ENGL 3002 Study Guide

1819

Ode to the West Wind

The Eolian Harp

Author: Samuel Coleridge Publication date: 1796 Summary: "The Eolian Harp" is a blank verse poem written by the English Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Coleridge began writing the poem in 1795 and continued revising it through 1828. An eolian harp is a type of stringed instrument that produces music whenever wind blows across it and causes its strings to vibrate. Many Romantic poets used the image of the wind and the harp as a metaphor for poetic inspiration and imagination. Coleridge's poem likewise uses the eolian harp as a metaphor for poetic creation, but the speaker rejects the Romantic image when it clashes with more orthodox Christianity. The speaker begins by addressing a thoughtful companion Sara, whose cheek is resting on his arm. He notes how pleasant it is to sit outside their cottage where jasmine and myrtle flowers grow (adding that these flowers are appropriate symbols of innocence and love), to watch the clouds go from being brightly lit to a sadder, darker shade, and to watch the bright evening star (which, he adds, is an appropriate symbol of wisdom) shine in the sky across from the clouds. He notes how pleasant the scent is from the nearby bean-field and how quiet their surroundings are—the sound of the far-off sea is so hushed and gentle that it seems more like silence than noise. The speaker then turns his attention to a stringed instrument, a lute, that is sitting on a windowsill in the cottage. When the wandering breeze touches the lute's strings, the lute makes a sweet sound, just like a mischievous girl who complains so sweetly when her lover touches her that her complaints make him want to keep going. When the wind blows on the strings more strongly, the long notes fall and rise in pitch, making a soft, airy melody of the kind that, the speaker imagines, elves would make on evening voyages in ships blown by gentle breezes from Fairy-Land. In Fairy-Land, the speaker imagines, music is always playing around the honey-filled flowers in wild, changing melodies, like birds of paradise flying freely without stopping or setting down. The speaker then exclaims that human beings and the natural world around them share a single source of life, that animates everything that moves and in fact is the soul of all living things. This force can be sensed indirectly, as if it were the color of sound or the sound of light, and it creates pattern and order in our thoughts as well as a sense of joy everywhere. The speaker believes you cannot help loving everything in existence in a world that is filled with such a vibrant source of life, where the moving air makes music and still air is simply resting, but retains the potential to move and make music. Addressing Sara again, the speaker stretches out the way he sometimes stretches out on a slope halfway up the nearby hill at noon, while he half-closes his eyes and watches the sunbeams sparkle like diamonds on the ocean and calmly thinks about the experience of being calm. Many thoughts come into the speaker's mind without his trying to think of them and without his being able to hold on to them. Many thoughtless images also flow out of his imagination and dart through his lazy, relaxed mind, images that are as unpredictable and diverse as the unpredictable winds that blow on the strings of the lute. The speaker then wonders to himself if all things in nature could be thought of as living harps, crafted in different shapes, that come alive when a single spiritual force animates them. This spiritual force acts both as the soul of each living thing and as the God of the whole natural world. The speaker then notices that Sara is looking critically at him, indicating that she disapproves of his unholy speculations about God, and urging him to adopt a more orthodox view of God. He praises her as a faithful follower of the Christian God and says she has correctly criticized his unholy ideas, which are attractive but ultimately meaningless philosophical speculations. The speaker acknowledges that he can never speak entirely correctly about God, who cannot be fully understood, except when he praises God with heartfelt faith. God has mercifully healed the speaker, although he was a wretched, sinful person wandering in confusion, and gave him the gifts of peace, of this cottage, and of Sara, whom the speaker sincerely values.

