ELSON
GRAMMAR SCHOOL LITERATURE

PART FOUR

BY

WILLIAM H. ELSON

School Superintendent, Cleveland, OH

AND

CHRISTINE KECK

PRINCIPAL OF SIGSBEE SCHOOL, GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.

1912

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I--Famous Rides, Selections from Shakespeare and Other Poets, and Studies in Rhythm.

FAMOUS RIDES:

Rhythm Studies:

NATURE:

STORIES:

Shakespeare Selections:

PART II--Great American Authors

WASHINGTON IRVING

      RIP VAN WINKLE
      THE VOYAGE

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

      THE GREAT STONE FACE
      MY VISIT TO NIAGARA

EDGAR ALLAN POE

      A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRÖM
      THE RAVEN

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

      EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADIE
      THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

      SNOW-BOUND
      THE SHIP BUILDERS

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

      THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS
      THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE; OR THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"
      OLD IRONSIDES
      THE BOYS
      THE LAST LEAF

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

      THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL
      YUSSOUF

SIDNEY LANIER

      THE MARSHES OF GLYNN

PART III—Patriotic Selections

READING PATH

In the ELSON READERS, selections are organized by theme or author. This arrangement isn't meant to dictate the order in which students read in class; its goal is to highlight classification, make comparisons easier, and help students recognize similarities and differences in how various authors handle similar themes.

To provide variety, address interests during different seasons and festivals, and transition from prose to poetry and from long to short selections, a well-organized reading plan should be followed. This reading plan requires careful attention to all the factors mentioned above. The course provided here fulfills these goals but can easily be adjusted to fit local circumstances.

First six months

BIOGRAPHY OF HAWTHORNE
THE GREAT STONE FACE
MY VISIT TO NIAGARA
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP
HERVÉ RIEL
COLUMBUS (COLUMBUS'S BIRTHDAY, OCT. 12)
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS
SPEECH OF RESOLUTION TO PUT VIRGINIA INTO A STATE OF DEFENCE
THE EVE BEFORE WATERLOO
THE BUGLE SONG
BIOGRAPHY OF HOLMES
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS
THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE
OLD IRONSIDES
THE BOYS
THE LAST LEAF
MERIT BEFORE BIRTH
WEBSTER-HAYNE DEBATE
THE BROOK
THE SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE
THE CATARACT OF LODORE
BIOGRAPHY OF POE
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRÖM
THE RAVEN
ANNABEL LEE
THE BELLS
BIOGRAPHY OF WHITTIER (WHITTIER'S BIRTHDAY, DEC. 17)
SNOW-BOUND (WHITTIER'S BIRTHDAY, DEC. 17)
THE SHIP BUILDERS (WHITTIER'S BIRTHDAY, DEC. 17)
REGULUS BEFORE THE ROMAN SENATE
THE RETURN OF REGULUS
SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS
THE WAY TO WEALTH (FRANKLIN'S BIRTHDAY, JAN. 17)
EMMET'S VINDICATION
MARCO BOZZARIS
RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS
BIOGRAPHY OF LANIER (LANIER'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 3)
THE MARSHES OF GLYNN (LANIER'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 3)

SECOND SEMESTER

LOVE OF COUNTRY
WARREN'S ADDRESS
PEACE, THE POLICY OF A NATION
THE AMERICAN FLAG (LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 12)
LINCOLN, THE GREAT COMMONER (LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 12)
DEDICATION SPEECH (LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 12)
O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN (WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 22)
FAREWELL ADDRESS (WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 22)
BIOGRAPHY OF LOWELL (LOWELL'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 22)
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL (LOWELL'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 22)
YUSSOUF (LOWELL'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 22)
BIOGRAPHY OF LONGFELLOW (LONGFELLOW'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 27)
EVANGELINE (LONGFELLOW'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 27)
THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP (LONGFELLOW'S BIRTHDAY, FEB. 27)
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
THE EVILS OF WAR
BIOGRAPHY OF IRVING (IRVING'S BIRTHDAY, APRIL 3)
RIP VAN WINKLE (IRVING'S BIRTHDAY, APRIL 3)
THE VOYAGE (IRVING'S BIRTHDAY, APRIL 3)
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE (APRIL 19)
THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE (SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHDAY, APRIL 23)
TO A WATER FOWL
THE SKYLARK
TO A SKYLARK (SPRING AND ARBOR DAY)
THE CLOUD
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN
ABSALOM
LOCHINVAR
PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS
FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT
KING PHILIP TO THE WHITE SETTLER
THE CAPTURE OF QUEBEC
ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES
THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY
OPPORTUNITY
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB
SONG OF THE GREEK BARD
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
THE TRUE GRANDEUR OF NATIONS
THE MEMORY OF OUR FATHERS
THE RECESSIONAL

INTRODUCTION

This book is intended to provide reading material of high literary and dramatic quality. Most of the selections are classics that have proven their value over time and are recognized masterpieces. The divisions into separate sections will help both teachers and students categorize the material, giving a quick overview of the breadth and diversity of the included literature.

Part One focuses on poetry, and it’s believed that the poems in this section are unmatched. Teachers won’t need to put in much effort to spark the enthusiasm of students who read the series of famous rides at the beginning of this group. The excitement children feel when they read about “A hurry of hoofs in a village street,” or “Charging an army while all the world wondered,” may lead to stronger and more lasting feelings of patriotism and dedication. “John Gilpin's Ride,” which has entertained generations of both young and old, is included here. The rhythmic flow of these poems creates a seamless transition to the selections specifically crafted as studies in rhythm. The series of nature poems and excerpts from Shakespeare complete a collection of outstanding literary works. Part Two focuses on studying the great American authors, and there’s no need to apologize for the choice of material or the emphasis placed on this group. It’s especially designed to parallel and enhance the curriculum for this grade in American history. Part Three includes patriotic selections and some of the great speeches. These pieces are uplifting and inspiring in style, accessible to the students, and are particularly useful in developing their expression skills.

It’s not expected that the order of selections will be followed. Instead, each teacher will choose the order that best fits her plans and goals. While there’s a lot of material in the book that will reinforce lessons in history, geography, and nature study, these selections should be studied primarily for the enjoyment of beautiful thoughts expressed beautifully. The reading lesson should thus focus on literature and help children discover beauty in thoughts and imagery, appropriateness in figures of speech, and subtle shades of meaning in words. Literature is an art, and the main goal of the reading lesson is to uncover and interpret its artistic qualities. In this way, children learn how to read books and can appreciate the literary treasures of our culture. The purpose of the reading book is to provide the best available material for this aim.

It’s worthwhile to thoroughly study a few carefully chosen selections. By doing this, kids gain the ability to understand and enjoy other texts without needing the teacher’s help. If most of the classwork focuses on deeper engagement, students will read the remaining lessons on their own just for the joy of it, which is both the secret and the goal of teaching literature effectively. Additionally, they will develop a discerning taste and judgment in their reading choices. Loving great literature, finding pleasure in reading it, and learning to select it thoughtfully are the ultimate objectives of reading lessons. Because of this, some selections should be read multiple times for the enjoyment they provide to the children. In music, teachers sometimes ask students for their favorite songs: “What song should we sing, kids?” Similarly, asking “What selection should we read?” is a great question for teachers to pose often. This way, children become familiar with certain stories and poems, experiencing real enjoyment in revisiting them again and again.

Good results can also be achieved by assigning a specific lesson for a student to prepare. On a designated day, the student will read the assigned selection to the class. The speeches are especially well-suited for this approach. A student who can read one selection well has made significant progress toward becoming a good reader. The teacher who told her students, "I'll read to you tomorrow," understood this principle and recognized the importance of occasionally incorporating exercises like that. Effective teaching supports a thoughtful use of imitation methods in reading instruction.

The biographies aim to introduce children to the personal traits and lives of the authors, making them more relatable and engaging, providing a human touch, and also offering useful information for understanding their writings. In this context, the authors have, with permission, drawn extensively from Professor Newcomer's English and American Literatures. The "Helps to Study" section includes questions and notes intended to encourage students to explore and suggest productive areas of study. Only a few points are suggested to guide the way, and it’s left to the teacher to cover the material comprehensively.

While focusing mainly on the process of getting ideas across, we must not overlook the importance of sharing those ideas effectively. The skill of reading, although always secondary to truly understanding the thought, still requires our constant and careful attention. Good reading involves clear speech and correct pronunciation, which can only be achieved if the teacher consistently emphasizes them. With more foreign influences in our classrooms affecting clarity and accuracy in speech, it’s even more important to pay attention to these details. We should provide specific practice exercises and encourage students to use the dictionary regularly. Using the dictionary and other reference books to verify pronunciation, meanings of words, and historical or mythical references should be strongly encouraged. It’s clear that a lot of the reading material in public schools is lacking in these aspects. The art of effective reading can be developed through proper training, and schools should make every effort to achieve this goal.

Professor Clark, in his book "How to Teach Reading," outlines the four elements of vocal expression—Time, Pitch, Quality, and Force. Here are some sentences from his discussion of each of these basic topics.

"I. TIME. Time refers to how quickly or slowly someone speaks. It can be fast, moderate, or slow, depending on the amount of additional thinking that happens while reading a particular passage. In other words, a phrase is read slowly because it conveys a lot of meaning; the thought is significant, profound, and complex. This extra thinking can be expressed through a detailed paraphrase. For example, in the lines"

"Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
    As we rushed his body to the rampart,"

Why do we read slowly? The paraphrase answers that question. It was midnight. Our beloved leader lay there, someone who should have been honored with a grand procession to his final resting place. Bells should have rung, cannons should have boomed, and thousands should have followed his coffin. But now, sadly, under the cover of night, stealthily, without even a single drumbeat, in fear and trepidation, we crept, breathless, to the rampart. This, or any of a hundred other paraphrases, is enough to slow down the spoken rhythm. The same goes for all slow time. It's important to remember that a deep or profound thought can be expressed quickly; however, when we linger on that thought, when we focus on it, the pace must inevitably slow down. If a child reads too quickly, it’s because their mind isn’t fully engaged with the idea; if they read too slowly, it may be because they don’t understand the words, or because they are naturally slow, or, most likely, because they are overstating a simple idea. Telling them to read quickly or slowly only makes them self-conscious, and, even if unintentionally, reinforces the idea that reading is about mechanics, rather than about understanding and sharing thoughts.

"II. PITCH. Pitch refers to everything related to the sharpness or depth of a tone—in other words, to keys, melodies, inflections, and variations. When we say someone speaks in a high key, we mean that their pitch tends to be high; conversely, if we say someone speaks in a low key, we imply their pitch is predominantly low. Although individual pitch may vary, experience shows that most of us use similar keys to express the same mental states within a note or two. The crucial question is: what determines pitch? A clear principle is that stable mental states are expressed in low keys, while high keys indicate less controlled mental conditions. Drills focused solely on inflections are of minimal value and can even be harmful. Most students do not struggle to produce proper inflections, so group drills for them are a waste of time; for those whose reading is monotonous due to a lack of melodic variety, the most effective drills are those that encourage detailed analysis of sentences and highlight the importance of conveying thought to others. We've found that when a student has a clear motive and wants to communicate their intention, a specific melody will naturally express that intention. Thus, the melody serves as a measure of the student’s purpose. The moment a student loses connection with a phrase and its relation to other phrases, their melody will reveal that loss."

