SHIPWRECKED
From "Kidnapped"
1. The time I spent upon the island is still so horrible a thought to me that I must pass it lightly over. In all the books I have read of people cast away, either they had their pockets full of tools, or a chest of things would be thrown upon the beach along with them, as if on purpose. My case was very much different. I had nothing in my pockets but money and Alan's silver button; and being inland bred, I was as much short of knowledge as of means.
2. I knew indeed that shellfish were counted good to eat; and among the rocks of the isle I found a great plenty of limpets, which at first I could scarcely strike from their places, not knowing quickness to be needful. There were, besides, some of the little shells that we call buckies; I think periwinkle is the English name. Of these two I made my whole diet, devouring them cold and raw as I found them; and so hungry was I that at first they seemed to me delicious.
3. Perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something wrong in the sea about my island. But at least I had no sooner eaten my first meal than I was seized with giddiness and retching, and lay for a long time no better than dead. A second trial of the same food (indeed, I had no other) did better with me and revived my strength.
4. But as long as I was on the island, I never knew what to expect when I had eaten; sometimes all was well, and sometimes I was thrown into a miserable sickness; nor could I ever distinguish what particular fish it was that hurt me. All day it streamed rain; there was no dry spot to be found; and when I lay down that night, between two boulders that made a kind of roof, my feet were in a bog.
5. From a little up the hillside over the bay I could catch a sight of the great ancient church and the roofs of the people's houses in Iona. And on the other hand, over the low country of the Ross, I saw smoke go up, morning and evening, as if from a homestead in a hollow of the land.
6. I used to watch this smoke, when I was wet and cold and had my head half-turned with loneliness, and think of the fireside and of the company till my heart burned. Altogether, this sight I had of men's homes and comfortable lives, although it put a point on my own sufferings, yet it kept hope alive, and helped me to eat my raw shellfish (which had soon grown to be a disgust), and saved me from the sense of horror I had whenever I was quite alone with dead rocks, and fowls, and the rain, and the cold sea.
7. Charles the Second declared a man could stay outdoors more days in the year in the climate of England than in any other. That was very like a king with a palace at his back and changes of dry clothes. But he must have had better luck on his flight from Worcester than I had on that miserable isle. It was the height of summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, and did not clear until the afternoon of the third day.
8. There is a pretty high rock on the north-west of Earraid, which (because it had a flat top and overlooked the Sound) I was much in the habit of frequenting; not that I ever stayed in one place, save when asleep, my misery giving me no rest. Indeed, I wore myself down with continual and aimless goings and comings in the rain.
9. As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of that rock to dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing I cannot tell. It set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which I had begun to despair; and I scanned the sea and the Ross with a fresh interest. On the south of my rock a part of the island jutted out and hid the open ocean so that a boat could thus come quite near me upon that side and I be none the wiser.
10. Well, all of a sudden, a coble, with a brown sail and a pair of fishers aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle, bound for Iona. I shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the rock and prayed to them. They were near enough to hear—I could even see the colour of their hair—and there was no doubt but they observed me, for they cried out in the Gaelic tongue, and laughed. But the boat never turned aside, and flew right on, before my eyes, for Iona.
11. I could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from rock to rock, crying on them piteously; even after they were out of reach of my voice I still cried and waved to them; and when they were quite gone I thought my heart would burst.
12. The next day (which was the fourth of this horrible life of mine) I found my bodily strength run very low. But the sun shone, the air was sweet, and what I managed to eat of the shellfish agreed well with me and revived my courage.
13. I was scarce back on my rock (where I went always the first thing after I had eaten) before I observed a boat coming down the Sound, and with her head, as I thought, in my direction.
14. I began at once to hope and fear exceedingly; for I thought these men might have thought better of their cruelty and be coming back to my assistance. But another disappointment, such as yesterday's, was more than I could bear. I turned my back accordingly upon the sea, and did not look again till I had counted many hundreds.
15. The boat was still heading for the island. The next time I counted the full thousand, as slowly as I could, my heart beating so as to hurt me. And then it was out of all question. She was coming straight to Earraid. I could no longer hold myself back, but ran to the seaside and out, from one rock to another, as far as I could go. It is a marvel I was not drowned; for when I was brought to a stand at last my legs shook under me, and my mouth was so dry I must wet it with the sea water before I was able to shout.
16. All this time the boat was coming on; and now I was able to perceive it was the same boat and the same two men as yesterday. This I knew by their hair, which the one had of bright yellow and the other black. But now there was a third man along with them, who looked to be of a better class.
17. As soon as they were come within easy speech, they let down their sail and lay quiet. In spite of my supplications, they drew no nearer in, and what frightened me most of all, the new man tee-heed with laughter as he talked and looked at me.
18. Then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while, speaking fast and with many wavings of his hand. I told him I had no Gaelic; and at this he became very angry, and I began to suspect he thought he was talking English. Listening very close, I caught the word "whateffer" several times; but all the rest was Gaelic, and might have been Greek and Hebrew for me.
19. "Whatever," said I, to show him I had caught a word. "Yes, yes—yes, yes," said he; and then he looked at the other men as much as to say, "I told you I spoke English," and began again as hard as ever in the Gaelic.
20. This time I picked out another word, "tide." Then I had a flash of hope. I remembered he was always waving his hand toward the mainland of the Ross.
