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"profuse strains""panted forth""heavy-winged thieves""unpremeditated art""rain of melody""harmonious madness""shrill delight""flood of rapture""float and run""rains out""triumphant chaunt""scattering unbeholden"
THE CLOUD
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,From the seas and the streams;I bear light shade for the leaves when laidIn their noon-day dreams;From my wings are shaken the dews that wakenThe sweet buds every one,When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,As she dances about the sun.I wield the flail of the lashing hail,And whiten the green plains under;And then again I dissolve it in rain,And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,And their great pines groan aghast;And all the night 'tis my pillow white,While I sleep in the arms of the blast,Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,Lightning, my pilot, sits;In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,--It struggles and howls by fits;Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,This pilot is guiding me,Lured by the love of the genii that moveIn the depths of the purple sea;Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,Over the lakes and the plains,Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,The spirit he loves remains;And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile,Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,And his burning plumes outspread,Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,When the morning-star shines dead,As on the jag of a mountain-crag,Which an earthquake rocks and swings,An eagle, alit, one moment may sit,In the light of its golden wings.And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,Its ardors of rest and love,And the crimson pall of eve may fallFrom the depth of heaven above,With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,As still as a brooding dove.
That orbèd Maiden, with white fire laden,Whom mortals call the Moon,Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,By the midnight breezes strewn;And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,Which only the angels hear,May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,The stars peep behind her, and peer!And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,Like a swarm of golden bees,When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,And the moon's with a girdle of pearl;The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,Over a torrent of sea,Sun-beam proof, I hang like a roof,The mountains its columns be.The triumphal arch through which I marchWith hurricane, fire, and snow,When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,Is the million-colored bow;The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,And the nursling of the sky;I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;I change, but I can not die.For after the rain, when, with never a stain,The pavilion of heaven is bare,And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams,Build up the blue dome of air,I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,And out of the caverns of rain,Like a sprite from the gloom, like a ghost from the tomb,I rise and unbuild it again.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Notes and Questions.
In this poem Shelley personifies the Cloud. Why?
What does the second stanza mean to you?
The third stanza relates to the sun; what comparisons are made?
What comparisons are found in the fourth stanza?
Read the last stanza and tell what lesson the poem teaches. What line tells you?
What pictures do you get from the fifth stanza?
Which stanza is most musical and pleasing?
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"sanguine sunrise""pavilion of heaven""reel and swim""meteor eyes""caverns of rain""million-colored bow""burning plumes""fleece-like floor""sphere-fire""orbed maiden""wind-built tent""cenotaph"
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN(From "Childe Harold," Canto IV.)
LORD BYRON
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on the lonely shore,There is society, where none intrudes,By the deep sea, and music in its roar;I love not man the less, but nature more,From these our interviews, in which I stealFrom all I may be, or have been before,To mingle with the universe, and feelWhat I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;Man marks the earth with ruin--his controlStops with the shore; upon the watery plainThe wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remainA shadow of man's ravage, save his own,When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan--Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths--thy fieldsAre not a spoil for him--thou dost ariseAnd shake him from thee; the vile strength he wieldsFor earth's destruction thou dost all despise,Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray,And howling to his gods, where haply liesHis petty hope in some near port or bay,And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.
The armaments which thunder-strike the wallsOf rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,And monarchs tremble in their capitals,The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs makeTheir clay creator the vain title takeOf lord of thee, and arbiter of war:These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,They melt into thy yeast of waves, which marAlike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires changed in all save thee--Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?Thy waters washed them power while they were free,And many a tyrant since; their shores obeyThe stranger, slave, or savage; their decayHas dried up realms to deserts; not so thou;Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play.Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow:Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's formGlasses itself in tempests; in all time,Calm or convulsed--in breeze or gale or storm,Icing the pole, or in the torrid climeDark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime--The image of Eternity--the throneOf the Invisible; even from out thy slimeThe monsters of the deep are made; each zoneObeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joyOf youthful sports was on thy breast to beBorne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boyI wantoned with thy breakers--they to meWere a delight; and if the freshening seaMade them a terror--'twas a pleasing fear;For I was as it were a child of thee,And trusted to thy billows far and near,And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Biographical and Historical:George Gordon Byron was born in London the year before the outbreak of the French Revolution. At the age of ten, upon the death of his grand-uncle he became Lord Byron. He traveled extensively through Europe, spending much time in Italy. At Pisa he formed a warm friendship for the poet Shelley. So deeply was he moved by his impulses toward liberty and freedom that in the summer of 1823 he left Genoa with a supply of arms, medicines, and money to aid the Greeks in their struggle for independence. In the following year he became commander-in-chief at Missolonghi, but he died of a fever before he had an opportunity to actually engage in battle. Hearing the news, the boy Tennyson, dreaming at Somersby on poetic greatness, crept away to weep and carve upon sandstone the words, "Byron is dead."
