[Born 1783. Still living.]
The father of Grace Darling. He succeeded his own father as keeper of the Coal-light on the Brownsman, the outermost of the Farne islands, on the coast of Northumberland. In 1826, he was transferred to the lighthouse on the Longstone, another of the same group of islands. Solitary, cut off for weeks from communication with the mainland, this humble man has passed his days in self-improvement. He is intelligent, quiet, and well-conducted. His children have received a good education for their position in life, the father being the sole instructor—and one daughter at least has not thrown discredit upon her bringing up.
[By David Dunbar.]
POETS AND DRAMATISTS.
406. Geoffrey Chaucer. The Father of English Poetry.
[Born in London, 1328. Died there, 1400. Aged 72.]
Notwithstanding the gulf of years, the poetical sire of Shakspeare. He to whom, in an age which we call dark, the full sun of poetry shone. He whose lineaments and gesture, transmitted by a contemporary pencil, are here before us. He whose eye, though downcast, reads the world around him, as it sounds the interior of Man: whose grave look of thought hides the soul of mirth. What phase of our various life seems strange to him? To this he is at home in experience; to that in imagination. With what Homeric power has he not described the tournament where kings fight in the lists at Athens! What mediæval romance in the loves of Palamon and Arcite! What an oriental colour and grace in the Squier’s half-told tale of the Tartar Cambuscan! You read tale after tale, and wonder which of the diversified strains was indeed the most native to the heart of the poet. One critic will tell you—the broad coarse mirth—Never believe it! See with what lingering and tender fondness he brings out the sorrowful story of the pure, innocent, and falsely accused Custance, abandoned to the wild, drifting sea. How patiently he tells the trials of the patient Griseldis—how sternly the self-doom of those two impious challengers of death. To Chaucer was given an insight of which nothing eludes the scrutiny, a sympathy of which nothing lies beyond the embrace. And in what spring-like vigour and bloom of life that vanished world rises again before us! What truth! and what spirit! Under his quill the speech of England first rose into the full form and force of a language. Look up at him! He seems to be scanning thought and word, both. Mine host of the Tabard singling him out amongst the pilgrims, for the teller of the next tale, says of him: “He seemeth elvish by his countenance.”—Does he?
[For an account of this statue by Marshall, see No. 53, Handbook of Modern Sculpture. There is an interesting contemporary portrait of Chaucer in the British Museum, bearing date 1400, from which the idea of this statue is borrowed.]
407. William Shakspeare. Poet.