21. "Do you mean when the tide is out?"—I cried, and could not finish.
22. "Yes, yes," said he. "Tide."
23. At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my adviser had once more begun to tee-hee with laughter), leaped back the way I had come, from one stone to another, and set off running across the isle as I had never run before. In about half an hour I came upon the shores of the creek, and, sure enough, it was shrunk into a little trickle of water, through which I dashed, not above my knees, and landed with a shout on the main island.
24. A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid, which is only what they call a tidal islet, and, except, in the bottom of the neaps, can be entered and left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod, or, at the most, by wading. Even I, who had seen the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish—even I (I say), if I had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret and got free.
25. It was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was rather that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble to come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for close upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bones there, in pure folly. And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not only in past sufferings but in my present case, being clothed like a beggar man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.
26. I have seen wicked men and fools—a great many of both—and I believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.
—Robert Louis Stevenson (By arrangement)
How are the parenthetical clauses in this selection kept in the back-ground? (Introduction, p. [24].)
11. I could not believe such wickedness ... heart would burst. Observe the Climax. (Introduction, p. [31].)
19. Whatever, said I, ... How is the direct speech made to stand out from the narration which interrupts it? (Introduction, p. [24].)
ON HIS BLINDNESS
When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide; "Doth God exact day labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts. Who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait."
—Milton
Preparatory.—Divide the sonnet into two parts, giving each part a title.
Read the first part in prose order, supplying the ellipses.
How many distinct statements are there in the second part?
Select the clauses of the first part that are equal in rank and have the same Shading. Show which should be made prominent, and which held in the background.
Read the first part of this sonnet, with a view to Perspective. (Introduction, p. [33].)
1-4. With what do you connect When ... spent, and Lodged? How?
How do you make the statements of the second part stand out singly? (Introduction, pp. [8] and [10].)
BRIGGS IN LUCK
From "Doctor Birch and his Young Friends"
Enter the Knife-boy. Hamper for Briggses!
Master Brown. Hurray, Tom Briggs! I'll lend you my knife.
If this story does not carry its own moral, what fable does, I wonder? Before the arrival of that hamper, Master Briggs was in no better repute than any other young gentleman of the lower school; and in fact I had occasion myself, only lately, to correct Master Brown for kicking his friend's shins during the writing-lesson. But how this basket, directed by his mother's house-keeper, and marked "GLASS WITH CARE," whence I concluded that it contained some jam and some bottles of wine probably, as well as the usual cake and game-pie, and half a sovereign for the elder Master B., and five new shillings for Master Decimus Briggs—how, I say, the arrival of this basket alters all Master Briggs's circumstances in life, and the estimation in which many persons regard him!
If he is a good-hearted boy, as I have reason to think, the very first thing he will do, before inspecting the contents of the hamper, or cutting into them with the knife which Master Brown has so considerately lent him, will be to read over the letter from home which lies on top of the parcel. He does so, as I remarked to Miss Raby (for whom I happened to be mending pens when the little circumstance arose), with a flushed face and winking eyes. Look how the other boys are peering into the basket as he reads—I say to her, "Isn't it a pretty picture?" Part of the letter is in a very large hand. That is from his little sister. And I would wager that she netted the little purse which he has just taken out of it, and which Master Lynx is eyeing.
"You are a droll man, and remark all sorts of queer things," Miss Raby says, smiling, and plying her swift needle and fingers as quick as possible.
"I am glad we were both on the spot, and that the little fellow lies under our guns as it were, and so is protected from some such brutal school-pirate as young Duval for instance, who would rob him, probably, of some of those good things; good in themselves, and better because fresh from home. See, there is a pie as I said, and which I daresay is better than those which are served at our table (but you never take any notice of these kind of things, Miss Raby), a cake, of course, a bottle of currant wine, jam-pots, and no end of pears in the straw. With this money little Briggs will be able to pay the tick which that impudent child has run up with Mrs. Ruggles; and I shall let Briggs Major pay for the pencil-case which Bullock sold to him.—It will be a lesson to the young prodigal for the future.
"But, I say, what a change there will be in his life for some time to come, and at least until his present wealth is spent! The boys who bully him will mollify toward him and accept his pie and sweetmeats. They will have feasts in the bedroom; and that wine will taste more deliciously to them than the best out of the Doctor's cellar. The cronies will be invited. Young Master Wagg will tell his most dreadful story and sing his best song for a slice of that pie. What a jolly night they will have! When we go the rounds at night, Mr. Prince and I will take care to make a noise before we come to Briggs's room, so that the boys may have time to put the light out, to push the things away, and to scud into bed. Doctor Spry may be put in requisition the next morning."
"Nonsense! you absurd creature," cries out Miss Raby, laughing; and I lay down the twelfth pen very nicely mended.
"Yes; after luxury comes the doctor, I say; after extravagance, a hole in the breeches pocket. To judge from his disposition, Briggs Major will not be much better off a couple of days hence than he is now, and, if I am not mistaken, will end life a poor man. Brown will be kicking his shins before a week is over, depend upon it. There are boys and men of all sorts, Miss R.—there are selfish sneaks who hoard until the store they daren't use grows mouldy—there are spendthrifts who fling away, parasites who flatter and lick its shoes, and snarling curs who hate and envy good fortune."