"III. QUALITY. Quality shows emotional states. By Quality, we mean that subtle element in the voice that expresses tenderness at one moment, harshness at another, awe at yet another, and so forth through the entire range of feelings. The teacher now understands that emotion impacts the quality of tone. He should then use this knowledge just as he learned to use the other criteria. We instinctively recognize the qualities that convey sorrow, tenderness, joy, and other emotional states. When the right quality is missing, it usually indicates that the child has no feeling or the wrong feeling, most often the former. There is only one way to correct the expression: by stimulating the imagination."

"IV. POWER. Force represents the level of mental energy. When we speak loudly, we use a lot of energy; when we speak softly, we use less. Don’t tell a child to read louder. If you do, you’ll just get loudness— that harsh, irritating loudness of schoolboys—without any real expression. Many children read well but are shy. When we insist on louder reading, they tense up for the effort and lose the quality, which is the subtle breath and spirit of oral expression, and instead just give us a physical output—force. Have your soft-spoken readers come to the front; let them face the class and talk to you, sitting in the center of the room, and you’ll have all the force you need. Overall, we often have too much force rather than too little. Teachers should understand that we want quality, not quantity, and our explanation of the mental action behind force will greatly help in creating the right conditions."

To discerning teachers, it will be clear that this book is not your typical school reader. In fact, it vastly differs in terms of the cultural value of the selections, the organization of the content, the range of interests it addresses, and the wealth of classic literature from American authors it offers. Its goal is to provide the best poetry and prose available in the literature of the English-speaking world and to offer it in abundance. If these well-known selections, long regarded as some of the best in literature, help cultivate a taste for quality reading in students, the book will have achieved its purpose.

For permission to use valuable selections from their lists, acknowledgment is due to Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Charles Scribner's Sons, and The Whitaker and Ray Company.

Grateful acknowledgment is also given to those teachers who provided valuable suggestions and feedback during the compilation of this book.

The Authors.

April 1909.

FAMOUS RIDES, SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE
AND OTHER POETS, AND STUDIES IN RHYTHM

"We live in actions, not in years, in ideas, not in breaths;
    In emotions, not in the numbers on a clock."

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

He said to his friend: "If the British come marching
By land or sea from the town tonight,
Hang a lantern high in the belfry-arch
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light—
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I will be on the opposite shore,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folks to be up and armed."

Then he said, "Good night," and with quiet strokes,
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where, swinging gently at her anchor, lay
The Somerset, British warship:
A ghostly vessel, with each mast and spar
Casting shadows across the moon, like prison bars,
And a massive dark shape, made larger
By its own reflection in the water.

Meanwhile, his friend wanders through alleys and streets
Listening closely and observing with keen anticipation,
Until in the quiet around him he hears
The gathering of men at the barrack entrance,
The clattering of weapons, and the sound of boots,
And the steady march of the grenadiers
Heading down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the church tower,
    Up the wooden stairs, quietly stepping,
    To the belfry chamber above,
    And startled the pigeons from their spot
    On the dark rafters that surrounded him
    In masses and shifting shapes of shadow,--
    Up the shaky ladder, steep and tall,
    To the highest window in the wall,
    Where he paused to listen and look down
    For a moment at the roofs of the town,
    And the moonlight flowing over everything.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
    In their nighttime camp on the hill,
    Wrapped in silence so deep and still,
    That he could hear, like a guard's footsteps,
    The cautious night-wind, as it moved
    Creeping along from tent to tent,
    And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
    For just a moment, he feels the spell
    Of the place and the hour, the secret fear
    Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
    For suddenly all his thoughts are focused
    On a shadowy something far away,
    Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
    A line of darkness, that bends and floats
    On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile,
restless to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy step,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now looked at the landscape far and wide,
Then impulsively stamped the ground,
And turned to tighten his saddle strap;
But mostly he watched with eager anticipation
The belfry tower of the old North Church,
As it stood above the graves on the hill,
Lonely, ghostly, serious, and still.
And look! as he gazes, on the belfry's peak,
A flicker, and then a flash of light!
He jumps into the saddle, turns the bridle,
But lingers and stares, until right in his view
A second lamp in the belfry shines bright!

A rush of hooves in a village street,
    A figure in the moonlight, a shape in the dark,
    And beneath, from the pebbles, as it passed, a spark
    Struck out by a horse racing fearless and fast:
    That was all! And yet, through the shadows and the light,
    The fate of a nation was riding that night;
    And the spark struck out by that horse, in its flight,
    Ignited the land into flames with its heat.

He has left the village and climbed the steep,
    And below him, calm and wide and deep,
    Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean's waves;
    And under the alders that line its edge,
    Now softly on the sand, now crashing on the ledge,
    You can hear the sound of the horse as he rides.

It was twelve on the village clock
    When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
    He heard the rooster crow,
    And the farmer's dog barking,
    And felt the chill of the river fog
    That lifts after the sun sets.

It was one o'clock by the village clock
    When he rode into Lexington.
    He saw the shiny weather vane
    Shimmer in the moonlight as he went by,
    And the meeting house windows, empty and bare,
    Stared at him with a ghostly glare,
    As if they were already shocked
    By the bloody scene they were about to witness.

It was two o’clock by the village clock
    When he got to the bridge in Concord town.
    He heard the sheep bleating,
    And the birds chirping in the trees,
    And felt the morning breeze
    Blowing over the brown meadows.
    And one person was safe and asleep in his bed
    Who would be the first to fall at the bridge,
    Who that day would end up dead,
    Hit by a British musket ball.

You know what happened next. In the books you've read
    How the British soldiers shot and ran,--
    How the farmers returned fire,
    From behind every fence and farm wall,
    Chasing the redcoats down the path,
    Then crossing the fields to reappear again
    Under the trees at the bend in the road,
    And only stopping to shoot and reload.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
    And so through the night went his cry of alarm
    To every Middlesex village and farm,--
    A cry of defiance, not fear,--
    A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
    And a word that will echo forevermore!
    For, carried on the night-wind of the Past,
    Through all our history, to the end,
    In times of darkness and danger and need,
    The people will wake and listen to hear
    The hurrying hoofbeats of that horse,
    And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

STUDY AID.

Notes and Questions.

What message did Paul Revere carry?

Read a description of the battle of Lexington and see how closely this poem aligns with historical events.

Who were John Hancock and Samuel Adams?

What does the second stanza say? The seventh stanza?

Does this poem draw your attention mainly to the horse, the rider, or the message?

Sketch a map showing where Boston, Charlestown, Medford, Lexington, and Concord are located.

Words and phrases for discussion.

"the fate of a nation depended on that night"
    "look at him with a ghostly stare"
    "the spark created by that horse in its run
    set the land ablaze with its intensity"
    "gloomy"
    "red uniforms"
    "brave and fast"

The Leap of Roushan Beg

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Such was the Kyrat's amazing speed,
    No horse could ever
        Catch up to the dust cloud in its path.
    More than a girl, more than a wife,
    More than gold and just after life
        Roushan the Robber loved his horse.

In the land that
    lies beyond
    Erzeroum and Trebizond,
        Garden-surrounded, his
    fortress stood;
    Plundered khan or caravan
    traveling north from Koordistan,
        brought him wealth, wine, and food.

Seven hundred and eighty
    Men in armor wore his colors,
        Carried out his orders day and night;
    Now, in lands completely unfamiliar,
    He was wandering, lost and alone,
        Searching for his path without a guide.

Suddenly, the pathway ends,
The steep drop descends,
Loudly the unseen torrent roars;
Thirty feet from side to side
Opens the chasm; in the air must glide
Anyone who crosses this ravine.

Following closely in his pursuit,
    At the foot of the cliff
        Reyhan the Arab of Orfah
    Stopped with his hundred men,
    Shouting up from the valley,
        "La Illáh ilia Alláh!"

Gently Roushan Beg stroked
    Kyrat's forehead, neck, and chest;
    Kissed him on both his eyes,
    Sang to him in his wild style,
    Like a bird sings from the highest branch
    Before it takes off.

"O my Kyrat, O my horse,
    Fast and slim like a reed,
        Take me through this danger!
    Silky coverings will be yours,
    Golden shoes, O my Kyrat,
        O you spirit of Kurroglou!"

"Your skin is soft like silk,
    As soft as a woman's hair is your mane,
        Tender and true are your eyes;
    All your hooves shine like ivory,
    Polished and bright; O life of mine,
        Jump, and save Kurroglou!"

Kyrat, strong and swift,
Gathered his four white feet,
Stopped briefly on the edge,
Gauged with his eye the distance,
And into the air's embrace
Leaped like the ocean's wave.

As the ocean crashes over the sand
    Bringing a swimmer safely to shore,
        Kyrat brought his rider safely;
    Clattering down into the deep void
    Pieces of the cliff
        Rolled like stones on a beach.

Roushan's
tasseled red cap
didn't tremble on his head;
He sat there casually and straight;
Neither his hands nor reins shook,
Nor did he turn his head to look,
As he rode off out of sight.

Flash of harness in the air,
    Seen for a moment, like the glare
        Of a sword pulled from its sheath;
    Thus the ghostly horseman passed,
    And the shadow he cast
        Leaped the waterfall below.

Reyhan the Arab held his breath
While this vision of life and death
Passed above him. "God!"
He cried. "In all of Kurdistan
There isn't a braver man
Than this robber Kurroglou!"

AIDS IN STUDYING.

Notes and Questions.

What does the first stanza convey?

The second one?

What is the purpose of the fifth stanza?

What comparisons are there in the seventh stanza? In the eighth? In the ninth?

What do we mean by "figure of speech?" Explain with examples.

State in your own words what the eleventh stanza is about.

In the second to last stanza, explain the meaning of the last three lines.

What lesson about heroism does this poem teach you?

Who should you call the hero of this story?

Who is Allah? Where is Kurdistan?

Words and Phrases to Discuss.

"phantom"
    "verge"
    "caravan"
    "abyss"
    "garden-surrounded"
    "waterfall"

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
        Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.
    "Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!" he said:
    Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.
    "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
    Was there a man scared?
    Not though the soldier knew
        Someone had messed up:
    Theirs not to reply,
    Theirs not to question why,
    Theirs but to do and die:
    Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to their right,
    Cannon to their left,
    Cannon in front of them
        Fired and roared;
    Attacked with bullets and shells,
    Bravely they rode and fought,
    Into the mouth of Death,
    Into the depths of Hell
        Charged the six hundred.
    All their sabres flashed,
    Flashed as they turned in the air
    Swinging at the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
        The whole world watched;
    Diving into the battery smoke
    Straight through the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Staggered from the sabre attack
        Shattered and broken.
    Then they rode back, but not,
        Not the six hundred.

Cannon to the right of them,
    Cannon to the left of them,
    Cannon behind them
        Firing and booming;
    Attacked with bullets and shells,
    While riders and heroes fell,
    Those who had fought so bravely
    Survived the jaws of Death
    Returned from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
        Left of six hundred.

When will their glory fade!
    Oh, the daring charge they made!
        The whole world was amazed.
    Honor the charge they made!
    Honor the Light Brigade,
        Noble six hundred!

Study aid.