Easter 1916

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication date: 1916 Summary: "Easter, 1916," was written by the Irish poet W.B. Yeats to commemorate the Easter Rising in 1916, in which Irish nationalists led a rebellion to win independence from British rule. The leaders of the Rising were ultimately executed, and Yeats's poem balances critique of the rebellion and its political extremism with admiration for the rebels' dedication and bravery. The speaker begins by describing how he used to encounter "them," the men and women he will later identify as the Irish rebels who died during the Easter Rising, at the end of the day. Their faces might reveal some internal agitation or strong emotion, but the speaker first saw them only in the context of ordinary, everyday life, coming home in the evenings from jobs in shops or offices, meeting the speaker on the streets of Dublin outside the grey stone eighteenth-century buildings. The speaker would briefly acknowledge them with a nod and meaningless small talk just to be polite, or stop a short while and make meaningless small talk just to be polite. Even while he was talking to them, he would already be thinking of some way to make fun of them while talking to one of his own friends later at their posh club. The speaker had nothing more serious on his mind than a joke because he thought that they all were just living regular, unimportant lives. Now, though, everything is completely, totally different. Some event has occurred that was highly destructive but also helped bring about profound change. The speaker then describes individual men and women who participated in the Rising. One woman tried earnestly but misguidedly to accomplish positive change. Her devotion to extreme political positions was reflected in her endless, strident arguing for her side. She used to show a more moderate, engaging personality when she was a young, beautiful woman who spent her time in leisurely pursuits like hunting. One man was a schoolteacher and poet, metaphorically riding the "winged horse" (a symbol of poetic inspiration in Greek mythology); another man was a poet and critic who was helping the first man develop his talent and cultivating his own. This poet might have become famous for his art, given his perceptiveness and his attractive, innovative style. There was another man whom the speaker perceived as an arrogant, good-for-nothing drunkard. This man was abusive towards people the speaker cared for very deeply. But the speaker admits that he must respect and acknowledge even this man. This man left also behind the unimportant activities of everyday life. This man also was completely, totally transformed by his participation in the Rising. This event was highly destructive but also helped bring about profound change. The speaker suggests that people who, like the rebels, dedicate all their love, energy, and activity to one goal can sometimes start to seem inhuman in their single-minded dedication. Like an unmoving stone in a moving stream, such people can disrupt the flow of ordinary life around them. Almost all things in nature, whether animals, humans, or the weather, are in a state of constant change. Small events, like a cloud passing by above a stream or a horse's hoof slipping into the water, can have major consequences. The natural events of life, like wild birds mating, show that each living thing must adapt every minute for its own survival. But stones simply exist in the same state. The speaker suggests that people who give up too much of their lives to pursue unchanging goals may lose their ordinary human feelings. He first wonders when all these sacrifices will be enough to achieve the goal, but then decides that it is Heaven, or God's, job to answer that question. The job for him and the rest of the community is simply to remember the dead with seriousness, respect, and love, just as a mother would watch over her sleeping child with gravity and love when the child has finally fallen asleep after running around in a frenzy. The speaker wonders if death may be something temporary and relatively painless, like sleeping through the night before waking up in the morning. He rejects that idea, however, to remind himself and the reader that the rebels are truly dead and will not come back. He next wonders if their deaths may have been unnecessary. Britain might have kept its promise to grant Ireland Home Rule, in spite of the nationalists' mistrust of the British. But again, the speaker decides it is not his or the public's job to answer that question. They don't need to know whether the rebels accomplished their goal; just knowing that they died for the sake of this goal is enough to earn them honor and respect. Still, the speaker cannot help wondering again if their extreme devotion to their goal may have clouded their judgment. But once again, he turns away from that speculation to remember the dead rebels. He lists by name some of the Rising's most important leaders—MacDonagh, MacBride, Connolly, Pearse. He affirms that for the rest of Ireland's existence, whenever the Irish gather to celebrate their country, these rebels will be honored, their identities having been completely transformed from that of ordinary people. The event was highly destructive but also helped bring about profound change.