I put down the last of the pens, brushing away with it the quill chips from her desk first, and she looked at me with a kind, wondering face. I brushed them away, clicked the pen-knife into my pocket, made her a bow, and walked off—for the bell was ringing for school.
—William Makepeace Thackeray
Master, basket, glass, half, after. (Appendix [A, 1].)
friend's shins, selfish sneaks, spendthrifts. (Appendix [A, 3] and [A, 6].)
Make an analysis from the standpoint of Perspective of the following sentences: But how this basket ... regard him; if he is a good-hearted boy ... parcel; He does so ... winking eyes; See there is a pie ... straw.
[THE LAUGHING SALLY]
A wind blew up from Pernambuco, (Yeo heave ho! the Laughing Sally! Hi yeo, heave away!) A wind blew out of the east-sou'-east And boomed at the break of day. 5
The Laughing Sally sped for her life, And a speedy craft was she. The black flag flew at her top to tell How she took toll of the sea.
The wind blew up from Pernambuco;10 And in the breast of the blast Came the King's black ship like a hound let slip On the trail of the Sally at last.
For a day and a night, a night and a day; Over the blue, blue round,15 Went on the chase of the pirate quarry, The hunt of the tireless hound.
"Land on the port bow!" came the cry; And the Sally raced for shore, Till she reached the bar at the river-mouth20 Where the shallow breakers roar.
She passed the bar by a secret channel With clear tide under her keel,— For he knew the shoals like an open book, The captain at the wheel.25
She passed the bar, she sped like a ghost, Till her sails were hid from view By the tall, liana'd, unsunned boughs O'erbrooding the dark bayou.
At moonrise up to the river-mouth30 Came the King's black ship of war, The red cross flapped in wrath at her peak, But she could not cross the bar.
And while she lay in the run of the seas, By the grimmest whim of chance,35 Out of the bay to the north came forth Two battle-ships of France.
On the English ship the twain bore down Like wolves that range by night; And the breakers' roar was heard no more40 In the thunder of the fight. The crash of the broadsides rolled and stormed To the Sally hid from view Under the tall liana'd boughs Of the moonless dark bayou.45
A boat ran out for news of the fight, And this was the word she brought— "The King's ship fights the ships of France As the King's ships all have fought!"
Then muttered the mate, "I'm a man of Devon!"50 And the captain thundered then— "There's English rope that bides for our necks, But we all be Englishmen!"
The Sally glided out of the gloom And down the moon-white river. 55 She stole like a gray shark over the bar Where the long surf seethes for ever.
She hove to under a high French hull, And the red cross rose to her peak. The French were looking for fight that night,60 And they hadn't far to seek.
Blood and fire on the streaming decks, And fire and blood below; The heat of hell, and the reek of hell, And the dead men laid a-row!65
And when the stars paled out of heaven And the red dawn-rays uprushed, The oaths of battle, the crash of timbers, The roar of the guns was hushed.
With one foe beaten under his bow,70 The other far in flight, The English captain turned to look For his fellow in the fight.
The English captain turned and stared;— For where the Sally had been75 Was a single spar upthrust from the sea With the red cross flag serene!
. . . . . .
A wind blew up from Pernambuco (Yeo heave ho! the Laughing Sally! Hi yeo, heave away!) And boomed for the doom of the Laughing Sally! Gone down at the break of day.
—Charles G. D. Roberts (By arrangement)
Preparatory.—Divide the poem into sections giving to each part a descriptive title. (Introduction, p. [10].) How is each section made to stand out?
In what Time is the section which describes the flight of the Laughing Sally read? Give your reason. (Introduction, pp. [5] and [13].)
Contrast the first and last stanzas from the standpoint of feeling. How does the voice express the difference?
blew, knew, news, King's ship, seethes, and. (Appendix [A, 2], [3], [5], and [6].)
Distinguish the sound of a in Laughing Sally, craft, last, passed, wrath, chance, crash, dark, far, dawn. (Appendix [A, 1].)
8-9. Note the Grouping and Pause. (Introduction, p. [11].)
11-13. Observe the Grouping. Which phrases have the heaviest Shading? (Introduction, p. [33].)
18. Land on the port bow. What change is made in Pitch and Force? Account for it. (Introduction, pp. [22] and [25].)
24. What is the Inflection on this line?
30-37. Observe the Grouping and Shading throughout these stanzas.
38-45. What sense is appealed to in these stanzas? How is the Time affected?
46-53. How are the transitions to direct discourse indicated? (Introduction, p. [24].)
What is the difference in Pitch between the mate's and the captain's speech? (Introduction, p. [23].)
66-67. Note the contrast with the preceding stanza and with the two following lines.
THE PRODIGAL SON
Luke xv 11-32
A certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.
And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.
And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry; For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.
Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad, for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.
Preparatory.—Divide this parable into four parts, giving each part a descriptive title.
Describe pictures to illustrate each part.
Connect the parable with any similar story drawn from modern life. Fill in details to account for (a) the prodigal's desire to leave home, (b) the father's great joy at his return, (c) the elder brother's jealousy.
How many hired servants, etc. What are the prodigal's feelings? What new feeling is introduced with (a) I will arise, etc.? (b) Father, I have sinned, etc.?