Notes and Questions.
In the first stanza why "pathless woods" and "lonely shore"?
In the second and third stanzas Byron contrasts the ocean and the earth in their relation to man.
Line 12--What two words require emphasis?
Line 13--With what is "watery plain" contrasted?
Line 14--With what is "thy" contrasted?
Line 22--What word requires emphasis?
In the fourth stanza what contrast does Byron make?
What does the fifth stanza tell? The sixth?
Which stanza do you like best? Why?
Which lines are the most beautiful?
"The Invincible Armada"--an immense Spanish fleet consisting of one hundred thirty vessels, sailed from Corunna in 1588 and attacked the English fleet but suffered defeat. This event furnished Southey the inspiration for a poem, "The Spanish Armada."
"Trafalgar"--one of Lord Nelson's great sea-fights, occurring off Cape Trafalgar on the coast of Spain in 1805. Here he defeated the combined fleets of France and Spain, but was himself killed.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"unknelled""uncoffined""unknown""playful spray""oak leviathans""yeast of waves""These are thy toys""The Armada's pride""spoils of Trafalgar""rock-built""glasses itself""fathomless"
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB
LORD BYRON
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen;Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath flown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.And there lay the rider distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And their idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
HELPS TO STUDY.
Historical:Sennacherib was King of Assyria. His army invaded Judea and besieged Jerusalem but was overthrown; 185,000 of his men were destroyed in a single night. Sennacherib returned in haste with the remnant to his own country. For the Bible story of this event read 2 Kings XIX. 6-36.
Notes and Questions.
Find Assyria and Galilee on your map.
Note the development:1. Brilliant outset of the Assyrian cavalry.2. Their summer changes to winter.3. The angel turns their sleep into death.4. The steed and the rider.5. The mourning.6. Their idols powerless to help them.7. Their religion broken down.8. Their power "melted like snow."
What two comparisons are found in the first stanza?
Note the movement and rhythm.
Point out the fitness of the two similes in the second stanza.
Find a comparison in the sixth stanza.
"Ashur"--Assyria.
"Baal"--the sun-god worshipped by the Assyrians.
Indicate the rhythm of the four lines of the second stanza by writing them in groups under curves as on page 47:
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"cohorts""sheen""host""unsmote""idols are broke" (broken)"purple and gold""withered and strown""rock-beating surf"
THE EVE BEFORE WATERLOO(From "Childe Harold," Canto III.)
LORD BYRON
There was a sound of revelry by night,And Belgium's capital had gathered thenHer beauty and her chivalry, and brightThe lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.A thousand hearts beat happily; and whenMusic arose with its voluptuous swell,Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,And all went merry as a marriage bell.But, hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
Did ye not hear, it?--No; 'twas but the wind,Or the car rattling o'er the stony street.On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meetTo chase the glowing hours with flying feet!But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,As if the clouds its echo would repeat;And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!Arm! arm! it is--it is the cannon's opening roar!
Within a windowed niche of that high hallSate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hearThat sound the first amidst the festival,And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;And when they smiled because he deemed it near,His heart more truly knew that peal too wellWhich stretched his father on a bloody bier,And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,And cheeks all pale, which but an hour agoBlushed at the praise of their own loveliness;And there were sudden partings, such as pressThe life from out young hearts, and choking sighsWhich ne'er might be repeated: who could guessIf ever more should meet those mutual eyes,Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!
And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;And near, the beat of the alarming drumRoused up the soldier ere the morning star;While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!"
And wild and high the "Cameron's Gathering" rose!The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hillsHave heard--and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fillsTheir mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineersWith the fierce native daring which instillsThe stirring memory of a thousand years,And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass,Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,Over the unreturning brave--alas!Ere evening to be trodden like the grassWhich now beneath them, but above shall growIn its next verdure, when this fiery massOf living valor, rolling on the foe,And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay;The midnight brought the signal sound of strife--The morn, the marshaling in arms--the day,Battle's magnificently stern array!The thunderclouds close o'er it, which when rentThe earth is covered thick with other clay,Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent!
HELPS TO STUDY.