1772-1834

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Memoriam

Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson Publication date: 1850 Summary: Prologue: The poem begins as a tribute to and invocation of the "Strong Son of God." Since man, never having seen God's face, has no proof of His existence, he can only reach God through faith. The poet attributes the sun and moon ("these orbs or light and shade") to God, and acknowledges Him as the creator of life and death in both man and animals. Man cannot understand why he was created, but he must believe that he was not made simply to die. The Son of God seems both human and divine. Man has control of his own will, but this is only so that he might exert himself to do God's will. All of man's constructed systems of religion and philosophy seem solid but are merely temporal, in comparison to the eternal God; and yet while man can have knowledge of these systems, he cannot have knowledge of God. The speaker expresses the hope that "knowledge [will] grow from more to more," but this should also be accompanied by a reverence for that which we cannot know. The speaker asks that God help foolish people to see His light. He repeatedly asks for God to forgive his grief for "thy [God's] creature, whom I found so fair." The speaker has faith that this departed fair friend lives on in God, and asks God to make his friend wise. XXVII: Here the speaker states that he feels no jealousy for the man who is captured and does not know what it means to feel true rage, or for the bird that is born with in a cage and has never spent time outside in the "summer woods." Likewise, he feels no envy for beasts that have no sense of the passage of time and no conscience to check their behavior. He also does not envy those who have never felt pain ("the heart that never plighted troth") or those who complacently enjoy a leisure that they do not rightfully deserve. Even when he is in the greatest pain, he still realizes that " 'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all." After having asserted in Section LV that Nature cares only for the survival of species ("so careful of the type") and not for the survival of individual lives, the speaker now questions whether Nature even cares for the species. He quotes a personified, feminine Nature asserting that she does not attend to the survival of the species, but arbitrarily bestows life or death on all creatures. For Nature, the notion of the "spirit" does not refer to any divine, unearthly element, but rather to the simple act of breathing. The poet questions whether Man, who prays and trusts in God's love in spite of the evidence of Nature's brutality ("Nature, red in tooth and claw"), will eventually be reduced to dust or end up preserved like fossils in rock: "And he, shall he, Man...Be blown about the desert dust, Or sealed within the iron hills?" The thought of this evokes a notion of the human condition as monstrous, and more terrifying to contemplate than the fate of prehistoric "dragons of the prime." The speaker declares that life is futile and longs for his departed friend's voice to soothe him and mitigate the effect of Nature's callousness. "In Memoriam" was intended as an elegy, or a poem in memory and praise of one who has died. As such, it contains all of the elements of a traditional pastoral elegy such as Milton's "Lycidas," including ceremonial mourning for the dead, praise of his virtues, and consolation for his loss. Moreover, all statements by the speaker can be understood as personal statements by the poet himself. Like most elegies, the "In Memoriam" poem begins with expressions of sorrow and grief, followed by the poet's recollection of a happy past spent with the individual he is now mourning. These fond recollections lead the poet to question the powers in the universe that could allow a good person to die, which gives way to more general reflections on the meaning of life. Eventually, the poet's attitude shifts from grief to resignation. Finally, in the climax, he realizes that his friend is not lost forever but survives in another, higher form. The poem closes with a celebration of this transcendent survival. "In Memoriam" ends with a an epithalamion, or wedding poem, celebrating the marriage of Tennyson's sister Cecilia to Edmund Lushington in 1842. The poet suggests that their marriage will lead to the birth of a child who will serve as a closer link between Tennyson's generation and the "crowning race." This birth also represents new life after the death of Hallam, and hints at a greater, cosmic purpose, which Tennyson vaguely describes as "One far-off divine event / To which the whole creation moves." Not just an elegy and an epithalamion, the poem is also a deeply philosophical reflection on religion, science, and the promise of immortality. Tennyson was deeply troubled by the proliferation of scientific knowledge about the origins of life and human progress: while he was writing this poem, Sir Charles Lyell published his Principles of Geology, which undermined the biblical creation story, and Robert Chambers published his early evolutionary tract, Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation. In "In Memoriam," Tennyson insisted that we hold fast to our faith in a higher power in spite of our inability to prove God's existence: "Believing where we cannot prove." He reflects early evolutionary theories in his faith that man, through a process lasting millions of years, is developing into something greater. In the end, Tennyson replaces the doctrine of the immortality of the soul with the immortality of mankind through evolution, thereby achieving a synthesis between his profound religious faith and the new scientific ideas of his day. "Nature, red in tooth and claw" - This line is often quoted to describe the harshness and cruelty of nature. "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." - This is one of Tennyson's most famous lines, which speaks to the idea that even though love may bring pain and heartache, it is still worth experiencing. "I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." - This is a variation of the previous quote, emphasizing the importance of love in the face of grief. "Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky" - This line is from the poem's opening stanza and sets the tone for the rest of the work. It expresses the speaker's longing for change and the need to move forward. "But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry." - This quote speaks to the speaker's feelings of confusion and helplessness in the face of grief. "O living will that shalt endure" - This line speaks to the idea of the enduring will of the deceased and the power of memory to keep their spirit alive. "Be near me when my light is low, When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick" - This quote expresses the speaker's desire for comfort and companionship in times of darkness and fear. "So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life" - This line describes the paradoxical nature of nature, which can be both beautiful and destructive. "Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die" - This quote is from Tennyson's famous poem "The Charge of the Light Brigade" and speaks to the idea of duty and sacrifice. "Love is and was my Lord and King" - This quote speaks to the centrality of love in Tennyson's work and his belief in its transformative power.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson Publication date: 1854 Summary: 1. The six hundred cavalrymen rode for a mile and a half into the valley of Death. "Light Brigade, advance! Charge for the artillery" their commander said. So the six hundred cavalrymen charged into the valley of Death. 2. "Light brigade advance!" the commander said. Was any soldier discouraged or afraid? No—even though they all knew the charge was a mistake. It wasn't up to them to dispute their orders or to ask why they were given. Their job was simply to act and to die. So the six hundred members of the cavalry charged into the valley of Death. 3. There were cannons on their right, cannons on their left, cannons in front—and they all fired loud blasts. The soldiers were showered with gunshots and artillery shells, but they rode boldly and well into the teeth of death. The six hundred soldiers rode into Hell itself. 4. They raised their swords in the air and their swords flashed in the light. They stabbed the enemy soldiers firing the guns. They charged an entire army—and the whole world watched in amazement and consternation. The cavalrymen dove into the smoke from the guns. They broke through the enemy line. The Russian troops were dazed, cut into pieces, by their swords. Then the cavalrymen rode back—but not all six hundred of them. 5. There were cannons on their right, cannons on their left, cannons behind them—all of them firing loud blasts. They were showered with gunshots and artillery shells, and many of these heroes and their horses were killed—even though they had fought so well, even though they had ridden into the teeth of death and come back, back from Hell itself. That was all that was left of the six hundred riders who set out on the charge. 6. When will their bravery be forgotten? The whole world admired their wild charge! We must respect their charge! And we must respect them, the brave six hundred men of the Light Brigade.