In what Time and Pitch do you read the passages which describe the father's joy? (Introduction, pp. [12] and [22].)
What feeling pervades the speech of the elder son? What is the motive of the father's reply?
Explain the Emphasis in the following; (a) and he sent him; (b) and I perish; (c) Now his elder son; (d) therefore came his father out; (e) thou never gavest me a kid. (Introduction, pp. [30] and [31].)
Explain the Inflection on dead, alive, lost, found.
CHRISTMAS AT SEA
The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand; The wind was a nor'-wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.
They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;5 But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.
All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;10 All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, For very life and nature we tacked from Head to Head.
We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared, But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard; So's we saw cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,15 And the coast-guard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.
The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home; The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals, as the vessel went about.20
The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn, And the house above the coast-guard's was the house where I was born.
O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,25 My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair; And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.
And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;30 And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas day.
They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. "All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call. "Captain, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.35 "It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.
She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good, And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.40
And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me, As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea; But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold, Was just that I was leaving home, and my folks were growing old.
—Robert Louis Stevenson (By arrangement)
Preparatory.—Supply an introduction and a conclusion for the story suggested by this poem.
Indicate the pauses which should be made in this poem after words and phrases: (a) because of the Imaging process, (b) in order to conceive the thought more fully, (c) in passing from the narration of one action to that of another, (d) because of direct speech interrupted by narrative. (Introduction, pp. [7], [24], and [27].)
20 and 22. Indicate the Pause before phrases to prepare the mind for what is coming. (Introduction, p. [8].) What Inflection is used as a connecting link? (Introduction, p. [16].)
27. FIRELIGHT. With what should it be connected? How? (Introduction, p. [24].)
34. All hands ... sails. What change in Pitch and Force? (Introduction, pp. [22] and [26].)
40. What is the Shading? (Introduction, p. [33].)
Compare the mental state of the captain with that of the first mate. How is the difference indicated in the Pitch of their respective speeches? (Introduction, p. [22].)
Connect stanzas vii and viii with the last two lines of the poem. What background of thought is suggested? How is the rate of reading affected by the thoughts suggested? (Introduction, p. [14].)
THE EVENING WIND
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow: Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,5 Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone;—a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;10 And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier at coming of the wind of night; And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,15 God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs20 The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast: Pleasant shall be thy way, where meekly bows The shutting flower and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head25 To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,30 And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go,—but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,35 Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the home-sick manner of the shore; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall dream He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.40
—William Cullen Bryant
Preparatory.—Describe fully the picture suggested by (a) the first three lines of stanza i, (b) the last four lines of stanza i, (c) stanza ii. Give to each a suitable title.
1, 2, and 6. (Appendix [A, 3], [4], and [8].)
1. THOU. What is the Inflection?
6. How does the sound accord with the sense?
15. Go forth ... go forth. Where is the Emphasis? (Introduction, p. [31.])
19-21. What feeling is aroused? How is the Quality of voice affected? (Introduction, p. [34.])
25-32. What change in Time? Account for it. (Introduction, p. [13.])
31. What atmosphere is created in this line? What Quality of voice is the result? What lines in the last stanza have the same atmosphere? (Introduction, p. [34.])
36. With what should Thee be connected? In what way?
33-36. What portions are read in lighter Shading? (Introduction, p. [33.])
PARADISE AND THE PERI
From "Lalla Rookh"
One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate; And as she listened to the Springs Of Life within, like music flowing, And caught the light upon her wings5 Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place! "How happy," exclaimed this child of air, "Are the holy spirits who wander there,10 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, And the stars themselves have flowers for me, One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!"
The glorious Angel, who was keeping15 The Gates of Light, beheld her weeping; And, as he nearer drew and listened To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened Within his eyelids, like the spray From Eden's fountain, when it lies20 On the blue flower, which—Brahmins say— Blooms nowhere but in Paradise. "Nymph of a fair, but erring line!" Gently he said,—"One hope is thine. 'Tis written in the Book of Fate,25 The Peri yet may be forgiven Who brings to this Eternal Gate The Gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin: 'Tis sweet to let the Pardoned in!"30
Downward the Peri turns her gaze, And, through the war-field's bloody haze, Beholds a youthful warrior stand Alone, beside his native river,— The red blade broken in his hand,35 And the last arrow in his quiver. "Live," said the conqueror, "live to share The trophies and the crowns I bear!" Silent that youthful warrior stood— Silent he pointed to the flood40 All crimson with his country's blood, Then sent his last remaining dart, For answer, to th' invader's heart.
False flew the shaft, though pointed well; The tyrant lived, the hero fell!45 Yet marked the Peri where he lay, And when the rush of war was past, Swiftly descending on a ray Of morning light, she caught the last, Last glorious drop his heart had shed,50 Before its free-born spirit fled!
"Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight, "My welcome gift at the Gates of Light." "Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave The gift into his radiant hand,55 "Sweet is our welcome of the brave Who die thus for their native land.— But see—alas!—the crystal bar Of Eden moves not—holier far Than e'en this drop the boon must be,60 That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee!"