Historical:On the evening of June 15, 1815, the Duchess of Richmond gave a ball at Brussels. Wellington's officers, at his request, were present, his purpose being to conceal the near approach of battle. Napoleon, the leader of the French army, was the military genius of the age; Wellington, the leader of the English forces, had, Tennyson tells us, "gained a hundred fights nor ever lost an English gun." These two great generals now met for the first time. The event was of supreme interest to all the world. The engagement that followed next day was fought at Quatre Bras; the great battle of Waterloo took place June 18th, Sunday. Read Thackeray's "Vanity Fair" for description of this night in Brussels. This is a great martial poem--the greatest inspired by this event.
Note the movement of the poem. The revelry, the beauty and the chivalry, the music and the merry-making, the alarm, the hurrying to and fro, the gathering tears, the mounting in hot haste, the whispering with white lips, the Scotch music, the green leaves of Ardennes, the closing scene.
Notes and Questions.
Find Belgium's capital on your map; also Waterloo, twelve miles away.
What does the first stanza tell? The second stanza?
Note the differences between the fourth and fifth stanzas.
The sixth stanza describes the Scottish martial music--What purpose does this stanza serve in the poem?
Which lines do you like best? Why?
Which is the most beautiful stanza?
What words seem to be especially appropriate?
Note the rhythm and the change in movement. "Cameron's Gathering"--The Cameron Highlander's call to arms. "Lochiel"--Donald Cameron of Lochiel was a famous highland chieftain. Read the poem "Lochiel's Warning."
"Albyn"--name given poetically to northern Scotland, the Highland region.
"Pibroch"--martial music upon the bagpipe.
"Evan's, Donald's fame"--Evan Cameron (another Lochiel) and his grandson, Donald, were famous Highland chiefs.
"Ardennes"--Arden, a forest on the Meuse river between Brussels and Waterloo, called Arden by Shakespeare in "As You Like It."
"car"--a cart.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"voluptuous swell""rising knell""glowing hours""opening roar""terror dumb""noon of night""stirring memory""revelry""chivalry""mustering squadron""clattering car""pouring forward""impetuous speed""unreturning brave""rolling on the foe""magnificently stern""clansman""inanimate""verdure""blent"
SONG OF THE GREEK BARD(From "Don Juan," Canto-III.)
LORD BYRON
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!Where burning Sappho loved and sung,Where grew the arts of war and peace,Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!Eternal summer gilds them yet,But all, except their sun, is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse,The hero's harp, the lover's lute,Have found the fame your shores refuse;Their place of birth alone is muteTo sounds which echo further westThan your sires' "Islands of the Blest."
The mountains look on Marathon--And Marathon looks on the sea;And musing there an hour alone,I dreamed that Greece might still be free:For, standing on the Persian's grave,I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sat on the rocky browWhich looks o'er sea-born Salamis;And ships by thousands lay below,And men in nations;--all were his!He counted them at break of day--And when the sun set, where were they?
And where are they? and where art thouMy country? On thy voiceless shoreThe heroic lay is tuneless now--The heroic bosom beats no more.And must thy lyre, so long divine,Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something in the dearth of fame,Though linked among a fettered race,To feel at least a patriot's shame,Even as I sing, suffuse my face;For what is left the poet here?For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?Must we but blush?--Our fathers bled.Earth, render back from out thy breastA remnant of our Spartan dead!Of the three hundred grant but three,To make a new Thermopylæ!
What, silent still? and silent all?Ah, no; the voices of the deadSound like a distant torrent's fall,And answer, "Let one living head,But one, arise--we come, we come!"'Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain--in vain: strike other chords;Fill high the cup with Samian wine!Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,And shed the blood of Scio's vine!Hark! rising to the ignoble call--How answers each bold bacchanal!
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet--Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?Of two such lessons, why forgetThe nobler and the manlier one?You have the letters Cadmus gave--Think you he meant them for a slave?
The tyrant of the ChersoneseWas freedom's best and bravest friend;That tyrant was Miltiades!O that the present hour would lendAnother despot of the kind!Such chains as his were sure to bind.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks--They have a king who buys and sells--In native swords and native ranksThe only hope of courage dwells;But Turkish force and Latin fraudWould break your shield, however broad.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,Where nothing, save the waves and IMay hear our mutual murmurs sweep;There, swan-like, let me sing and die;A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
HELPS TO STUDY.
Historical:The decline of Greece is the theme of this poem. Byron represents a Greek poet as contrasting ancient and modern Greece, showing that, in modern Greece, "all except their sun is set."
Notes and Questions.