Bio and History:Alfred Tennyson was born in the significant year of 1809, which saw the arrival of some of the greatest figures of the century, including Darwin, Gladstone, Lincoln, Poe, Chopin, and Mendelssohn. He was one of twelve siblings who enjoyed a vibrant life filled with learning and play. He would gather his siblings around him and captivate them with stories of heroic knights—tales inspired by both his reading and his imaginative mind. They relived the exciting life of jousting and tournaments. A brook flowed past their home in the village of Somersby, in Lincolnshire, where his father was the rector, likely the same brook that "comes from haunts of coot and hern... to bicker down a valley." He studied at Cambridge, where he formed a deep bond with Arthur Henry Hallam, whose untimely death later inspired the poem "In Memoriam." In 1850, after Wordsworth passed away, Tennyson became poet laureate, and his poem commemorating the heroic charge at Balaklava in 1854, "The Charge of the Light Brigade," showcased his talents in this role. In 1884, the queen elevated him to the peerage, and from then on, he was known as Lord Tennyson. He lived as privately as possible for much of his life, spending part of that time on the Isle of Wight. He died in 1892 and was laid to rest in Poets' Corner at Westminster Abbey.

The event described in this poem took place at Balaklava in Crimea on October 25th, 1854. Out of six hundred seven men, only about one hundred fifty survived. The order to charge, signed by Lord Lucan, was given by Captain Nolan to the Earl of Cardigan, who was in charge of the "Light Brigade." Nolan was killed during the charge, while Cardigan made it through. With Nolan's death, it became impossible to tell if the signature on the order was real or faked.

It was during this war that Florence Nightingale provided such remarkable service as a hospital nurse. She arrived in Balaklava ten days after this charge.

Notes and Questions.

On your map, locate Balaklava on the Black Sea.

Which nation attacked the Russians?

What was the importance of Sevastopol?

What is a brigade? A light brigade?

What does "charging an army" mean?

Who messed up?

What lines indicate that obeying orders is the soldier's top priority?

What line shows you how vain and hopeless this charge was?

How does the poem make you feel?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"Valley of Death"
    "half a league"
    "the mouth of Hell"
    "the jaws of Death"
    "taken aback"
    "fired and roared"

THE FUNNY STORY OF JOHN GILPIN

WILLIAM COWPER

John Gilpin was a
        Well-respected citizen,
    He was also a captain in the militia
        From the famous city of London.

John Gilpin's wife said to her dear,
"Though we’ve been married
For twenty long years, we still
Haven’t had a holiday.

"Tomorrow is our wedding day,
        And we will then head
    To the Bell at Edmonton,
        All in a carriage and pair"

"My sister and her kid,
        Me and three kids
    Will fill the carriage, so you'll have to ride
        On horseback after us."

He quickly responded, "I really admire
        Only one woman,
    And that’s you, my sweetest love,
        So it will be done."

"I’m a daring linen seller,
        As everyone knows,
    And my good friend, the tailor,
        Will lend me his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said:
And since that wine is expensive,
We'll bring our own,
Which is both bright and clear."

John Gilpin
kissed his dear wife;
        He was so happy to discover
    That, even though she was focused on having fun,
        She was also good with money.

The morning arrived, the carriage was brought,
But it wasn't allowed
To pull up to the door, so that no one
Would say that she was stuck-up.

So three doors off the chaise were closed,
        Where they all got in;
    Six precious souls, eager
        To rush through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, 'round went the wheels,
        There were never people so glad;
    The stones rattled underneath
        As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
grabbed the flowing mane,
And quickly got on to ride,
But soon came down again;

For the saddle-tree he had barely reached,
His journey to start,
When, turning his head, he saw
Three customers walk in.

So down he came; for wasting time,
        Although it really upset him
    Yet losing money, he knew very well,
        Would bother him a whole lot more.

It was a long time before
        the customers
        were happy with their choices,
    when Betty came running down the stairs,
        screaming, "The wine is left behind!"

"Good grief!" he said, "but still bring it to me,
        My leather belt
    Too,
    In which I carry my trusty sword
        When I practice."

Now Mrs. Gilpin, careful soul,
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear,
        Through which he threaded the belt,
    And hung a bottle on each side,
        To keep his balance right.

Then, above all, that he might be
        Ready from head to toe,
    His long red cloak, well brushed and
        He bravely threw on.

Now see him mounted once again,
On his quick horse,
Moving slowly over the stones
With care and attention.

But soon discovering a smoother path
        Under his comfortably shod feet,
    The snorting animal started to trot,
        Which annoyed him in his seat.

So "Fair and softly" John cried,
        But John cried in vain;
    That trot quickly turned into a gallop,
        Despite the curb and rein.

So bending down, as he has to
Who can't sit up straight,
He grabbed the mane with both hands,
And also with all his strength.

His horse, which
        Had never been handled like that before,
    Was increasingly amazed by
        Whatever was on its back.

Away went Gilpin, no matter what;
        Away went his hat and wig;
    He had no idea when he set out
        Of getting into such a mess.

The wind blew, the cloak flew,
        Like a long and colorful streamer,
    Until, with both loop and button failing,
        Finally, it flew away.

Then everyone could easily see,
        The bottles he carried;
    A bottle swinging on each side,
        As has been said or sung.

The dogs barked, the kids screamed,
        Up went all the windows,
    And everyone shouted, "Great job!"
        As loud as he could yell.

Away went Gilpin—who else could it be?
        His reputation quickly spread everywhere;
    "He puts in the effort, he competes!
        It's for a thousand pounds!"

And still, as fast as he got closer,
It was amazing to see,
How in an instant the tollbooth workers
Threw their gates wide open.

And now, as he went bowing down
        His dripping head held low,
    The two bottles behind his back
        Were smashed in an instant.

Down ran the wine into the road,
        Most pitiful to see,
    Which made his horse's sides steam
        As if they had been basted.

But still he seemed to carry weight,
With a leather belt tightened;
For everyone could see the bottle necks
Still hanging at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These games he did play,
Until he reached the wash
Of Edmonton so bright;

And there he tossed the laundry around
On both sides of the road,
Just like a rolling mop,
Or a wild goose playing.

At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony watched
Her dear husband, curious
To see how he was riding.

"Stop, stop, John Gilpin! Here’s the house!"
        They all shouted at once;
    "The dinner’s waiting and we’re tired."
        Gilpin said, "So am I!"

But his horse
        Wasn't at all
    Inclined to stay there;
    Why? His owner lived
        Ten miles away, in Ware.

So like an arrow quickly he flew,
Shot by a powerful archer;
So did he fly—which brings me to
The heart of my song.

Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
        And really not wanting to,
    Until, at his friend the calendar's,
        His horse finally came to a stop.

The calendar, amazed to see
        His neighbor looking so sharp,
    Put down his pipe, rushed to the gate,
        And greeted him like this:

"What news? What news? Share your updates;
        You have to tell me;
    Explain why you're here without a hat,
        Or why you even came?"

Now Gilpin had a
        great sense of humor,
    And enjoyed a good joke;
      And so to the calendar,
        In a cheerful way, he spoke:

"I came because your horse would come;
        And, if I'm right,
    My hat and wig will be here soon:--
        They're on the way."

The calendar, really happy to see
        His friend in a cheerful mood,
    Didn’t say a single word,
        But went into the house;

Whence he came straight with a hat and wig;
        A wig that draped behind,
    A hat not much the worse for wear,
        Each attractive in its own way.

He held them up and in his turn
Thus showed his quick wit:
"My head is twice as big as yours,
So they have to fit.

But let me wipe the dirt away
        That’s on your face;
    And let's take a break to eat, since you
        Might be really hungry.

Said John, "It's my wedding day,
        And everyone would stare,
    If my wife dined in Edmonton
        And I dined in Ware."

So, turning to his horse, he said,
        "I'm in a hurry to eat;
    You came here for your enjoyment,
        So you'll go back for my meal."

Ah! unfortunate speech and useless brag,
        For which he paid dearly;
    For while he spoke, a loud braying donkey
        Sang most clearly;

Where his horse snorted, as if it had heard a lion roar, and galloped away as fast as it could, just like it had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away
        went Gilpin's hat and wig:
    He lost them faster than before;
        Why?--they were too big.

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
        Her husband rushing off
    Into the countryside far away,
        She pulled out half a crown;

And so to the youth she said,
        That took them to the Bell,
    "This will be yours when you bring back
        My husband safe and sound."

The young man rode and soon met
        John coming back quickly;
    He tried to stop him right away
        By grabbing at his reins;

But not doing what he intended
        And happily would have done,
    The scared horse he scared even more,
        And made him run faster.

Away went Gilpin, and away
        went the postboy at his heels,
    the postboy's horse so happy to avoid
        the clatter of the wheels.

Six men on the road,
        Watching Gilpin speed away,
    With the postboy racing behind,
        They shouted in alarm;--

"Stop thief! Stop thief! A highwayman!"
        Not one of them was silent;
    And everyone who passed by
        Joined in the chase.

And now the turnpike gates again
flew open quickly;
The toll collectors thought as before,
that Gilpin was racing.

And so he did, and won it too,
        For he arrived first in town;
    Nor did he stop until he reached the place         He had gotten down before.

Now let’s sing "Long Live the King,"
        And Gilpin, long live he;
    And when he rides out next time
        May I be there to see!

STUDY AIDS.

Biography: William Cowper, 1731-1800, was a well-known English poet. His poems cover a variety of topics, from religious themes to humorous subjects.

Notes & Questions.

What was the reason for the ride?

What makes you think the linen shop owner lived above his store?

Which stanza is the funniest?

Why did people believe John Gilpin was riding for a bet?

Edmonton—a suburb of London.

The Bell Inn.

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"calendar"
    "also"
    "pair of horses"
    "thrifty"
    "playfulness"
    "militia"
    "fix"
    "he has influence"
    "because that wine is expensive"
    "toll road"
    "roasted"
    "empty brag"
    "the mailman's horse is happy to avoid the clattering of the wheels"

HOW THEY DELIVERED THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX

Robert Browning

I jumped up into the saddle, Joris did too;
    I rode fast, Dirck rode fast, we all three flew;
    "Have a great ride!" shouted the watch as the gate opened;
    "Ride fast!" echoed the wall as we sped through;
    Behind us, the postern closed, the lights dimmed away,
    And into the midnight, we rode side by side.

Not a word to each other; we kept an intense pace
    Side by side, step by step, never changing our position;
    I adjusted my saddle and tightened its straps,
    Then adjusted each stirrup and straightened the quilt,
    Rebuckled the cheek-strap, adjusted the loose bit,
    And Roland galloped just as steadily as ever.

It was just after the moon had set when we began; but as we got closer to Lokeren, the roosters crowed and dawn became clear; At Boom, a bright yellow star appeared to watch us; At Düffeld, it was morning as clear as could be; And from the church steeple in Mecheln, we heard the half-chime, so Joris broke the silence with, "There's still time!"

At Aershot, the sun suddenly jumped up,
    And all the cattle stood out black against it,
    Staring through the mist at us as we galloped by,
    And I finally saw my sturdy horse Roland,
    With determined shoulders, each one pushing away
    The fog, like a strong river headland shoving aside its spray:

And his low head and crest, with one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other perked up on his track;
And one eye's sharp intelligence—always that glance
Over its white edge at me, his own master, sideways
And the thick, heavy foam flakes that would occasionally
His fierce lips shook off while galloping along.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay on, spur!
    Your Roos ran bravely, the fault's not with her,
    We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze
    Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
    And drooping tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
    As she shuddered and sank down onto her haunches.