But nought can charm the luckless Peri; Her soul is sad, her wings are weary. When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging Slowly, she sees a child at play,65 Among the rosy wild-flowers singing, As rosy and as wild as they; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, The beautiful blue damsel-flies That fluttered round the jasmine stems,70 Like-wingèd flowers or flying gems: And, near the boy, who, tired with play, Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink75 Of a small imaret's rustic fount Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turned To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath daybeam burned80 Upon a brow more fierce than that.
But hark! the vesper call to prayer, As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air, From Syria's thousand minarets!85 The boy has started from the bed Of flowers, where he had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping th' eternal name of God90 From purity's own cherub mouth.
And how felt he, the wretched man, Reclining there—while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,95 Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace? "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child! When, young and haply pure as thou,100 I looked and prayed like thee—but now—" He hung his head—each nobler aim, And hope, and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept—he wept!105
And now, behold him kneeling there By the child's side, in humble prayer, While the same sunbeam shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one, And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven110 The triumph of a soul forgiven!
'Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they lingered yet, There fell a light, more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star,115 Upon the tear that, warm and meek, Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek: To mortal eye that light might seem A northern flash or meteor beam— But well th' enraptured Peri knew120 'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear— Her harbinger of glory near! "Joy, joy for ever! my task is done: The Gates are passed, and Heaven is won!"125
—Thomas Moore
Preparatory.—Divide this selection into four scenes, describing minutely each scene, and pointing out what part of the poem it covers. (Introduction, p. [10.])
What feelings are aroused by each scene?
Spirit, native, purity. (Appendix [A, 8.])
1-4. Give two examples of Grouping from these lines. Give numerous other examples throughout the selection, and show how Grouping affects the Inflection and Pause. (Introduction, pp. [10]-12.)
3-7. Read with a view to Perspective. Select other examples, noting especially ll. 17-22, 47-51, 72-77, and 112-117. (Introduction, p. [33].)
9. exclaimed this child of air. (Introduction, pp. [24] and [27].) Give other examples of direct discourse broken by narration.
54 and 56. Sweet ... Sweet. Which word is more emphatic? (Introduction, p. [31].) Compare l. 105.
84. With what should Is Rising be connected? How? Compare Upon the tear, l. 116.
THE LADY OF SHALOTT
Part I
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle embowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow-veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who has seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."
Part II
There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnished hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance— With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right— The leaves upon her falling light— Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
—Alfred Tennyson
Preparatory.—Compare the poet's treatment of the story of The Lady of Shalott with that given in Lancelot and Elaine.
Combine the smaller pictures in this poem into a number of larger ones.
Give to the larger pictures titles which suggest the different stages in the development of the story.
Exercises in Articulation. (Appendix [A]. See Examples)
Part I
Stanza i, ll. 1 and 4. Where is the Pause in each line? Why? (Introduction, p. [11].)
Stanza iii, ll. 1 and 2. Account for the change in Time. (Introduction, p. [13].)
2. Where is the Pause?
6-9. What is the Inflection in these questions? (Introduction, p. [19].)
Stanza iv, l. 3. Hear. With what word should this be connected? How? (Introduction, p. [16].) Note the Shading.
6. Where are the Pauses in this line? Account for them.
8-9. In what Quality of voice are these lines read? (Introduction, p. [6].) Compare from this standpoint the last lines of Parts II, III, and IV.
Part II
Stanza i, ll. 3-5. Note the spontaneous imitation. (Introduction, pp. [5] and [6].)
And there the surly ... two and two. Note the three separate groups of passers-by. Which group has the most significance in its bearing on the rest of the poem? How does the voice indicate this relative significance? (Introduction, pp. [24] and [30].)
Stanza iii, l. 8. How is the transition made effective? (Introduction, pp. [8], [9], and [25].)
Stanza iv. For often ... Camelot. Observe the Shading. (Introduction, p. [33].)
Part III
his shield, rode down, armour rung, saddle-leather, coal-black curls. (Appendix [A, 6].)
Stanza i, l. 4. Observe the Grouping.
Stanza ii, l. 2. Where is the Pause? Explain. What is the Inflection on STARS?
Compare the Shading in ll. 6 and 7.
Stanza iii. What are the central ideas of ll. 2 and 3? How does the reader make them stand out?
6-8. Note the continuous Inflection. (Introduction, p. [17].)
Stanza iv, ll. 3 and 4. How does the Grouping here affect the Pause and the Inflection?
Stanza v, ll. 1-4. What change in the voice indicates the abrupt transition? What atmosphere does the voice create as a preparation for the climax of the last four lines?
1. What is the central idea of this line?
6-7. What change in Force, Pitch, and Stress expresses the sudden disaster?
Part IV
Compare the atmosphere of the first four and a half stanzas of this Part with the first four of Part III, and also with the remainder of Part IV. What is the difference in Pitch, Force, and Time? (Introduction, pp. [22], [26], and [13].)
HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD
From "The Princess"
Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching, said, "She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee— Like summer tempest came her tears— "Sweet my child, I live for thee."
—Alfred Tennyson
See Introduction, p. [6].
THE SKY
From "Modern Painters"
1. It is a strange thing how little in general people know about the sky. It is the part of creation in which nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works, and it is just the part in which we least attend to her.
2. There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organization; but every essential purpose of the sky might, so far as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or thereabouts, a great ugly black rain-cloud were brought up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, with perhaps a film of morning and evening mist for dew.