Ulysses

Author: Alfred Tennyson Publication date: 1842 Summary: Ulysses (Odysseus) declares that there is little point in his staying home "by this still hearth" with his old wife, doling out rewards and punishments for the unnamed masses who live in his kingdom. Still speaking to himself he proclaims that he "cannot rest from travel" but feels compelled to live to the fullest and swallow every last drop of life. He has enjoyed all his experiences as a sailor who travels the seas, and he considers himself a symbol for everyone who wanders and roams the earth. His travels have exposed him to many different types of people and ways of living. They have also exposed him to the "delight of battle" while fighting the Trojan War with his men. Ulysses declares that his travels and encounters have shaped who he is: "I am a part of all that I have met," he asserts. And it is only when he is traveling that the "margin" of the globe that he has not yet traversed shrink and fade, and cease to goad him. Ulysses declares that it is boring to stay in one place, and that to remain stationary is to rust rather than to shine; to stay in one place is to pretend that all there is to life is the simple act of breathing, whereas he knows that in fact life contains much novelty, and he longs to encounter this. His spirit yearns constantly for new experiences that will broaden his horizons; he wishes "to follow knowledge like a sinking star" and forever grow in wisdom and in learning. Ulysses now speaks to an unidentified audience concerning his son Telemachus, who will act as his successor while the great hero resumes his travels: he says, "This is my son, mine own Telemachus, to whom I leave the scepter and the isle." He speaks highly but also patronizingly of his son's capabilities as a ruler, praising his prudence, dedication, and devotion to the gods. Telemachus will do his work of governing the island while Ulysses will do his work of traveling the seas: "He works his work, I mine." In the final stanza, Ulysses addresses the mariners with whom he has worked, traveled, and weathered life's storms over many years. He declares that although he and they are old, they still have the potential to do something noble and honorable before "the long day wanes." He encourages them to make use of their old age because " 'tis not too late to seek a newer world." He declares that his goal is to sail onward "beyond the sunset" until his death. Perhaps, he suggests, they may even reach the "Happy Isles," or the paradise of perpetual summer described in Greek mythology where great heroes like the warrior Achilles were believed to have been taken after their deaths. Although Ulysses and his mariners are not as strong as they were in youth, they are "strong in will" and are sustained by their resolve to push onward relentlessly: "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." KEY QUOTES: "I cannot rest from travel; I will drink / Life to the lees." - Ulysses is driven by a desire to explore and experience life to the fullest. "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." - Ulysses' ultimate goal is to keep striving and searching for adventure, even if it means he will never truly reach a state of rest. "One equal temper of heroic hearts, / Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will / To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." - This passage emphasizes the strength of will and determination that Ulysses possesses, even in the face of adversity. "How dull it is to pause, to make an end, / To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!" - Ulysses sees idleness and stagnation as a kind of death, and is always pushing himself to keep moving forward. "I am a part of all that I have met; / Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough / Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades / For ever and for ever when I move." - Ulysses' travels have shaped his identity and given him a sense of connection to the world around him, but he is always driven by the lure of the unknown. "I cannot rest from travel; I will drink life to the lees." "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." "Come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world." "All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move." "Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move." "Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will/To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." "I am a part of all that I have met." "Death closes all, but something ere the end/Some work of noble note, may yet be done." "For always roaming with a hungry heart/Much have I seen and known; cities of men/And manners, climates, councils, governments..." "I am become a name;/For always roaming with a hungry heart/Much have I seen and known; cities of men/And manners, climates, councils, governments..."