So, we were left racing, Joris and I,
    Past Looz and past Tongres, with not a cloud in the sky;
    The bright sun above laughed a harsh laugh,
    Under our feet, the fragile bright stubble cracked like chaff;
    Until over by Dalhem, we spotted a white dome-spire,
    And "Gallop," Joris gasped, "because Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll welcome us!"—and in an instant his reddish-brown horse
    Rolled over, neck and hindquarters down, laying dead as a rock;
    And there was my Roland to carry the entire burden
    Of the message that alone could save Aix from its doom,
    With nostrils like deep wells filled to the top with blood,
    And with circles of red around the edges of his eye sockets.

Then I took off my coat, dropped both holsters,
    Shook off my boots, let go of my belt and all,
    Stood up in the stirrup, leaned over, patted his ear,
    Called my Roland by his nickname, my one-of-a-kind horse;
    Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, making noise, good or bad,
    Until finally, Roland galloped into Aix and stopped.

And all I remember is—friends gathered around
    As I sat with his head in my lap on the ground;
    And every voice praised this Roland of mine,
    As I poured our last bit of wine down his throat,
    Which (the town leaders decided by unanimous agreement)
    Was only fair for the one who brought good news from Ghent.

AIDS IN STUDYING.

Bio and History: Robert Browning was born in a suburb of London in 1812. His four grandparents were of English, German, Scottish, and Creole descent. After marrying the poet Elizabeth Barrett, he lived in Italy, where they spent many years of deep companionship and happiness in the old palace Casa Guidi, in Florence. After her death, he returned to England but spent most of his summers abroad. On the Grand Canal in Venice, gondoliers point out a palace where Browning died in 1889 at his son's home. He was buried in Poets' Corner at Westminster Abbey.

Browning's poems aren't easy to read because he packs a lot into a single word or phrase and often leaves big gaps for the reader to fill in with their imagination. Anyone can pick out lines or even whole poems from Tennyson, Poe, Southey, and Lanier, where the poet has crafted verbal music and beauty for us. However, Browning is less focused on that aspect of poetry and more on accurately capturing the diverse emotions of the human soul.

"Love, in the broadest sense as the divine force that operates throughout all of nature, is at the core of Browning's beliefs. He has the most heartfelt, joyful, and beautiful poetic voice that his generation has encountered. He distinguishes himself from many of his contemporaries with the strength of his religious faith, a faith rooted in the belief in the overwhelming power of love and selflessness."

"How They Brought the Good News" has no historical basis; the ride happened only in the poet's imagination. The inspiration came from Browning's desire for a horseback gallop over the English downs.

Notes and Questions.

Find Ghent and Aachen on your map.

What do you think the "good news" brought by the messengers was?

How many messengers were there?

What leads you to think that?

What does the fifth stanza say to you?

What does the praise given to Roland tell you?

The rhythm suggests the gallop of the horses. In which lines is this suggestion most prominent?

Show the rhythmic movement.

Words and Phrases to Discuss.

"postern"
    "pique"
    "askance"
    "burgesses"
    "stirrup"
    "twilight"
    "haunches"
    "holster"
    "Have a good journey! shouted the guard as the gate bolts were drawn back"
    "With determined shoulders each pushing through
    The mist, like a bold river cliff through its spray"

INCIDENT AT THE FRENCH CAMP

ROBERT BROWNING

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
        About a mile away,
    On a small mound, Napoleon
        Stood on the day we attacked;
    With his neck stretched out, just picture it,
        Legs apart, arms crossed behind,
    As if to support the heavy brow
        Weighted down by its thoughts.

Just as he might have thought, "My plans
        That rise, might crash to the ground,
    If my army leader, Lannes,
        Hesitates at that wall,"--
    Out from the smoke of the cannons came
        A rider, racing hard
    Without stopping to rein in
        Until he reached the hill.

Then over there, thrown into smiling joy,
And standing tall
Just by holding his horse's mane, a boy:
You could hardly suspect--
(So tightly he kept his lips sealed,
Barely any blood came through)
You looked twice before you noticed his chest
Was almost shot in two.

"Well," he shouted, "Emperor, by God's grace,
        We've captured Ratisbon!
    The marshal's in the marketplace,
        And you’ll be there soon
    To see your flag fluttering
        Where I, to my heart's content,
    Set it!" The chief's eyes sparkled; his plans
        Flared up again like fire.

The chief’s gaze sharpened; but soon
        It softened, like
    The protective film over a mother eagle's eye
        When her injured eaglet breathes:
    "You’re hurt!" "No," the soldier’s pride
        Stung to the core, he replied:
    "I’m dead, my lord!" And beside him, his chief,
        Smiling, the boy fell lifeless.

HELPS WITH STUDYING.

Notes and Questions.

On your map, locate Ratisbon on the Danube River.

What image do you have of Napoleon after reading this poem?

What figurative word indicates the rider's speed?

Tell the story of the boy rider.

What was the mission of the boy who rode by himself?

Was his bravery greater because he was on his own?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"stormed"
    "soar"
    "prone"
    "waver"
    "battery-smokes"
    "vans"
    "sheathes"
    "film"

HERVÉ RIEL

Robert Browning

It was the squadron that got away, with the victor in full pursuit;
Leading the pack, in his huge ship, Damfreville;
Right behind him was a mix,
Twenty-two solid ships in total;
And they signaled to the port,
"Help the winners of a race!
Get us direction, give us shelter, hurry us in--or even faster,
Here come the English who can and will!"

Then the locals jumped on board quickly and said, “What hope or chance do ships like these have to get through?” They laughed and continued, “Rocks to the right, rocks to the left, the whole passage is messed up—Do you really think the 'Formidable' with her one hundred and eighty guns can make it through that narrow way at the river mouth? It's tricky for a boat that only weighs twenty tons, especially with the tide at its highest. Right now, it’s the slowest ebb of the tide. Can you reach the mooring? More like, as long as there are rocks or water, not a single ship will leave the bay!”

Then a council was called right away.
The debate was short and intense:
"The English are right behind us; do you want them to take
everything that's left of our fleet, tied together from stern to bow,
as a prize to Plymouth Sound? It's better to run the ships aground!"
(That was the end of Damfreville's speech.)
"No more time to waste!
Let all the captains
head ashore, then blow up, burn the ships on the beach!
France must face her destiny.

"Give the word!" But no such word Was ever spoken or heard: For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck, amid all these,-- A captain? A lieutenant? A mate,--first, second, third? No such man of significance, and With his betters to compete! But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet, A poor coasting pilot, he,--Hervé Riel, the Croisickese.

And "What mockery or malice is this?" shouted Hervé Riel.
"Are you all crazy, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or crooks?
Talking to me about rocks and shoals?—me, who took the soundings, tell
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell,
Between the open sea here and Grève, where the river flows out?
Are you in it for English gold? Is it for love that you're lying?
Morning and evening, night and day,
I have piloted your bay,
Entered freely and anchored securely at the foot of Solidor.
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That would be worse than fifty Hogues!
Gentlemen, they know I speak the truth! Gentlemen, trust me, there's a way!
Just let me lead the line,
Have the biggest ship to steer,
Get this Formidable clear,
Make the others follow mine,
And I'll lead them, all of them, by a route I know well,
Right to Solidor past Grève,
And there I'll keep them safe and sound;
And if one ship misbehaves,—
If the keel even grates the ground,
Well, I have nothing but my life—here's my head!" shouts Hervé Riel.

Not a minute longer to wait.
    “Steer us in, everyone!
            Take the wheel, lead the way, save the fleet!” shouted the leader.
    Captains, give the sailor room!
            He is the Admiral, simply put.
    Still the north wind, by God's grace!
    Look at that noble guy’s face
    As the big ship, with a leap,
    Clears the entrance like a dog,
    Keeps the course, as if its little space were the vast sea's depth!
        See, safely through shoals and rocks,
        How they follow in a group,
    Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that scrapes the bottom,
        Not a spar that gets damaged!
    The danger, see, is over.
    All are docked at last,
    And just as Hervé Riel yells “Anchor!” sure as fate,
    Up come the English—too late!

So, the storm quiets down:
    They see the green trees swaying
        On the heights overlooking Grève.
    Hearts that were hurting are healed with comfort.
    "Just to boost our joy,
            Let the English scour the bay,
    Gnashing their teeth and glancing sideways
            As they bombard away!
    'Neath the fortified Solidor, it's nice riding on the Rance!"
    How hope replaces despair on every captain's face!
    Everyone bursts out together,
            "This is heaven for hell!
        Let France, let France's king,
        Thank the man who made it happen!"
    What a cheer, all in unison,
          "Hervé Riel!"
    As he stepped forward once more;
        No hint of surprise
        In the sincere blue Breton eyes,--
    Just the same man as before.

Then Damfreville said, "My friend,
    I need to speak up at the end,
        Even though it’s tough for me;
    Praise goes deeper than just words;
    You’ve saved the king’s ships;
        You should choose your own reward.
    Honestly, we were close to disaster!
    Ask for anything you want,
    France will still owe you.
    Request whatever you desire, and you'll get it! Or my name isn’t Damfreville."

Then a burst of joy broke out
On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
Those open Breton blue eyes:--
"Since I have to say my piece,
Since our duty's done on board,
And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a quick trip!
Since it's ask and receive, I might as well--
Since the others are going ashore--
Come! A nice long holiday!
Time to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"
That he asked and that he received,--nothing more.

Name and deed are both forgotten:
    Not a column nor a post
        In his Croisic keeps alive the achievement as it happened;
    Not a single head in white and black
        On a lone fishing boat,
    In memory of the man without whom everything saved from ruin
        All that France salvaged from the fight where England took the prize.
    Go to Paris: tier upon tier
        Search for the heroes scattered everywhere
    On the Louvre, front and sides!
        You’ll look for a long time before you find Hervé Riel.
    So, for better or worse, Hervé Riel, take my poem!
    In my poem, Hervé Riel, once again
    Save the squadron, honor France, love your wife the Belle Aurore!

STUDY ASSISTANCE.

Notes and Questions.

Find on your map: Saint Malo, le Croisic (St. Croisic), Plymouth Sound, Paris.

What forfeit did Hervé Riel suggest if he didn't successfully guide the ships in safely?

Which ships were looking for harbor?

Who were the "porpoises" and who were the "sharks"?

What reward did he get?

What comparison is in the first stanza?

What do stanzas three and four say?

In what way is the hero's memory kept alive?

The rhythm brings life to the poem. Which lines or stanzas are the most lively?

What line defines Hervé Riel's character?

Contrast Hervé Riel with the local pilots.

Saint Malo—known for its impressive tides.

Rance - name of a river.

The Hogue—a cape on the French coast.

Malouins—people from Saint Malo.

Tourville—the French admiral.

Strike--name given the beach.

Solidor—an ancient fortress.

Belle Aurore—the dawn.

Croisickese—people from Croisie.

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"Worse than fifty Hogues"
    "Clears the entry like a dog"
    "Just the same guy as before"
    "He is the Admiral, in short"
    "Controls the passage as if its inch of way were the deep ocean's vastness"
    "Search the heroes tossed about on the Louvre, face and side"
    "pressed"
    "discharges"
    "fortified"
    "rang the bell"

THE BUGLE SONG (From "The Princess")

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

O, listen! O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther away!
O, sweet and distant from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland, softly playing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens responding;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, fading, fading, fading.

