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The Solitary Reaper -- William Wordsworth

       
(Poem #82) The Solitary Reaper
  Behold her, single in the field,
  Yon solitary Highland Lass!
  Reaping and singing by herself;
  Stop here, or gently pass!
  Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
  And sings a melancholy strain;
  O listen! for the Vale profound
  Is overflowing with the sound.

  No Nightingale did ever chaunt
  More welcome notes to weary bands
  Of travellers in some shady haunt,
  Among Arabian sands:
  A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
  In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
  Breaking the silence of the seas
  Among the farthest Hebrides.

  Will no one tell me what she sings?--
  Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
  For old, unhappy, far-off things,
  And battles long ago:
  Or is it some more humble lay,
  Familiar matter of to-day?
  Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
  That has been, and may be again?

  Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
  As if her song could have no ending;
  I saw her singing at her work,
  And o'er the sickle bending;--
  I listened, motionless and still;
  And, as I mounted up the hill
  The music in my heart I bore,
  Long after it was heard no more.
-- William Wordsworth
        (from Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803)

Like many of Wordsworth's best and most memorable poems, this is a sort of
snapshot, a poem that strives to recapture a single instance in time and
space (compare, for instance, 'Daffodils' and 'Composed Upon Westminster
Bridge'). Unsurprising, actually, since it reflects Wordsworth's own
philosophy of poetry; i.e, that a poem should be a 'spontaneous overflow of
powerful feelings, recollected in tranquility'.

The poem itself needs little explanation, but note the memorable quality of
phrases like 'stop here, or gently pass', or the wonderful imagery of
'breaking the silence of the seas'. Note also the slightly unusual rhyme
scheme, ababccdd, which along with the short fourth line gives the poem a
nice rhythmic effect.

Notes:

Coleridge, Wordsworth, and his sister had visited the Scottish Highlands
in 1803. In a note to early editions of the poem Wordsworth recorded his
indebtedness to a sentence in his friend Wilkinson's manuscript of his Tours
of the British Mountains: "Passed by a Female who was reaping alone; she
sang in Erse as she bended over her sickle, the sweetest human voice I ever
heard. Her strains were tenderly melancholy, and felt delicious long after
they were heard no more."
        -- Representative Poetry Online
        <http://library.utoronto.ca/www/utel/rp/poems/wordswor30.html>

m.

A Red, Red Rose -- Robert Burns

have you figured out the theme yet?
(Poem #81) A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
    That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
    That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
    So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
    Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
    And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
    While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
    And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
-- Robert Burns
Another poem that's no less good for it's popularity...but not a poem
one can say much about by way of commentary.

thomas.

PS. As an aside, I'm in Edinburgh today - a particularly apt coincidence
<g>

[Biography]

Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland in 1759. His father, a poor tenant
farmer, tutored his sons at home and sought to provide them with as much
additional education as his resouces allowed. An avid reader, Burns
acquired a grounding in English before studying the poetry of his
Scottish heritage. During his youth Burns endured the hard work and
progressively worsening financial difficulties which beset his family as
they moved from one rented farm to another. As a young man Burns
developed a reputation for charm and wit, engaging in several love
affairs that brought him into conflict with the Presbyterian Church. He
also angered the church by criticizing such accepted beliefs as
predestination and mankind's inherent sinfulness, which he considered
incompatible with human nature. In 1786 Burns proposed marriage to Jean
Armour, who was pregnant with his twin sons. Her parents rejected his
offer and demanded financial restitution. As a result, Burns determined
to sail to the West Indies and start a new life. However, with the
successful publication that year of his 'Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish
Dialect', Burns abandoned his plans and traveled to Edinburgh, where he
was much admired in literary circles. While in Edinburgh Burns met James
Johnson, a printer involved in a project to publish all the folk songs
of Scotland. Burns subsequently traveled throughout the country,
collecting over 300 songs, which were printed in Johnson's six-volume
Scots Musical Museum (1787-1803) and George Thomson's five-volume Select
Collection of Original Airs for the Voice (1793-1818). Many of the songs
he collected were revised or edited by Burns -  as with 'John Anderson
My Jo' - or, in some cases, newly written by him - as with 'A Red, Red
Rose'. One consequence of his journeys around Scotland was his rise to
national prominence and popularity. Burns finally married Armour in 1788
and divided his time between writing poetry and farming until he
obtained a government position three years later. He died from rheumatic
heart disease in 1796.