23

Author: Emily Dickinson 'T was such a little, little boatThat toddled down the bay!'T was such a gallant, gallant seaThat beckoned it away! 'T was such a greedy, greedy waveThat licked it from the coast;Nor ever guessed the stately sailsMy little craft was lost!

Wild Nights

Author: Emily Dickinson Publication date: 1861 Summary: The speaker begins by exclaiming about wild nights—an image that might equally suggest literal stormy nights and nights of passion. If only she were with an unknown addressee, she says, nights like this would bring them immense (and shared) pleasure. Wild winds, the speaker goes on, can have no effect on a heart that is safely lodged in port—an image which suggests that the speaker imagines herself as a sailor or a boat, and her beloved as a safe harbor. When the speaker's heart is in such a port, it has no more need of the tools of navigation: it's found the place it can rest. The speaker then turns to a very different image of her imagined ocean: no longer a dangerous, tempestuous place, but Paradise itself. She exclaims over this imagined sea, with an "Ah!" that could express pleasure, pain, or both. The poem returns at its end to the image of the beloved as a harbor, which the speaker wishes she could enter this very night. "Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah - the Sea! Might I but moor - tonight - In thee!"

550

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: 'I measure every Grief I meet' uses mostly clear diction and syntax in order to explore themes of grief, sorrow, death, and time. The poet takes the reader into the mind of a speaker who may or may not be the poet herself. There are several moments in this poem that a close reader and someone who understand's Dickinson's life and personal sorrows, might draw comparisons to what the speaker is describing. I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, eyes -I wonder if It weighs like Mine -Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long -Or did it just begin -I could not tell the Date of Mine -It feels so old a pain - I wonder if it hurts to live -And if They have to try -And whether - could They choose between -It would not be - to die - I note that Some - gone patient long -At length, renew their smile -An imitation of a LightThat has so little Oil - I wonder if when Years have piled -Some Thousands - on the Harm -That hurt them early - such a lapseCould give them any Balm - Or would they go on aching stillThrough Centuries of Nerve -Enlightened to a larger Pain -In Contrast with the Love - The Grieved - are many - I am told -There is the various Cause -Death - is but one - and comes but once -And only nails the eyes - There's Grief of Want - and grief of Cold -A sort they call "Despair" -There's Banishment from native Eyes -In sight of Native Air - And though I may not guess the kind -Correctly - yet to meA piercing Comfort it affordsIn passing Calvary - To note the fashions - of the Cross -And how they're mostly worn -Still fascinated to presumeThat Some - are like my own -