O, love, they die in that beautiful sky; They fade on hills, fields, or rivers. Our echoes travel from soul to soul, And grow forever and ever. Blow, bugle, blow, let the wild echoes fly; And respond, echoes, respond, dying, dying, dying.

STUDYING ASSISTANCE.

Notes and Questions.

Why does the poet choose "splendor" instead of "sunset," and "summits" instead of "mountains"?

Line 2--What does "old in story" mean?

Line 3--Why does the poet use "shakes"?

Line l3--What does "they" refer to?

Line l5--Explain.

Line l5--Why does the poet use "roll"?

Line l6--They "die" and "faint" while "our echoes" "roll" and "grow." Note that "grow" is the important word.

Note the refrain and the changes in its use; in the first stanza—the bugle; in the second—the echo; in the third—the spiritual echo.

Point out lines that rhyme internally.

Words and phrases for discussion.

"wild echoes"
    "cliff and scar"
    "horns of Elfland"
    "rich sky"
    "purple glens"

THE BROOK

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

By thirty hills I rush down,
        Or slip between the ridges,
    By twenty villages, a small town,
        And fifty bridges,

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
        To join the overflowing river,
    For people may come and people may go,
        But I keep going on forever.

I talk over rocky paths,
        In high-pitched, quick tones;
    I flow into swirling bays,
        I chatter on the stones.

With many curves my banks I worry
        By many fields and unused land,
    And many a magical shore set
        With willow weeds and mallow.

I keep talking, talking, as I move
        To join the overflowing river,
    Because people may come and people may leave,
        But I go on forever.

I twist and turn,
        With flowers drifting by,
    And now and then a lively trout,
        And now and then a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake
        On me, as I move
    With many a silvery splash
        Above the golden gravel,

And pull them all along, and flow
        To join the overflowing river,
    For people may come and people may go,
        But I continue on forever.

I sneak by lawns and grassy patches,
        I slip by hazel bushes;
    I shift the sweet forget-me-nots
        That bloom for joyful lovers.

I slip, I slide, I frown, I glance,
        Among my darting swallows;
    I make the netted sunlight dance
        Against my sandy shallows,

I whisper beneath the moon and stars
        In thorny wildernesses;
    I hang out by my pebble beaches,
        I wander around my watercress;

And I curve and flow out again
        To meet the overflowing river,
    Because people come and people go,
        But I keep going on forever.

STUDY AID.

Notes and Questions.

These stanzas are part of a longer poem titled "The Brook."

In this poem, Tennyson gives the brook human qualities. Why?

In what lines do the words and rhythm convey the sound of the brook?

Which lines do this the best?

Point out any words that you think are particularly fitting in conveying the idea.

Where in the poem do we find a meaning for the following lines:
    "Oh! of all the songs sung
    No songs are so sweet
    As the songs with refrains
    Which repeat and repeat."

How does the repetition of "chatter" affect the rhythm of the first line in the sixth stanza?

How does it affect thinking?

Find another spot in the poem where a phrase is repeated.

Was this done for the sake of the rhythm, the idea, or for both?

Alliteration is when the same letter or sound is repeated at the start of two or more words that are close together.

Find lines that use alliteration, such as "sudden sally," "field and fallow," etc. What does this contribute to the poem?

Indicate the rhythm of the first four lines by placing them in these curves:
  _______    _______    _______    _______
/                \/                \/                \/                \

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"coot and hern" (heron)
    "bicker"
    "thorps"
    "fairy foreland"
    "willow weed and mallow"
    "grayling"
    "water-break"
    "covers"
    "brambly"
    "shingly bars"
    "eddying"
    "fallow"
    "babble"
    "cresses"
    "brimming"
    "sharps and trebles"
    "skimming swallows"
    "netted sunbeams"

Song of the Chattahoochee

Sidney Lanier

All down the hills of Habersham,
        All through the valleys of Hall,
    The rushes called out, "Stay, stay,"
    The stubborn water-weeds kept me trapped,
    The gentle laurel changed my course,
    The ferns and the soft grass urged, "Stay,"
    The dewberry leaned in to cause a delay,
    And the little reeds sighed, "Stay, stay,"
        Here in the hills of Habersham,
        Here in the valleys of Hall.

High above the hills of Habersham,
        Covering the valleys of Hall,
    The hickory shared many
    Lovely stories of shade; the tall poplar
    Gave me its shadowy form to hold;
    The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
    Leaning over with flickering meaning and signs,
        Said: "Don't pass by so cold, these many
        Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
        These clearings in the valleys of Hall."

And often in the hills of Habersham,
        And often in the valleys of Hall,
    The white quartz sparkled, and the smooth brook stone
    Blocked my way with a friendly struggle;
    And many a bright jewel alone
    (Crystal clear or veiled in mist,
    Ruby, garnet, or amethyst)
    Lured me with the glow of flowing stone
        In the crevices of the hills of Habersham,
        In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh! not the hills of Habersham,
        And oh! not the valleys of Hall
    Work; I really want to water the plain.
    Downward the voices of Duty call;
    Downward to work and be part of the main.
    The dry fields burn and the mills need to turn,
    And countless flowers are dying to bloom,
    And the great main from beyond the plain
        Calls over the hills of Habersham,
        Calls through the valleys of Hall.

STUDY AIDS.

Biographical and Historical: The South has given us two incredibly talented singers, Poe and Lanier. At just nineteen, Sidney Lanier joined the Confederate army, and by the end of the war, he was in poor health, with not much left in the world except a courageous wife and a brave heart. When he was able, he played the flute in an orchestra in Baltimore. The rhythm, rhyme, and beautiful words in his poetry reveal his deep love for music. Among his prose works, "The Boy's Froissart" and "The Boy's King Arthur" are especially appealing to young readers.

Notes and Questions.

Find the Chattahoochee River on your map, starting from the "hills of Habersham" and flowing through the "valleys of Hall."

Compare this poem with Tennyson's "The Brook."

What’s unique about the phrases: "run the rapid," "flee from folly," "willful waterweeds," "loving laurel," etc.?

Find alliteration in other lines.

What does alliteration add to the poem?

Notice the rhythm in the third line of the first stanza.

What is unusual about the eighth line of the first stanza?

Find lines in the other stanzas that have rhymes. Look at the last word in each of these lines. What two things did you discover?

Lanier thought that poetry is a form of music. Does the rhythm in this poem support this idea?

Point out lines that are particularly melodic and enjoyable.

Habersham, Hall--Counties in north Georgia.

Words and phrases for discussion.

"washing the laurel"
    "touching the grass"
    "playful fight"
    "created lures"
    "majestic ocean"
    "navigate the rapids"
    "jump the waterfall"
    "rush quickly"
    "covering the valleys"
    "shimmering meaning"
    "the mills are ready to operate"
    "I am eager to water the plain"

THE LODORE WATERFALL

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

From its sources, which well In the pond on the hill; From its fountains In the mountains, Its streams and its flows; Through moss and through underbrush, It runs and it crawls For a while, until it falls asleep In its own little lake. And then, as it departs, Waking up and starting, It flows through the reeds, And continues on, Through meadows and clearings, In sun and in shade, And through the wooded shelter, Among rocks in its rush, All over the place, Scurrying. Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies dark; Now bubbling and foaming In chaos and fury, Until, in this fast flow On which it is set, It reaches the spot Of its steep drop.

The waterfall rushes strong
Then plunges down,
Striking and raging,
As if a battle is waging
Among its caverns and rocks;
Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frolicking,
Turning and twisting,
Around and around
With endless rebound;
Smashing and fighting,
A sight to take delight in;
Confounding, astounding,
Dizzifying, and deafening the ear with its sound,

Collecting, projecting,
        Receding and speeding,
        And shocking and rocking,
        And darting and parting,
        And threading and spreading,
        And whizzing and hissing,
        And dripping and skipping,
        And hitting and splitting,
        And shining and twining,
        And rattling and battling,
        And shaking and quaking,
        And pouring and roaring,
        And waving and raving,
        And tossing and crossing,
        And flowing and going,
        And running and stunning,
        And foaming and roaming,
        And dinning and spinning,
        And dropping and hopping,
        And working and jerking,
        And guggling and struggling,
        And heaving and cleaving,
        And moaning and groaning,
        And glittering and frittering,
        And gathering and feathering,
        And whitening and brightening,
        And quivering and shivering,
        And hurrying and skurrying,
        And thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,
    And falling and brawling and sprawling,
    And driving and tearing and striving,
    And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
    And sounding and bouncing and rounding,
    And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
    And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
    And chattering and hitting and shattering;
    Retreating and beating and meeting and covering,
    Delaying and wandering and playing and spraying,
    Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
    Recoiling, swirling, and working and boiling,
    And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
    And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
    And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
    And curling and whirling and spiraling and twirling,
    And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping.
    And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
    And so never ending, but always descending,
    Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
        All at once, and all over, with a mighty uproar:
        And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

STUDY AID.

Biography: Robert Southey, 1774-1843, was a renowned English poet. In 1813, he was appointed poet laureate.

Notes and Questions.

Who was "laureate"? What does it mean to be "laureate"?

Who was the king that Southey served as poet-laureate?

To whom besides the king does he say he’s a winner?

What do you think he means by that?

Find this waterfall on your map (Derwent River in Cumberland). What is a waterfall? Have you ever seen one?

Find changes in rhythm as the stream moves forward.

Where in the poem does Southey first use lines where two words rhyme? In which lines do three words rhyme?

Why does the poet use all these rhymes?

Compare the first and second stanzas in terms of their rate.

Point out lines that you find particularly enjoyable.

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"cataract"
    "tarn"
    "brake"
    "glade"
    "helter-skelter"
    "hurry-skurry"
    "vocation"
    "recreation"
    "fell"

THE BELLS

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Hear the soft wedding bells,
                    Golden bells!
    What a world of happiness their harmony brings!
        Through the gentle night air
        How they ring out their joy!
            From the bright golden tones,
                And all in tune,
            What a sweet melody floats
    To the listening turtle-dove, as she enjoys
                    The moon!
        Oh, from the resonating spaces
    What a wave of beautiful sound overflows!
                    How it builds!
                    How it stays
            On the Future! How it speaks
            Of the joy that drives
        To the swinging and the ringing
            Of the bells, bells, bells--
                    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
                            Bells, bells, bells--
    To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarm bells--
                            Brass bells!
    What a story of terror they tell with their chaos!
                In the startled ear of night
                How they scream out their fright!
                    Too horrified to speak,
                    They can only shriek, shriek,
                            Out of tune,
    In a noisy cry for mercy from the fire,
    In a crazy argument with the deaf and frantic fire
                    Leaping higher, higher, higher,
                    With a desperate need,
                            And a determined effort,
                            Now--now to either sit or never,
                    By the side of the pale-faced moon.
                            Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
                            What a story their terror tells
                                  Of despair!
                    How they clang, and clash, and roar!
                    What a horror they unleash
                On the troubled air!
                        Yet the ear fully knows,
                                  By the twanging
                                  And the clanging,
                        How the danger rises and falls;
                    Yet the ear clearly tells,
                                  In the jangling,
                                  And the wrangling,
                    How the danger sinks and swells,
    With the rising or falling in the anger of the bells--
                                        Of the bells--
                    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
                                        Bells, bells, bells--
    In the noise and clamor of the bells!