[Criticism]

After the 1786 publication of Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect,
Robert Burns spent the last ten years of his life collecting and editing
songs for The Scots Musical Museum, an anthology intended to preserve
traditional Scottish lyrical forms. During this time, Burns also
composed more than three hundred original works for the volume, songs
that relied heavily on forms and sentiments popular in the folk culture
of the Scottish peasantry. 'A Red, Red Rose', first published in 1794 in
A Selection of Scots Songs, edited by Peter Urbani, is one such song.
Written in ballad stanzas, the verse - read today as a poem - pieces
together conventional ideas and images of love in a way that transcends
the "low" or non-literary sources from which the poem is drawn. In it,
the speaker compares his love first with a blooming rose in spring and
then with a melody "sweetly play'd in tune." If these similes seem the
typical fodder for love-song lyricists, the second and third stanzas
introduce the subtler and more complex implications of time. In trying
to quantify his feelings - and in searching for the perfect metaphor to
describe the "eternal" nature of his love - the speaker inevitably comes
up against love's greatest limitation, "the sands o' life." This image
of the hour-glass forces the reader to reassess of the poem's first and
loveliest image: A "red, red rose" is itself an object of an hour,
"newly sprung" only "in June" and afterward subject to the decay of
time. This treatment of time and beauty predicts the work of the later
Romantic poets, who took Burns's work as an important influence.

[Construction]

'A Red, Red Rose' is written in four four-line stanzas, or quatrains,
consisting of alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines. This means that
the first and third lines of each stanza have four stressed syllables,
or beats, while the second and fourth lines have three stressed
syllables. Quatrains written in this manner are called ballad stanzas.
The ballad is a old form of verse adapted for singing or recitation,
originating in the days when most poetry existed in spoken rather than
written form. The typical subject matter of most ballads reflects folk
themes important to common people: love, courage, the mysterious, and
the supernatural. Though the ballad is generally rich in musical
qualities such as rhythm and repetition, it often portrays both ideas
and feelings in overwrought but simplistic terms. The dominant meter of
the ballad stanza is iambic, which means the poem's lines are
constructed in two-syllable segments, called iambs, in which the first
syllable is unstressed and the second is stressed. As an example of
iambic meter, consider the following line from the poem with the
stresses indicated:
     That's sweet / ly play'd / in tune.
This pattern exists most regularly in the trimeter lines of the poem,
lines which most often finish the thoughts begun in the a regularity
which gives the poem a balanced feel that enhances its musical sound.

    -- from the Gale Poetry Resource Center
http://www.gale.com/gale/poetry/poetset.html

The Brook (excerpt) -- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

       
(Poem #80) The Brook (excerpt)
 `O babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rhyme,
 `Whence come you?' and the brook, why not? replies.

     I come from haunts of coot and hern,
     I make a sudden sally,
     And sparkle out among the fern,
     To bicker down a valley.

     By thirty hills I hurry down,
     Or slip between the ridges,
     By twenty thorps, a little town,
     And half a hundred bridges.

     Till last by Philip's farm I flow
     To join the brimming river,
     For men may come and men may go,
     But I go on for ever.

 `Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out,
 Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge,
 It has more ivy; there the river; and there
 Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet.

     I chatter over stony ways,
     In little sharps and trebles,
     I bubble into eddying bays,
     I babble on the pebbles.

     With many a curve my banks I fret
     By many a field and fallow,
     And many a fairy foreland set
     With willow-weed and mallow.

     I chatter, chatter, as I flow
     To join the brimming river,
     For men may come and men may go,
     But I go on for ever.

 `But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird;
 Old Philip; all about the fields you caught
 His weary daylong chirping, like the dry
 High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass. [grig = cricket - m.]

     I wind about, and in and out,
     With here a blossom sailing,
     And here and there a lusty trout,
     And here and there a grayling,

     And here and there a foamy flake
     Upon me, as I travel
     With many a silvery waterbreak
     Above the golden gravel,

     And draw them all along, and flow
     To join the brimming river,
     For men may come and men may go,
     But I go on for ever.
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
        Full poem at
        <[broken link] http://www.hti.umich.edu/bin/epd/epd-idx.pl?type=HTML&rgn=POEM&byte=>
        Reproduced from the English Poetry Full-Text Database Copyright (c)
        [1992-1995] Chadwyck-Healey Ltd.