269

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: After intense emotional trauma, people feel stiff and solemn. Their senses are numb—almost as though they are attending a funeral, or are graves themselves. Their hearts feel tense, and they wonder if Christ felt like this on the cross—though they're unsure if the crucifixion happened yesterday or hundreds of years ago. They go through their day on autopilot, their feet moving around robotically. They don't have a clear sense of where they are, where they're going, or how they got to be in their current state. They feel a sort of crystallized sense of calm, stupefied as stone. This numb state won't last forever. But even if people survive it, they'll remember it in much the same way that people freezing to death remember the snow: first there's a sharp pain, then numbness, then release. After great pain, a formal feeling comes - 2The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs - 3The stiff Heart questions 'was it He, that bore,' 4And 'Yesterday, or Centuries before'? 5The Feet, mechanical, go round - 6A Wooden way 7Of Ground, or Air, or Ought - 8Regardless grown, 9A Quartz contentment, like a stone - 10This is the Hour of Lead - 11Remembered, if outlived, 12As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow - 13First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go -

236

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: Emily Dickinson wrote this poem, 'Some keep the Sabbath going to Church -' when she was disillusioned with the fact that God resides in one's heart. A rigorous follower of Christian rituals may get the divine blessing, but one who seeks Him within the soul need not crave such blessings. As God communicates directly with that person. Through this poem, Dickinson makes it clear that if one truly wants to attain salvation, they can get it by staying at their home. Only one condition must be followed. They have to be true at their heart. Otherwise, this process will prove futile. Some keep the Sabbath going to Church -I keep it, staying at Home -With a Bobolink for a Chorister -And an Orchard, for a Dome - Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice -I, just wear my Wings -And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,Our little Sexton - sings. God preaches, a noted Clergyman -And the sermon is never long,So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -I'm going, all along.

591

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: I could hear a fly buzzing around the room at the moment I died. The room felt very still, like the calm, tense air in between the gusts of a storm. The people gathered around me had cried until they had no tears left, and everyone seemed like they were holding their breath, waiting for my final moment and anticipating the arrival of God in the room. I had signed a will that gave away all my possessions, dividing up all the parts of my life that could be divided up. And then, suddenly, a fly interrupted the proceedings. The fly looked blue and buzzed around the room erratically. It flew in front of the light, blocking it. Then the light from the windows faded away, and I could not see anything at all. Poem: I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - 2The Stillness in the Room 3Was like the Stillness in the Air - 4Between the Heaves of Storm - 5The Eyes around - had wrung them dry - 6And Breaths were gathering firm 7For that last Onset - when the King 8Be witnessed - in the Room - 9I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away 10What portion of me be 11Assignable - and then it was 12There interposed a Fly - 13With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz - 14Between the light - and me - 15And then the Windows failed - and then 16I could not see to see -

788

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: Publishing one's work is like selling one's own mind to the highest bidder. Facing poverty might be a reasonable excuse to do something so revolting. But it's better to be pure when we die—and leave our cramped attic rooms to meet our pure, perfect creator—than to profit off the pure white "snow" that is our writing. God gave us thought, and all thought thus belongs to him. Human beings are the physical manifestation of that thought, and selling it would be like trying to sell the very air we all breathe. A writer's job is to deliver God's heavenly blessings and wisdom through their work, and it would be utterly degrading to the human spirit to put a price on God's grace. f the Mind of Man - 3Poverty - be justifying 4For so foul a thing 5Possibly - but We - would rather 6From Our Garret go 7White - unto the White Creator - 8Than invest - Our Snow - 9Thought belong to Him who gave it - 10Then - to Him Who bear 11Its Corporeal illustration - sell 12The Royal Air - 13In the Parcel - Be the Merchant 14Of the Heavenly Grace - 15But reduce no Human Spirit 16To Disgrace of Price -

670

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: Rooms and houses aren't the only things that can be haunted. The mind, too, has passageways that are much bigger and more mysterious than any physical place. It would, in fact, be much safer to meet an actual ghost in the middle of the night than it would be to confront the colder ghosts that exist within you. It'd also be much safer to run through an old church while stones are being hurled at you than to run into the dark parts of yourself alone and unprepared. The parts of ourselves that exist hidden behind our external, conscious selves should be the most frightening things of all. Finding a murderer hiding in your apartment is, by comparison, not all that scary. The body protects itself from external threats by getting a gun and locking all the doors, while at the same time failing to notice an even more powerful ghost, or worse. One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — 2One need not be a House — 3The Brain has Corridors — surpassing 4Material Place — 5Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting 6External Ghost 7Than its interior Confronting — 8That Cooler Host — 9Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, 10The Stones a'chase — 11Than Unarmed, one's a'self encounter — 12In lonesome Place — 13Ourself behind ourself, concealed — 14Should startle most — 15Assassin hid in our Apartment 16Be Horror's least — 17The Body — borrows a Revolver — 18He bolts the Door — 19O'erlooking a superior spectre — 20Or More —