Hear the ringing of the bells--
Iron bells!
What a world of serious thoughts their melody brings!
In the stillness of the night,
How we shudder with fear
At the sad threat of their sound!
For every noise that drifts
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people--ah, the people--
They who live up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone--
They are neither man nor woman--
They are neither beast nor human--
They are Ghouls;
And their king is the one who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls,
A song of praise from the bells!
And his joyful heart swells
With the song of praise from the bells!
And he dances, and he shouts;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a kind of ancient rhyme,
To the song of praise from the bells--
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a kind of ancient rhyme,
To the beating of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the weeping of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a joyful ancient rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the ringing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

STUDY HELP.

Biographical and Historical: Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston on January 19, 1809. Both of his parents were part of a theater group performing in Boston at the time. He became an orphan at the age of three and was adopted by a wealthy plantation owner from Virginia, who educated him in England and elsewhere. Due to his unpredictable behavior, Poe's adoptive father cut ties with him, and from that point on, his life was a continuous struggle with poverty. His short stories are filled with adventure, symbolism, and supernatural elements. His poetry features vivid imagery, beauty, and musicality.

Notes and Questions.

What types of bells is the poet trying to recreate the sound of?

Which bells has he described the best?

Point out words that are especially good at capturing the sound they describe.

Which lines are particularly lyrical and enjoyable?

What can you say about today's fire alarms?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"euphony"
    "tintinnabulation"
    "expostulation"
    "Runic"
    "crystalline"
    "palpitating"

ANNABEL LEE

EDGAR ALLAN POE

I was a kid and she was a kid,
        In this kingdom by the sea:
    But we loved with a love that was deeper than love--
        I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged angels of heaven
        Envied her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
        In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
        My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her noble relatives came
        And took her away from me,
    To lock her away in a tomb
        In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not even close to being as happy in heaven,
        Were envying her and me--
    Yes!--that’s why (as everyone knows,
        In this kingdom by the sea)
    The wind came out of the cloud at night,
        Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was so much stronger than the love
        Of those who were older
        And much wiser than we were--
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
        Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever separate my soul from the soul
        Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never shines without bringing me dreams
        Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
        Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all through the night, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
        In the tomb there by the sea,
        In her grave by the sounding sea.

STUDY HELPS.

Notes and Questions.

Like "The Bells," this poem is melodic, and the words are selected with this quality in mind.

Notice that the repetition of the word "many" enhances the rhythm of the first line.

Find other lines where a word is repeated for the sake of rhythm.

Find lines with rhymes.

Mention lines that really resonate with you.

What reason is given for Annabel Lee's death?

Why did the angels "desire" and "envy" the lovers?

How powerful was this love?

Why doesn't the lover feel apart from Annabel Lee?

Do you like this poem? Why?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"winged seraphs"
    "sound of the sea"
    "tomb"
    "noble relatives"
    "desired"
    "jealousy"

OPPORTUNITY

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL

STUDYING ASSISTANCE.

About Me: Edward Rowland Sill was born in Connecticut in 1841. He graduated from Yale and spent most of his life in California, where he served for several years as a professor of English language and literature at the State University. Sill was a genuine poet, but all his literary work is found in two small volumes. His poems are recognized for their concise ideas. The selection provided here demonstrates this characteristic.

Notes and Questions.

What do you take away from this poem?

Where was the coward when he decided his sword was pointless?

What word indicates that he was there by his own decision?

What kind of sword did the coward have?

What words indicate that he was essential in the middle of the conflict?

What kind of sword did the prince have?

How long did the king's son stare at the abandoned sword before picking it up?

If the battle symbolizes life, and the coward and the king's son are examples of people in the world, what do you think the swords symbolize?

Why is this poem titled "Opportunity"?

Can you think of another title that could be given to it?

Such a story is called an allegory.

"furious"—What is a heated battle?

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"cowardly"
    "support"
    "lingered at the edge of the battle"
    "stunned"
    "surrounded by enemies"

TO A WATERFOWL

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

Whither, midst falling dew,
    While the heavens glow with the last light of day,
    Far through their rosy depths do you pursue
        Your solitary path?

Vainly the hunter's eye
    Could spot your faraway flight to do you harm,
    As, silhouetted against the red sky,
        Your shape glides by.

Do you seek the muddy edge
    Of a weedy lake, or the bank of a wide river,
    Or where the waves rise and fall
        On the rough ocean shore?

There’s a force that guides you
    As you travel that uncharted shore,--
    The vast desert and endless sky,--
        Wandering alone, but not lost.

All day your wings have fanned,
    At that high altitude, the cold, thin air,
    Yet don't tire and drop down to the welcoming ground,
        Even though the dark night is close.

And soon that hard work will be over;
    Soon you'll find a summer home and relax,
    And shout among your friends; reeds will sway
        Soon over your safe nest.

You're gone; the abyss of heaven
    Has swallowed up your form; yet on my heart
    Deeply has sunk the lesson you've given,
        And will not soon depart.

He who, from place to place,
    Guides your steady journey through the endless sky,
    In the long path that I must walk alone
        Will direct my steps correctly.

STUDY AIDS.

Bio and History: William Cullen Bryant was born in 1794 in Western Massachusetts. He received his education at the local district school. At home, he had access to an impressive library for that time, and he took full advantage of it. In 1816, he earned a license to practice law and walked to Plainfield, Mass., to find a place to set up his office. He felt lonely and downcast, and the world seemed vast and unwelcoming. In this state of mind, while taking a moment to admire the beauty of the sunset, he saw a lone bird flying along the horizon. He watched it until it disappeared into the distance. After that, he continued his journey with renewed courage, and when he reached the place where he would spend the night, he sat down and wrote this beautiful poem of faith and hope.

Notes and Questions.

What lines indicate the time of day?

Which stanza do you like the most? Why?

What lines create the most beautiful image for you?

What does the poet learn from the waterfowl?

Note that the rhythm gives the feeling of the bird's flight.

Words and Phrases to Discuss.

"your solitary way"
    "warm, rosy depths"
    "thin atmosphere"
    "the hunter's eye"
    "long journey"
    "welcoming land"
    "that hard work will end"
    "walk alone"
    "endless sky"
    "final steps of day"
    "certain journey"
    "wandering alone but not lost"
    "worn ocean-side"
    "unmarked coast"
    "the vast heavens have swallowed up your form"

THE SKYLARK

JAMES HOGG.

Bird of the wild,
Joyful and carefree,
Sweet be your morning song over moor and meadow!
Symbol of happiness,
Blessed is your home—
Oh, to be in the wilderness with you!
Wild is your song and loud,
Far up in the fluffy clouds,
Love gives it power; love brought it to life.
Where on your dewy wing,
Where are you traveling?
Your song is in heaven, your love is on earth,

Over
fell and fountain shine,
        Over moor and green mountain,
    Over the red banner that announces the day,
        Over the dim little cloud,
        Over the edge of the rainbow,
    Musical cherub, soar, singing away!
        Then, when twilight comes,
        Low in the heather blooms,
    Sweet will your welcome and bed of love be!

STUDYING AID.

James Hogg was born in Ettrick, Scotland, in 1770, and was known as "the Ettrick Shepherd," because he worked as a shepherd until he was thirty. The beautiful selection presented here was undoubtedly inspired by the poet's early connection with Nature.

Notes and Questions.

From this poem, what can you gather about the skylark's home? What is it like?

Why is the lark considered a symbol of happiness? Name something that could be seen as a symbol of strength; of sadness.

What images do the following words create for you: "wilderness," "moor," "lea," "fell," "heather-bloom"?

What is the "red streamer that announces the day"?

What does the word "dewy" imply about the bird's behavior?

What do "matin" and "gloaming" mean?

In the poem, what indicates that the nest is close to the ground?

Why is "fluffy" used to describe "cloud"?

What makes lines 13 and 14 so melodious?

Indicate the rhythm of the first six lines by organizing them into groups as illustrated in the following curves:

__________    ____________
/                      \/                          \
    Bird of the    wilderness

TO A SKYLARK

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Higher still and higher
From the earth you rise
Like a cloud of fire;
The deep blue you glide
And singing still you soar, and soaring you keep singing.

In the golden light
                      Of the setting sun,
                  Over which clouds are brightening,
                      You float and run;
    Like a disembodied joy whose journey is just starting.

The
                      light purple even
                      melts around your flight;
                  like a star in the sky,
                      in the bright daylight
    you’re unseen,--but I still hear your sharp joy,

Keen
                      Like
                  The arrows
                      From
                      That silver sphere,
                  Whose bright light shrinks
                      In
                      The clear white dawn
    Until we hardly see—it’s like we know it’s there.

All the earth and air
                      With your voice is loud,
                  As, when Night is clear,
                      From one lonely cloud
    The moon pours out her light, and Heaven is overflowed.

What you are, we do not know;
                      What is most like you?
                  From rainbow clouds, there don't flow
                      Drops as bright to see
    As from your presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden
                      In the light of thought,
                  Singing hymns uninvited
                      Until the world is shaped
    To empathize with hopes and fears it ignored:

Like a wealthy lady
                      In a palace tower,
                  Calming her love-filled
                      Heart in a private hour
    With music sweet as love,--which fills her room:

Like a glow-worm golden
                      In a dell of dew,
                  Scattering unseen
                      Its airy glow
    Among the flowers and grass that hide it from sight:

Like a rose surrounded
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds stripped bare,
Until the scent it gives
Makes the heavy-winged thieves faint with too much sweetness:

Sound of spring showers
                      On the sparkling grass,
                  Rain-awakened flowers,
                      All that ever was
    Joyful and bright and fresh, your music is beyond compare,

Teach us, Sprite or Bird,
                      What sweet thoughts are yours;
                  I’ve never heard
                      Praise of love or wine
    That poured out a wave of joy so divine.

Chorus Wedding,
                      Or celebratory song,
                  Pairing with yours, would be nothing
                      But a hollow boast,
    Something that makes us sense there’s a deeper lack.

What objects are the fountains
Of your happy song?
What fields or waves or mountains?
What shapes of sky or land?
What love of your own kind? what lack of pain?

With your clear, sharp joy
                      Laziness can't exist;
                  The shadow of annoyance
                      Never came close to you;
    You love—but never knew love's sad exhaustion.

Waking or asleep
                      You must think of death
                  As things more real and profound
                      Than we humans can dream--
    Or how could your notes flow in such a clear stream?

We look before and after,
And yearn for what isn’t;
Our truest laughter
Is mixed with some pain;
Our sweetest songs are the ones that express the saddest thoughts.

Yet
                      if we could dismiss
                      hate, pride, and fear;
                  if
                      we were beings created
                      not to shed a tear,
    I don’t know how we could ever experience your joy.

Better than all measures
                      Of delightful sound,
                  Better than all treasures
                      That in books are found,
    Your skill to be a poet, you who look down on the ground!

Teach me half the joy
That your mind must hold,
Such beautiful chaos
From my lips would pour,
The world would pay attention then—just as I am now.

STUDY AID.

Biography and History: Percy Bysshe Shelley was born in 1792. He was an English poet who traveled extensively across Europe, especially enjoying Italy. His life was brief and tumultuous, but he never let his personal struggles harden his spirit. At just thirty, he drowned while on a pleasure cruise off the coast of Italy.

"To a Skylark" and "The Cloud" are unique poems due to their remarkable harmony of sound.

The skylark is found in northern Europe. It’s known for its high flights and beautiful song. Keep in mind that Shelley, Wordsworth, and James Hogg have all written poems about the skylark.