3. And instead of this, there is not a moment of any day of our lives, when nature is not producing scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquisite and constant principles of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite certain it is all done for us, and intended for our perpetual pleasure. And every man, wherever placed, however far from other sources of interest or of beauty, has this doing for him constantly.
4. The noblest scenes of the earth can be seen and known but by few; it is not intended that man should live always in the midst of them, he injures them by his presence, he ceases to feel them if he be always with them; but the sky is for all; bright as it is, it is not "too bright, nor good, for human nature's daily food"; it is fitted in all its functions for the perpetual comfort and exalting of the heart, for the soothing it and purifying it from its dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost divine in its infinity, its appeal to what is immortal in us, is as distinct, as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal, is essential.
5. And yet we never attend to it, we never make it a subject of thought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations; we look upon all by which it speaks to us more clearly than to brutes, upon all which bears witness to the intention of the Supreme, that we are to receive more from the covering vault than the light and the dew which we share with the weed and the worm, only as a succession of meaningless and monotonous accidents too common and too vain to be worthy of a moment of watchfulness, or a glance of admiration. If in our moments of utter idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky as a last resource, which of its phenomena do we speak of?
6. One says it has been wet, and another it has been windy, and another it has been warm. Who, among the whole chattering crowd, can tell me of the forms and the precipices of the chain of tall white mountains that girded the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the south, and smote upon their summits until they melted and mouldered away in a dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds when the sunlight left them last night, and the west wind blew them before it like withered leaves?
7. All has passed, unregretted as unseen; or if the apathy be ever shaken off, even for an instant, it is only by what is gross, or what is extraordinary; and yet it is not in the broad and fierce manifestations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the whirlwind, that the highest characters of the sublime are developed. God is not in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still, small voice.
8. They are but the blunt and the low faculties of our nature, which can only be addressed through lamp-black and lightning. It is in quiet and subdued passages of unobtrusive majesty, the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual,—that which must be sought ere it is seen, and loved ere it is understood,—things which the angels work out for us daily, and yet vary eternally, which are never wanting, and never repeated, which are to be found always yet each found but once; it is through these that the lesson of devotion is chiefly taught, and the blessing of beauty given.
—John Ruskin
(By arrangement with George Allen, Publisher)
SPIRITUAL, PRECIPICES, SUMMITS, UNOBTRUSIVE. (Appendix [A, 8].)
Par. 1. With what is LEAST ATTEND contrasted?
Par. 2. Why is SKY an emphatic word? Give examples of momentary completeness. (Introduction, p. [16].)
Par. 3. What Inflection is placed on PERFECT BEAUTY?
Par. 4. Point out the contrasts in the first sentence. What word is contrasted with distinct?
Par. 5. With what is ONLY AS A SUCCESSION, ETC., connected in sense? How does the voice make the connection? (Introduction, p. [33].)
Par. 7. UNREGRETTED, UNSEEN. Note the transferred emphasis. (Introduction, p. 32.)
Par. 7. AND YET IT IS NOT ... NOR IN THE FIRE. Account for the Inflection. (Introduction, p. [17].)
THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS
"Out in the meadows the young grass springs, Shivering with sap," said the larks, "and we Shoot into air with our strong young wings, Spirally up over level and lea; Come, O Swallows, and fly with us Now that horizons are luminous! Evening and morning the world of light, Spreading and kindling, is infinite!"
Far away, by the sea in the south, The hills of olive and slopes of fern Whiten and glow in the sun's long drouth, Under the heavens that beam and burn; And all the swallows were gather'd there Flitting about in the fragrant air, And heard no sound from the larks, but flew Flashing under the blinding blue.
Out of the depths of their soft rich throats Languidly fluted the thrushes, and said: "Musical thought in the mild air floats, Spring is coming and winter is dead! Come, O Swallows, and stir the air, For the buds are all bursting unaware, And the drooping eaves and the elm-trees long To hear the sound of your low sweet song."
Over the roofs of the white Algiers, Flashingly shadowing the bright bazaar, Flitted the swallows, and not one hears The call of the thrushes from far, from far; Sigh'd the thrushes; then, all at once, Broke out singing the old sweet tones, Singing the bridal of sap and shoot, The tree's slow life between root and fruit.
But just when the dingles of April flowers Shine with the earliest daffodils, When, before sunrise, the cold clear hours Gleam with a promise that noon fulfils,— Deep in the leafage the cuckoo cried, Perch'd on a spray by a rivulet-side, "Swallows, O Swallows, come back again To swoop and herald the April rain."
And something awoke in the slumbering heart Of the alien birds in their African air, And they paused, and alighted, and twitter'd apart, And met in the broad white dreamy square; And the sad slave-woman, who lifted up From the fountain her broad-lipp'd earthen cup, Said to herself, with a weary sigh, "To-morrow the swallows will northward fly!"
—Edmund William Gosse
How does the vocal expression of the descriptive parts of the poem differ from that of the call of the birds? Account for the difference. (Introduction, p. [22].)
Point out the contrasts of thought and feeling in the third and fourth stanzas respectively. Show a corresponding contrast in vocal expression.
What line expresses the central idea of the fifth stanza? How is this shown? (Introduction, p. [33].)