This is a wonderfully lyrical poem, even for Tennyson - in places it verges
on pure music. In fact, it is hardly necessary to 'understand' it - just let
the images and beautifully patterned rhythms flow past, evoking the babbling
brook. I could go through this excerpt line by line, saying exactly what I
like about each one, but if this isn't a poem that should speak for itself,
I don't know what is. In passing, though - it has immortalized the phrase
'babbling brook', enshrining it so thoroughly into the language that even
those who have never heard of Tennyson would apply no other adjective.

m. (Happy Star Wars day! [1])

[1] May the 4th...

Red Hanrahan's Song About Ireland -- William Butler Yeats

This week's theme... well, you'll figure it out soon enough :-)
(Poem #79) Red Hanrahan's Song About Ireland
The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand,
Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand;
Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies,
But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.

The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knock-narea,
And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say.
Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat;
But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.

The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare,
For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air;
Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood;
But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood
Is Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
-- William Butler Yeats
Well, there's not much I can say about Yeats' poetry that I haven't said
already... in short, I like it, and this poem is an excellent example
why. Hauntingly beautiful phrases, strong and resonant imagery, elegant
construction, an understated romanticism... this poem has it all.

thomas.

PS. For the analysis-minded among you, in this poem, Yeats makes the
point that idealism and patriotism do not exist in a vacuum, nor are
they as abstract as the idealists and patriots would believe; more often
than not, it is the specific case, the individual, which is the
underlying factor behind acts committed 'for a higher purpose'.

George Macbeth writes:
    "Irish history and Irish politics came alive to Yeats through the
doings of people he knew and loved. His best work is a commentary on the
history of a whole country at the establishment of its freedom, a period
of agonising crisis seen through the eyes of a particularly sensitive
and involved member of it. Ireland was still small enough in the early
twentieth century for one man to feel its problems personally and mould
great poetry out of them. No English poet has been able during the last
fifty or sixty years to do this for more than one particular region.
This more than anything else establishes Yeats' preeminence."

The Pelagian Drinking Song -- Hilaire Belloc

Guest poem from Ashwin Mahalingam

Lest the rest of the known world think I am dead, I have decided to make
my presence felt. Random musings led to this poem by Hilaire Belloc
which seemed extremely entertaining and amusing. So, I'd like you to put
it up on minstrels if you deem it fit:-)
(Poem #78) The Pelagian Drinking Song
Pelagius lived at Kardanoel
And taught a doctrine there
How, whether you went to heaven or to hell
It was your own affair.
It had nothing to do with the Church, my boy,
But was your own affair.

No, he didn't believe
In Adam and Eve
He put no faith therein!
His doubts began
With the Fall of Man
And he laughed at Original Sin.
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
He laughed at original sin.

Then came the bishop of old Auxerre
Germanus was his name
He tore great handfuls out of his hair
And he called Pelagius shame.
And with his stout Episcopal staff
So thoroughly whacked and banged
The heretics all, both short and tall --
They rather had been hanged.

Oh he whacked them hard, and he banged them long
Upon each and all occasions
Till they bellowed in chorus, loud and strong
Their orthodox persuasions.
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
Their orthodox persuasions.

Now the faith is old and the Devil bold
Exceedingly bold indeed.
And the masses of doubt that are floating about
Would smother a mortal creed.
But we that sit in a sturdy youth
And still can drink strong ale
Let us put it away to infallible truth
That always shall prevail.

And thank the Lord
For the temporal sword
And howling heretics too.
And all good things
Our Christendom brings
But especially barley brew!
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
Especially barley brew!
-- Hilaire Belloc
My comments: The first time I read it, I nearly fell out of my chair
laughing. I especially like the row-ti-tow Ti-oodly-ow's appearing at the
end of every alternate stanza. Somehow, however, there does seem to be some
meaning in this poem especially in the lines

        Let us put it away to infallible truth
        That always shall prevail.

which is probably why the piece cannot be classified completely as a
nonsense poem. In the end analysis, the metre and the theme make this a very
enjoyable poem, and I leave it to the reader to draw whatever inferences
he/she may.

Mash