Notes and Questions.

What country do these poets come from? What does this imply to you?

Explain the simile in the fifth stanza. In the sixth.

In the seventh stanza, which two words are contrasted?

Note the four comparisons--stanzas eight, nine, ten, and eleven. Which one do you like the most? Why?

In line 86, highlight the first word and explain the stanza.

In line 95, highlight the fifth word and interpret the stanza.

In line 96 to end, what does Shelley say would happen if a poet could experience the same joy that the little bird appears to feel?

If we didn't have any tough days, do you think we could really appreciate the good days?

If we didn't experience sadness, would we be able to appreciate the joyful songs?

If Shelley had never felt sadness, could he have written this beautiful poem about joy?

Explain this:

"There is no music in life
        That rings with laughter alone;
        There's not a note tuned for joy
        That doesn't resonate with sadness."

What does the skylark represent to Shelley?

If we only focus on our own happiness, will we really be able to help others?

Make a list of all the names he calls the skylark.

Enumerate the phrases Shelley uses to describe the song.

Which stanza do you like the most? Why?

"wert" rhymes with heart. (In England, the sound is broad, er=är).

even

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"abundant influences"
    "breathed out"
    "clumsy robbers"
    "spontaneous creativity"
    "downpour of music"
    "joyful chaos"
    "piercing pleasure"
    "wave of ecstasy"
    "drift and rush"
    "pours out"
    "victorious chant"
    "dispersing unseen"

CLOUD COMPUTING

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I sift through the snow on the mountains below,
And their huge pines groan in shock;
And all night, it’s my white pillow,
While I sleep in the arms of the storm,
High above on the towers of my sky-high bower,
Lightning, my guide, sits;
In a cavern below, the thunder is trapped—
It struggles and howls fitfully;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This guide is leading me,
Lured by the love of the spirits that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the streams, the cliffs, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dreams, under mountain or stream,
The spirit he loves stays;
And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile,
While he dissolves in rain.

The bright sunrise, with its fiery eyes,
        And its glowing feathers spread,
    Jumps on the back of my sailing rack,
        When the morning star shines dim,
    Like on the edge of a mountain crag,
        Which an earthquake rocks and sways,
    An eagle, landing, may pause for a moment,
        In the glow of its golden wings.
    And when sunset breathes from the bright sea
        Its warmth of rest and love,
    And the red curtain of evening falls
        From the depth of the sky above,
    With wings folded I rest on my airy nest,
        As still as a brooding dove.

That orb-shaped girl, loaded with white fire,
        Whom people call the Moon,
    Glides shimmering over my soft floor,
        Scattered by the midnight breezes;
    And wherever the sound of her unseen feet,
        That only the angels can hear,
    Might have broken through the fabric of my tent's thin roof,
        The stars peek out from behind her and stare!
    And I laugh to see them swirl and dart,
        Like a swarm of golden bees,
    When I widen the tear in my wind-made tent,
        Until the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
    Like strips of the sky fallen through me above,
        Are all paved with the moon and these.

I connect the sun's throne with a blazing ring,
        And the moon's with a pearl necklace;
    The volcanoes fade, and the stars sway and dip,
        When the whirlwinds spread my banner.
    From coast to coast, with a bridge-like form,
        Over a torrent of sea,
    Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
        With the mountains as its columns.
    The triumphal arch I walk through
        With hurricanes, fire, and snow,
    When the forces of the air are tied to my chair,
        Is the multi-colored bow;
    The sky's fire above woven with its soft colors,
        While the damp earth laughs below.

I am the daughter of earth and water,
        And the child of the sky;
    I flow through the pores of the ocean and shores;
        I change, but I cannot die.
    For after the rain, when, with never a stain,
        The sky is clear,
    And the winds and sunbeams, with their bright gleams,
        Form the blue dome of air,
    I quietly laugh at my own tombstone,
        And from the depths of the rain,
    Like a spirit from the shadows, like a ghost from the grave,
        I rise and break it down again.

STUDY ASSISTANCE.

Notes and Questions.

In this poem, Shelley gives the Cloud human traits. Why?

What does the second stanza mean to you?

The third stanza is about the sun; what comparisons are drawn?

What comparisons can be found in the fourth stanza?

Read the last stanza and share what lesson the poem conveys. Which line indicates that?

What images come to mind from the fifth stanza?

Which stanza sounds the best and is most enjoyable?

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

Roll on, deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!
        Ten thousand fleets sweep over you in vain;
        Humans mark the earth with ruin— their control
        Stops at the shore; on the watery plain
        The wrecks are all your doing, and there remains
        No trace of man's destruction, except his own,
        When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
        He sinks into your depths, with bubbling groans—
    Without a grave, unmarked, unburied, and unknown.

His steps aren't on your paths—your fields
        Aren't for him to claim—you rise
        And shake him off; the vile power he holds
        For destroying the earth, you utterly reject,
        Kicking him from your embrace to the skies,
        And send him, trembling in your playful spray,
        And howling to his gods, where perhaps lies
        His small hope in some nearby port or bay,
    And you hurl him back to the earth: there let him stay.

The weapons that shake the walls
    Of stone-built cities, making nations tremble,
    And kings shiver in their capitals,
    The great ships, whose massive frames make
    Their clay creator take the empty title of
    Master of you, and judge of war:
    These are your toys, and, like the snowflake,
    They dissolve into your churning waves, which ruin
    Both the pride of the Armada and the treasures of Trafalgar.

Your shores are empires changed in every way but you—
        Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
        Your waters washed over them while they were still free,
        And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
        The stranger, slave, or savage; their decline
        Has turned whole kingdoms into deserts; not you;
        Unchanging except for the play of your wild waves.
        Time writes no wrinkle on your azure brow:
    Just as creation's dawn first saw you, you roll on now.

You, glorious mirror, where the Almighty's shape
is reflected in storms; at all times,
whether calm or chaotic—in a breeze, strong wind, or tempest,
freezing at the poles, or in the burning heat
of dark, surging waters; limitless, infinite, and magnificent—
The image of Eternity—the throne
of the Invisible; even from your depths
the monsters of the deep are formed; every region
obeys you; you move forward, terrifying, deep, and alone.

And I have loved you, Ocean! My joy
        In youthful fun was to be
        Carried by you, like your bubbles, onward: since I was a boy,
        I played with your waves—they brought me
        Delight; and even when the rising sea
        Turned them into a threat—it was an exciting fear;
        For I was, in a way, your child,
        And trusted your waves near and far,
    And laid my hand upon your mane—just like I do here.

STUDY AIDS.

Bio and History: George Gordon Byron was born in London just before the French Revolution started. When he was ten, after his grand-uncle passed away, he became Lord Byron. He traveled widely across Europe, spending a lot of time in Italy. In Pisa, he developed a close friendship with the poet Shelley. He was so inspired by his feelings for liberty and freedom that in the summer of 1823, he left Genoa with weapons, medicine, and money to support the Greeks in their fight for independence. The following year, he became the commander-in-chief in Missolonghi, but he died of a fever before he could actually go into battle. When he heard the news, the young Tennyson, dreaming of poetic greatness in Somersby, ran away to cry and carve the words, "Byron is dead," into sandstone.

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 connection to humans.

Line 12--What two words need emphasis?

Line 13--What is the "watery plain" being compared to?

Line 14--With what is "your" contrasted?

What word needs emphasis?

In the fourth stanza, what contrast does Byron make?

What do the fifth and sixth stanzas say?

Which stanza do you like the most? And why?

Which lines are the most beautiful?

"The Invincible Armada"—a massive Spanish fleet made up of one hundred thirty ships—set sail from Corunna in 1588 and engaged the English fleet but faced defeat. This event inspired Southey to write a poem, "The Spanish Armada."

"Trafalgar"—one of Lord Nelson's major naval battles, taking place off Cape Trafalgar on the coast of Spain in 1805. He defeated the combined fleets of France and Spain but was killed in the process.

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"unknelled"
    "uncoffined"
    "unknown"
    "playful spray"
    "oak leviathans"
    "yeast of waves"
    "These are your toys"
    "The Armada's pride"
    "spoils of Trafalgar"
    "rock-built"
    "glasses itself"
    "fathomless"

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

LORD BYRON

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is lush,
    That group with their banners at sunset were seen;
    Like the leaves of the forest when autumn has gone,
    That group the next day lay withered and scattered.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the wind,
    And breathed in the face of the enemy as he went by;
    And the eyes of those sleeping grew cold and lifeless,
    And their hearts beat once, then became silent forever!

And there lay the horse with his nostrils flared,
    But there was no sign of his pride in his breath;
    And the foam from his gasping was white on the ground,
    And cold like the spray from waves crashing on rocks.
    And there lay the rider, twisted and pale,
    With dew on his forehead and rust on his armor;
    And the tents were all quiet, just the banners standing,
    The lances lowered, the trumpet silent.

And the widows of Ashur are crying out loudly,
    And their idols are broken in the temple of Baal;
    And the power of the Gentiles, untouched by the sword,
    Has melted away like snow in the sight of the Lord!

STUDY AID.

Historical: Sennacherib was King of Assyria. His army invaded Judea and surrounded Jerusalem but was defeated; 185,000 of his soldiers were killed in just one night. Sennacherib quickly returned with the survivors to his own country. For the biblical account of this event, read 2 Kings XIX. 6-36.

Notes and Questions.

Find Assyria and Galilee on your map.

Note the development:
1. Amazing start of the Assyrian cavalry.
2. Their summer turns into winter.
3. The angel turns their sleep into death.
4. The horse and the rider.
5. The grief.
6. Their idols unable to help them.
7. Their faith shattered.
8. Their power "melted like snow."

What two comparisons are in the first stanza?

Notice the movement and rhythm.

Point out how suitable the two similes are 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 like on page 47:

Words and Phrases for Discussion.

"groups"
    "shine"
    "gathering"
    "unstrike"
    "idols are broken"
    "purple and gold"
    "withered and scattered"
    "wave-crashing surf"

THE EVE BEFORE WATERLOO
(From "Childe Harold," Canto III.)

LORD BYRON

There was a sound of celebration at night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her honor, and bright
The lights shone over lovely women and brave men.
A thousand hearts were beating happily; and when
Music rose with its pleasing swell,
Soft eyes exchanged glances full of love,
And everything was joyful like a wedding bell.
But, wait! Listen! A deep sound strikes like a rising alarm!

Did you not hear it?--No; it was just the wind,
        Or the car rattling over the bumpy street.
        On with the dance! let joy be limitless;
        No sleep until morning, when Youth and Pleasure meet
        To chase the glowing hours with swift feet!
        But, listen! that heavy sound interrupts once more,
        As if the clouds are echoing it back;
        And closer, clearer, deadlier than before!
    Arm! arm! it is--it is the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed nook of that grand hall
        Sat Brunswick's destined leader; he heard
        That sound first during the celebration,
        And caught its tone with Death's keen ear;
        And when they smiled, thinking it was near,
        His heart knew too well that tolling sound
        Which laid his father on a bloody stretcher,
        And stirred the vengeance that only blood could calm;
    He charged into the battle, and, leading the fight, fell.

Ah! Then and there was chaos, And tears were being shed, and tremors of distress, And faces all pale, which just an hour ago Glowed at the compliments of their own beauty; And there were sudden goodbyes, like those that tear The life out of young hearts, and choking sighs That could never be repeated: who could know If those mutual eyes would ever meet again, Since such a beautiful night could bring such a terrible morning!