Account for the Pitch and the Force used in the slave-woman's speech.
Supply a background of thought for the last four lines. How does this affect the Time? (Introduction, p. [14].)
BARBARA FRIETCHIE
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,5 Apple-and peach-tree fruited deep,—
Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eye of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee march'd over the mountain-wall,—10
Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun15 Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down;20
In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right25 He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
"Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!"—out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.30
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,35 But spare your country's flag!" she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:40
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head, Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tossed45 Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.50
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honour to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,55 Flag of Freedom and Union wave! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town60
—John Greenleaf Whittier
Preparatory.—Divide the poem into sections, giving each a descriptive title. (Introduction, p. [10].)
Describe the scene portrayed in the first fifteen lines, supplementing your description by a black-board diagram.
ll. 1-2. What is the Inflection? Why?
l. 3. Note the Grouping and Pause.
l. 3. stand; l. 7, Lord; l. 8, horde. What is the Inflection? Why?
l. 15. (Introduction, p. [9].)
l. 20. What are the emphatic words? Are both words of a contrast necessarily emphatic?
ll. 17-22. Note the change in nervous tension. What effect has this on the key of the voice? (Introduction, p. [25].)
ll. 25-26. How do these lines illustrate the truth that the Visualization of a scene is a necessary forerunner of correct vocal expression?
ll. 27-28. Halt! Fire! What change in vocal expression accompanies the transition to abrupt command?
l. 31. With what do you connect FROM THE BROKEN STAFF? How? (Introduction, p. [16].)
ll. 31-36. What part should Imitation play here? (Introduction, pp. [5] and [6].)
ll. 37-38. (Introduction, p. 14.)
l. 39. Note Grouping and Pause.
ll. 41-42. (Introduction, p. 5.)
l. 43. With what do you connect through Frederick street? How? Where do you pause in this line?
l. 51. (Introduction, p. [9].)
BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL
Psalm ciii
Bless the Lord, O my soul: And all that is within me, bless his holy name Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all his benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies: Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.
The Lord executeth righteousness And judgment for all that are oppressed. He made known his ways unto Moses, His acts unto the children of Israel. The Lord is merciful and gracious, Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide: Neither will he keep his anger for ever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins; Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as the heaven is high above the earth, So great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, So far hath he removed our transgressions from us Like as a father pitieth his children, So the Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.
As for man, his days are as grass: As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; And the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, And his righteousness unto children's children; To such as keep his covenant, And to those that remember his commandments to do them.
The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens; And his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye his angels, That excel in strength, That do his commandments, Hearkening unto the voice of his word. Bless ye the Lord, all ye his hosts; Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. Bless the Lord, all his works, In all places of his dominion: Bless the Lord, O my soul.
—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton
Preparatory.—What attitude of mind does the language of this Psalm indicate? What Stress of voice is its natural expression? (Introduction, p. [29].)
Articulation. (Appendix [A, 3].)
THE ETERNAL GOODNESS
I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies.
And if my heart and flesh are weak5 To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain.
No offering of my own I have, Nor works my faith to prove;10 I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love.
And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me15 On ocean or on shore.
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.20
—John Greenleaf Whittier
Preparatory.—What attitude of mind is suggested by this poem?
How does it differ from that suggested by the preceding selection? What is the difference in vocal expression?
Account for the Inflection placed on the negative statements in this poem. (Introduction, pp. [17] and [18].)
THE KING OF GLORY
Psalm xxiv
(Anthems for the Inauguration of Jerusalem)
I.—At the Foot of the Hill
first choir
The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; The world, and they that dwell therein. For He hath founded it upon the seas, And established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in His holy place?
second choir
He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, And hath not sworn deceitfully. He shall receive a blessing from the Lord, And righteousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek after Him, That seek Thy face, O God of Jacob.
II.—Before the Gates
first choir
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.
second choir
Who is the King of Glory?
first choir
The Lord strong and mighty, The Lord mighty in battle.
first choir
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors: And the King of Glory shall come in.
second choir
Who is this King of Glory?
first choir
The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory.
—As arranged by Richard G. Moulton
THE FOUR-HORSE RACE
From "Black Rock"
1. The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered—one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was really between the miners' team and that from the woods, for the citizens' team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven much together, and knew neither their driver nor each other. In the miners' team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy had his long rangy roans, and for leaders, a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Alberta prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straight, there was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves to glory; but one could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick things to pieces.
2. Being the only non-partisan in the crowd, I was asked to referee. The race was about half a mile and return, the first and last quarters being upon the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up from the river by a long, easy slope to the level above; and at the further end, curved somewhat sharply around the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to the race was, that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn of the Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations as to fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckon with the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and square race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would depend upon the skill of the drivers quite as much as the speed of the teams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and at a little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passed by means of a long, log bridge or causeway.
3. From a point upon the high bank of the river, the whole course lay in open view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. There were miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb; ranch-men in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, some with cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians in half-native, half-civilized dress; and scattering through the crowd, the lumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knitted tuques of the same colour. A very good-natured but extremely uncertain crowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos' heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off-leader, thrown into a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd.
4. Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness, came the words: "Are you ready?" then the pistol-shot, and the great race had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry of Baptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swung himself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past.
5. Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before the other teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead of bending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to the right and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing them back into the course.
6. Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued to strike through all other sounds, till they gained the top of the slope to find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' team leading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caught sight of the teams before them, they set off at a terrific pace and steadily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and nearer the turn came, the eight horses in front, running straight and well within their speed. After them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears set back, leading well the big roans, thundering along and gaining at every bound. And now the citizens' team had almost reached the Fort, running hard and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon knew what he was about, and was simply steadying his team for the turn. The event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the track, lost a moment or two in the deep snow, and before they could regain the road, the bays had swept superbly past, leaving their rivals to follow in the rear. On came the pintos, swiftly nearing the Fort. Surely at that pace they cannot make the turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their eyes upon the teams in front, and need no touch of rein. Without the slightest change in speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, hauling the big roans after them, and fall in behind the citizens' team, which is regaining steadily the ground lost in the turn.
7. And now the struggle is for the bridge over the ravine. The bays in front, running with mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best; behind them, and every moment nearing them, but at the limit of their speed too, come the lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while opposite their driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temper is too uncertain to send them to the front; they run well following, but when leading cannot be trusted, and besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot by foot the citizens' team creep up upon the flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging them closely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, must strike the bridge together; and this will mean destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste throws himself upon the lines, wrenches them out of Sandy's hands, and, with a quick swing, forces the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which is almost sheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, for the ravine, though not deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partially closed up by a brush heap at the further end. But with a yell, Baptiste hurls his four horses down the slope, and into the undergrowth. "Allons, mes enfants! Courage! vite, vite!" cries their driver, and nobly do the pintos respond. Regardless of bushes and brush heaps, they tear their way through; but as they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high into the air. Baptiste's cries ring out high and shrill as ever, encouraging his team, and never cease till, with a plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heap lying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front bob, the box trailing behind, and Sandy nowhere to be seen.
8. Three hundred yards of the course remain. The bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge, and in the descent to the ice, and are leading the citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Behind both comes Baptiste. It is now or never for the pintos. The rattle of the trailing box, together with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free running that day. Past the citizens' team like a whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, and gain the flanks of the bays. Can the bays hold them? Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one hand, seizes his tuque with the other, whirls it above his head and flings it with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like the bursting of a hurricane the pintos leap forward, and with a splendid rush cross the scratch, winners by their own length.
—By arrangement with the Westminster Co., Limited,
and Rev. C. W. Gordon (Ralph Connor)
Preparatory.—Make a black-board sketch of the race-course, fixing the position of "the scratch," "the Old Fort," "the high bank with the spectators," "the bridge," etc.
In what passages does the excitement reach its greatest height? How are the Pitch and Time affected? (Introduction, pp. [13] and [22].)
What is the Stress employed throughout? Where is the Stress most marked? Give reasons. (Introduction, pp. [27] and [28].)
MRS. MALAPROP'S VIEWS
From "The Rivals"
The scene is Mrs. Malaprop's lodgings at Bath. Present, Lydia Languish.
Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute.
Mrs. Malaprop.—There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.
Lydia.—Madam, I thought you once—
Mrs. Malaprop.—You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow; to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory.
Lydia.—Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.
Mrs. Malaprop.—But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed—and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.
Sir Anthony.—Why, sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! Ay, this comes of her reading!
Lydia.—What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated thus?
Mrs. Malaprop.—Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?
Lydia.—Madam, I must tell you plainly that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.
Mrs. Malaprop.—What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion. They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor; and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made? and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?
Lydia.—Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.
Mrs. Malaprop.—Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours.
Lydia.—Willingly, ma'am—I cannot change for the worse.(Exit)
Mrs. Malaprop.—There's a little intricate hussy for you!
Sir Anthony.—It is not to be wondered at, ma'am: all this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by heaven I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet!
Mrs. Malaprop.—Nay, nay, Sir Anthony: you are an absolute misanthropy.
Sir Anthony.—In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each hand; they were half-bound volumes with marble covers! From that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!
Mrs. Malaprop.—Those are vile places indeed!
Sir Anthony.—Madam, a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge,—it blossoms through the year! And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves will long for the fruit at last.
Mrs. Malaprop.—Fy, fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically.
Sir Anthony.—Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what would you have a woman know?
Mrs. Malaprop.—Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman: for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her at nine years old to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and as she grew up I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries: but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not misspell and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it.
Sir Anthony.—Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in debate: you say you have no objection to my proposal?
Mrs. Malaprop.—None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success.
Sir Anthony.—Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment.
Mrs. Malaprop.—We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side.
Sir Anthony.—Objection! let him object if he dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple: in their younger days, 'twas "Jack, do this"; if he demurred I knocked him down, and if he grumbled at that I always sent him out of the room.
Mrs. Malaprop.—Ay, and the properest way, o'my conscience! Nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether illegible.
Sir Anthony.—Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. Well I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. Take my advice—keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about.(Exit)
Mrs. Malaprop.—Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger: sure Lucy can't have betrayed me! No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. (Calls) Lucy! Lucy!—Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her.
—Richard Brinsley Sheridan
What is the difference between Mrs. Malaprop's mental attitude toward Lydia and toward Sir Anthony? How is this difference indicated in the Stress of voice? (Introduction, pp. [27] and [28].)