What does the first stanza tell?
What are "the arts of war and peace"?
What nation is meant by the Franks?
"I could not deem myself a slave." Why?
Line 19--relates to Xerxes.
Lines 23, 24. Explain these lines,
Explain lines 67, 70.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"Sappho""Delos""Phoebus""Marathon""Persian's grave""Salamis""eternal summer""rocky brow""voiceless shore""heroic lay""fettered race""dearth of fame""Of the three hundred grant but three,To make a new Thermopylæ"
MARCO BOZZARIS
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK
At midnight, in his guarded tent,The Turk was dreaming of the hourWhen Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,Should tremble at his power.In dreams, through camp and court he boreThe trophies of a conqueror;In dreams, his song of triumph heard;Then wore his monarch's signet-ring;Then pressed that monarch's throne--a king:As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,As Eden's garden-bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,True as the steel of their tried blades,Heroes in heart and hand.There had the Persian's thousands stood,There had the glad earth drunk their blood,On old Platæa's day:And now there breathed that haunted air,The sons of sires who conquered there,With arms to strike, and soul to dare,As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on--the Turk awoke;That bright dream was his last:He woke--to hear his sentries shriek,"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"He woke--to die mid flames and smoke,And shout and groan, and sabre-stroke,And death-shots falling thick and fastAs lightnings from the mountain-cloud;And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,Bozzaris cheer his band:"Strike!--till the last armed foe expires;Strike!--for your altars and your fires;Strike!--for the green graves of your sires;God--and your native land!"
They fought--like brave men, long and well;They piled the ground with Moslem slain;They conquered--but Bozzaris fell,Bleeding at every vein.His few surviving comrades sawHis smile, when rang their proud--"Hurrah,"And the red field was won:Then saw in death his eyelids close,Calmly as to a night's response,Like flowers at set of sun.
But to the hero, when his swordHas won the battle for the free,Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,And in its hollow tones are heardThe thanks of millions yet to be.Bozzaris! with, the storied braveGreece nurtured in her glory's time,Rest thee--there is no prouder grave,Even in her own proud clime.We tell thy doom without a sigh;For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's--One of the few, the immortal namesThat were not born to die.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Biographical and Historical:Fitz-Greene Halleck was born in Connecticut, July 8, 1790, and died November 19, 1867. Of his poems, "Marco Bozzaris" is probably the best known. Marco Bozzaris, leader of the Greek revolution, was, killed August 20, 1823, in an attack upon the Turks near Missolonghi, a Greek town. His last words were: "To die for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain."
Notes and Questions.
Over whom did the Turk dream he gained a victory?
What might be the "trophies of a conqueror"?
Upon whom would a monarch confer the privilege of wearing his signet ring?
Trace the successive steps by which the Turk in his dream rises to the summit of his ambition.
What other "immortal names" do you know?
"Suliote"--natives of Suli, a mountainous district in Albania (European Turkey).
"Platæa's day" refers to the victory of the Greeks over the Persians on this field 479 B. C.
"Moslem"--Mohammedans--name given the Turks.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"tried blades""haunted air""storied brave"
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
CHARLES WOLFE
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,At his corse to the rampart we hurried;Not a soldier discharged his farewell shotO'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,The sods with our bayonets turning,By the struggling moonbeams' misty light,And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin inclosed his breast,Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,And we spike not a word of sorrow;But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,And smoothed down his lonely pillow,That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,And we far away on the billow.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep onIn the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was doneWhen the clock struck the hour for retiring;And we heard the distant and random gunThat the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,From the field of his fame fresh and gory;We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,But we left him alone with his glory.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Charles Wolfe, a British clergyman, was born at Dublin, December 14, 1791, and died at Cork, February 21, 1823. His poem, "The Burial of Sir John Moore," is the only one of his works now widely read.
Historical:Sir John Moore, an English general, was killed (January 16, 1809) in an engagement between the English and the army of Napoleon at Corunna, in Spain. In accordance with an expressed wish, he was buried at night on the battlefield. In St. Paul's Cathedral, London, a monument was erected to his memory, and a stone also marks the spot where he was buried on the ramparts, at Corunna. Note that it was from this port that the Spanish Armada sailed.
Notes and Questions.
Who tells the story of the poem?
What is the narrator's feeling for Sir John Moore? How do you know?
What impressions of Sir John Moore do you get from reading this poem?
Which stanza or stanzas do you like best? Why?
Select the lines that seem to you most beautiful and memorize them.