And there was a rush of excitement: the horse,
        The gathering troops, and the noisy chariot,
        Charged ahead with furious speed,
        Quickly forming into battle lines;
        And the deep thunder echoing in the distance;
        And close by, the sound of the warning drum
        Woke the soldier before the morning star;
        While terrified citizens crowded in silence,
    Or whispered with pale lips, "The enemy! They are coming! They're coming!"

And wild and high the "Cameron's Gathering" rose!
The war cry of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard—and so have her Saxon enemies:
How in the middle of the night that pibroch thrills,
Fierce and sharp! But with the sound that fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the bold native spirit that inspires
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's fame echoes in each clansman's ears!

And
the Ardennes spread her green leaves above them,
covered in Nature's
dew drops as they go by,
mourning, if anything
non-human can mourn,
for the fallen heroes--oh no!
Before evening, they will be
trampled like the grass
that lies beneath them,
but will grow back above
in its next lushness,
when this fiery group
of brave fighters,
charging at the enemy,
and filled with great hope, shall decay cold
and low.

Last noon found them full of vibrant life,
Last evening in Beauty's circle proudly cheerful;
The midnight brought the sound of conflict--
The morning, the gathering of arms--the day,
Battle's magnificently stern formation!
The thunderclouds close overhead, which when torn
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and confined,
Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blended!

STUDY AIDS.

Historic On the evening of June 15, 1815, the Duchess of Richmond hosted a ball in Brussels. Wellington's officers attended at his request, as he aimed to hide the imminent battle. Napoleon, the commander of the French army, was the military genius of his time; Wellington, the leader of the English forces, had, as Tennyson noted, "won a hundred fights and never lost an English gun." This was the first time these two great generals met. The event captured the interest of the entire world. The clash that followed the next day was fought at Quatre Bras; the significant battle of Waterloo occurred on June 18th, a Sunday. Check out Thackeray's "Vanity Fair" for a description of that night in Brussels. This is a remarkable martial poem—the greatest inspired by this event.

Note the flow of the poem. The celebration, the beauty and the chivalry, the music and the fun, the urgency, the rushing back and forth, the gathering tears, the quick ascent, the whispers with pale lips, the Scottish music, the green leaves of Ardennes, the final scene.

Notes and Questions.

Find Belgium's capital on your map; also locate Waterloo, which is twelve miles away.

What does the first stanza say? The second stanza?

Note the differences between the fourth and fifth stanzas.

The sixth stanza talks about Scottish martial music—What role does this stanza play in the poem?

Which lines do you like the most? Why?

Which stanza is the most beautiful?

What words seem to be particularly fitting?

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"—a poetic name for northern Scotland, the Highland region.

"Pibroch"—military music for bagpipes.

"Evan's and Donald's fame"—Evan Cameron (another Lochiel) and his grandson, Donald, were well-known Highland chiefs.

"Ardennes"—Arden, a forest on the Meuse River between Brussels and Waterloo, referred to as Arden by Shakespeare in "As You Like It."

"car"—a vehicle.

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 islands of Greece, the islands of Greece!
        Where passionate Sappho loved and sang,
    Where the arts of war and peace developed,
        Where Delos emerged and Phoebus appeared!
    Eternal summer still shines on them,
    But everything, except their sun, has faded.

The Scian and the Teian muse,
        The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
    Have gained the fame your shores deny;
        Their place of birth is the only quiet
    To sounds that resonate further west
    Than your ancestors' "Islands of the Blest."

The mountains look over Marathon--
        And Marathon looks at the sea;
    And while I was lost in thought there for an hour,
        I imagined that Greece could still be free:
    For, standing on the Persian's grave,
    I couldn't see myself as a slave.

A king sat on the rocky hill
That overlooks sea-born Salamis;
And thousands of ships were below,
And men from many nations;--all were his!
He counted them at dawn--
And when the sun set, where were they?

And where are they? And where are you, my country? On your silent shore, the heroic song is now without a tune—the heroic heart no longer beats. And must your lyre, which was so divine for so long, be played by hands like mine?

It's something about the lack of recognition,
Though connected to a constrained group,
To at least feel the embarrassment of a patriot,
Even as I sing, my face flushes;
Because what does the poet have left here?
For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.

Must we only cry over better days?
Must we only feel shame?--Our fathers fought and died.
Earth, give back from your depths
A portion of our brave dead!
Of the three hundred, grant us just three,
To create a new Thermopylæ!

What, silent still? And completely quiet?
        Ah, no; the voices of the dead
    Sound like a distant waterfall,
        And reply, "Let just one living person,
    Just one, stand up--we're coming, we’re coming!"
    It's only the living who are silent.

In vain—it's all for nothing: hit other notes; Fill the cup high with Samian wine! Leave the fighting to the Turkish forces, And spill the blood of Scio's vine! Listen! responding to the unworthy call— How each bold reveler answers!

You have the Pyrrhic dance still--
        Where has the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
    Of these two lessons, why forget
        The nobler and more masculine one?
    You have the letters that Cadmus provided--
    Do you think he intended them for a slave?

The tyrant of the Chersonese
        Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
    That tyrant was Miltiades!
        O that the present hour would lend
    Another despot of the kind!
    Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Don't expect freedom from the Franks--
        They have a king who trades power--
    True bravery lies in native arms and ranks;
        That's where hope for courage thrives;
    But Turkish strength and Latin deceit
    Would shatter your shield, no matter how strong.

Place me on Sunium's marble cliff,
Where nothing, but the waves and I
Can hear our shared whispers flow;
There, like a swan, let me sing and die;
A land of slaves will never be my own--
Throw down that cup of Samian wine!

STUDY AID.

Historical: The decline of Greece is the theme of this poem. Byron portrays a Greek poet contrasting ancient and modern Greece, highlighting that in modern Greece, "all except their sun is set."

Notes and Questions.

What does the first stanza say?

What are "the arts of war and peace"?

What nation are the Franks referring to?

"I couldn't consider myself a slave." Why?

Line 19--refers to Xerxes.

Lines 23, 24. Explain these lines,

Explain lines 67, 70.

Conversation Starters.

"Sappho"
    "Delos"
    "Phoebus"
    "Marathon"
    "Persian's grave"
    "Salamis"
    "eternal summer"
    "rocky brow"
    "voiceless shore"
    "heroic song"
    "fettered race"
    "lack of fame"
    "Of the three hundred, grant just three,
     To create a new Thermopylæ"

Marco Bozzaris

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK

At midnight, in the shadows of the forest,
        Bozzaris gathered his Suliote group,
    As dependable as the sharpness of their tested blades,
        Heroes in spirit and action.
    There the thousands of Persians stood,
    There the joyful earth soaked up their blood,
        On the day of old Platæa:
    And now that haunted air was filled,
    With the descendants of those who triumphed there,
    With weapons to fight, and courage to take risks,
        As quickly, as far as they did.

An hour went by— the Turk woke up; That bright dream was his last: He woke up—to hear his sentries scream, "To arms! They’re coming! The Greek! The Greek!" He woke up—to die in flames and smoke, And shouts and groans, and saber strokes, And death shots falling thick and fast Like lightning from the mountain clouds; And he heard, with a voice as loud as a trumpet, Bozzaris rally his men: "Strike!—until the last armed enemy is gone; Strike!—for your altars and your fires; Strike!—for the green graves of your ancestors; God—and your homeland!"

They fought—like brave men, long and hard;
        They covered the ground with slain Muslims;
    They won—but Bozzaris fell,
        Bleeding from every vein.
    His few surviving comrades saw
    His smile when they proudly shouted, "Hurrah,"
        And the red field was theirs:
    Then they watched him die, his eyelids closing,
    Calmly as if to respond to the night,
        Like flowers at sunset.

But to the hero, when his sword
        Has won the battle for the free,
    Your voice sounds like a prophet's word,
    And in its hollow tones are heard
        The thanks of millions yet to be.
    Bozzaris! with the legendary brave
    Greece raised in her glory's time,
    Rest easy—there’s no prouder grave,
        Even in her own proud land.
    We speak of your fate without a sigh;
    For you are now Freedom's, and Fame's—
    One of the few, the immortal names
        That were not meant to die.

STUDY ASSISTANCE.

Biography and History: Fitz-Greene Halleck was born in Connecticut on July 8, 1790, and passed away on November 19, 1867. Among his poems, "Marco Bozzaris" is likely the most famous. Marco Bozzaris, a leader in the Greek revolution, was killed on August 20, 1823, during an attack on the Turks near Missolonghi, a town in Greece. His last words were: "Dying for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain."

Notes and Questions.

Over whom did the Turk dream he won a victory?

What could be the "trophies of a conqueror"?

Upon whom would a king give the honor of wearing his signet ring?

Trace the series of steps through which the Turk in his dream reaches the peak of his aspirations.

What other "immortal names" do you know?

"Suliote"—natives of Suli, a hilly area in Albania (European Turkey).

"Platæa's day" refers to the victory of the Greeks over the Persians on this field in 479 B.C.

"Moslem"—Muslims—name given to the Turks.

Words and Phrases for Chat.

"tried blades"
    "haunted atmosphere"
    "legendary brave"

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

CHARLES WOLFE

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
        As we rushed to the rampart with his body;
    Not a soldier fired his farewell shot
        Over the grave where we laid our hero to rest.

We buried him silently in the dead of night,
        The dirt with our bayonets shifting,
    By the faint glow of the struggling moonlight,
        And the lantern softly burning.

No useless coffin held his body,
        Nor were we wrapped in sheet or shroud;
    But he lay like a warrior resting,
        With his military cloak around him.

Few and brief were the prayers we offered,
        And we didn't speak a word of sadness;
    But we steadily looked at the face of the dead,
        And we sadly pondered about tomorrow.

We thought, as we hollowed out his narrow bed,
        And smoothed his lonely pillow,
    That the enemy and the stranger would walk over his head,
        While we were far away on the waves.

Lightly they'll talk about the spirit that's gone,
        And over his cold ashes blame him;
    But he won't care much, if they let him rest on
        In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy work was done
        When the clock struck the hour to call it a night;
    And we heard the distant and random gun
        That the enemy was firing with annoyance.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
        From the field of his fame, fresh and bloody;
    We didn’t carve a line, we didn’t raise a stone,
        But we left him alone with his glory.

HELPS WITH STUDYING.

Charles Wolfe, a British priest, was born in Dublin on December 14, 1791, and passed away in Cork on February 21, 1823. His poem, "The Burial of Sir John Moore," is the only one of his works that is still widely read today.

Historical: Sir John Moore, an English general, was killed on January 16, 1809, during a battle between the English forces and Napoleon's army at Corunna, Spain. Following his wishes, he was buried at night on the battlefield. A monument was erected in St. Paul's Cathedral in London in his memory, and there is also a stone marking the spot where he was buried on the ramparts at Corunna. It's worth noting that this port was the starting point for the Spanish Armada.

Notes and Questions.

Who tells the story of the poem?

What does the narrator feel about Sir John Moore? How do you know?

What do you think about Sir John Moore after reading this poem?

Which stanza or stanzas do you like the most? Why?

Select the lines that you find the most beautiful and memorize them.

Which is the greater memorial, a monument made of stone or bronze, or a poem like this? Why?