Which is the greater memorial, a monument of stone or bronze, or such a poem as this? Why?
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"corse""upbraid""rampart""random""bayonets""sullenly""shroud""rock""spirit""struggling""Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot""The struggling moonbeam""We bitterly thought of the morrow"
ABSALOM
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung lowOn Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curledTheir glassy rings beneath it, like the still,Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves,With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,And leaned in graceful attitudes to rest.How strikingly the course of nature tells,By its light heed of human suffering,That it was fashioned for a happier world!
King David's limbs were weary. He had fledFrom far Jerusalem; and now he stood,With his faint people, for a little rest,Upon the shore of Jordan. The light windOf morn was stirring, and he bared his browTo its refreshing breath; for he had wornThe mourner's covering, and he had not feltThat he could see his people until now.They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,And spoke their kindly words; and as the sunRose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.Oh, when the heart is full--when bitter thoughtsCome crowding thickly up for utterance,And the poor, common words of courtesyAre such an empty mockery--how muchThe bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!He prayed for Israel; and his voice went upStrongly and fervently. He prayed for thoseWhose love had been his shield; and his deep tones.Grew tremulous. But oh! for Absalom--For his estranged, misguided Absalom--The proud, bright being who had burst awayIn all his princely beauty, to defyThe heart that cherished him--for him he poured,In agony that would not be controlled,Strong supplication, and forgave him there,Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.The pall was settled. He who slept beneathWas straightened for the grave; and as the foldsSunk to the still proportions, they betrayedThe matchless symmetry of Absalom.His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curlsWere floating round the tassels as they swayedTo the admitted air, as glossy nowAs when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathingThe snowy fingers of Judea's daughters.His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiledWith trailing through Jerusalem, was laid,Reversed, beside him; and the jeweled hilt,Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,As if he feared the slumberer might stir.A slow step startled him. He grasped his bladeAs if a trumpet rang; but the bent formOf David entered, and he gave command,In a low tone, to his few followers,And left him with his dead. The King stood stillTill the last echo died; then, throwing offThe sackcloth from his brow, and laying backThe pall from the still features of his child,He bowed his head upon him, and broke forthIn the resistless eloquence of woe:
"Alas, my noble boy, that thou shouldst die!Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!That death should settle in thy glorious eye,And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,My proud boy, Absalom?
"Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chillAs to my bosom I have tried to press thee!How I was wont to feel my pulses thrill,Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,And hear thy sweet 'My father!' from these dumbAnd cold lips, Absalom!
"But death is on thee. I shall hear the gushOf music, and the voices of the young;And life will pass me in the mantling blush,And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung--But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt comeTo meet me, Absalom!
"And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,How will its love for thee, as I depart,Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,To see thee, Absalom!
"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,With death so like a gentle slumber on thee;And thy dark sin! Oh, I could drink the cup,If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,My lost boy, Absalom!"
He covered up his face, and bowed himselfA moment on his child; then, giving himA look of melting tenderness, he claspedHis hands convulsively, as if in prayer;And, as if strength were given him of God,He rose up calmly, and composed the pallFirmly and decently, and left him there,As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
HELPS TO STUDY.
Nathaniel Parker Willis was born in Maine in 1806. He was a graduate of Yale and was an early contributor to various periodicals, including the "Youths' Companion," which magazine had been founded by his father. The selection here given is regarded as the poet's masterpiece.
Historical:Absalom, the son of David, King of Israel, rebelled against his father. David sent his army to put down the rebellion, but said to his captains, "Deal gently for my sake with the young man, even with Absalom." In spite of this entreaty, Absalom was slain by Joab, a captain in David's army. The first forty-one lines relate to events preceding the battle, the remainder to events following the battle. Read 2 Samuel XVIII.
Notes and Questions.
Find the Jordan on your map.
Locate the Dead Sea; the wood of Ephraim where Absalom was killed.
Describe the picture you see when you read the first stanza.
What do we call such expressions as "Night's silvery veil"?
What is night's silvery veil?
"The willow leaves with a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds"--What does this mean? Why "lulling tide"?
What flowers does the poet mean in the eighth line? Is the poet true to nature in what he says of them? Show why.
Select two words or expressions that seem to you to be especially beautiful or fit, and tell why. Do you like the selection? Why?
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"waters slept""melting tenderness""fashioned for a happier world""lifting winds""mantling blush""straightened for the grave""estranged""breathing sleep""resistless eloquence""bruised reed""still proportions""Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade"
LOCHINVAR(From "Marmion.")
SIR WALTER SCOTT