1263

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: Tell the whole truth, but tell it from a particular angle or put a spin on it. You have to go about it in a roundabout way, because human beings are too weak to take in the truth's magnificent brilliance all at once. Much like you make lightning seem less frightening to children by gently explaining it to them, you have to tell the truth little by little so as not to overwhelm people; if the truth is shown too directly, people won't be able to grasp or accept it. Tell all the truth but tell it slant — 2Success in Circuit lies 3Too bright for our infirm Delight 4The Truth's superb surprise 5As Lightning to the Children eased 6With explanation kind 7The Truth must dazzle gradually 8Or every man be blind —

Snowflakes

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary: The poem is about how she sees the snowflakes, at first she was counting the snowflakes as they fell one by one but as the snowstorm got stronger, they started dancing about making it harder and harder to count them. Emily then got a pencil to help her keep track of the rebels. The rebels in my point of view are the snowflakes rebelling against her. I guess the wind picked up, their flurrying around grew so jolly. So she gave up acting serious. Instead started dancing herself. I counted till they danced so Their slippers leaped the town - And then I took a pencil To note the rebels down - And then they grew so jolly I did resign the prig - And ten of my once stately toes Are marshalled for a jig!

479

Author: Emily Dickinson Summary:I couldn't stop for "Death," so instead he came to get me. I climbed in his carriage, which held just the two of us—as well as Eternal Life. We drove unhurriedly, with Death in no rush. I had left all my work and pleasures behind, in order to be respectful of his gentlemanly nature. We went by a school, where children played during their break time, arranged in a circle. Then we passed fields of crops—which seemed to stare—and the sun as it set in the sky. Actually, we didn't pass the sun—it passed us. As it did so, dew formed, shivering and cold. I was cold too, as I was only wearing a thin gown and a lightweight scarf. Our next stop was at what looked like a house, except it was partly buried in the ground. I could just about see the roof; even the ceiling was in the ground. Since that day, centuries have passed. That said, it feels as though less than a day has gone by since then—the day that I realized that Death's horses were headed in the direction of eternity. Because I could not stop for Death - 2He kindly stopped for me - 3The Carriage held but just Ourselves - 4And Immortality. 5We slowly drove - He knew no haste 6And I had put away 7My labor and my leisure too, 8For His Civility - 9We passed the School, where Children strove 10At Recess - in the Ring - 11We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain - 12We passed the Setting Sun - 13Or rather - He passed Us - 14The Dews drew quivering and Chill - 15For only Gossamer, my Gown - 16My Tippet - only Tulle - 17We paused before a House that seemed 18A Swelling of the Ground - 19The Roof was scarcely visible - 20The Cornice - in the Ground - 21Since then - 'tis Centuries - and yet 22Feels shorter than the Day 23I first surmised the Horses' Heads 24Were toward Eternity -

380

Author: Emily Dickinson There is a flower that Bees prefer—And Butterflies—desire—To gain the Purple DemocratThe Humming Bird—aspire—And Whatsoever Insect pass—A Honey bear awayProportioned to his several dearthAnd her—capacity—Her face be rounder than the MoonAnd ruddier than the GownOr Orchis in the Pasture—Or Rhododendron—worn—She doth not wait for June—Before the World be Green—Her sturdy little CountenanceAgainst the Wind—be seen—Contending with the Grass—Near Kinsman to Herself—For Privilege of Sod and Sun—Sweet Litigants for Life—And when the Hills be full—And newer fashions blow—Doth not retract a single spiceFor pang of jealousy—Her Public—be the Noon—Her Providence—the Sun—Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—The Bravest—of the Host—Surrendering—the last—Nor even of Defeat—aware—What cancelled by the Frost—

401

Author: Emily Dickinson What Soft - Cherubic Creatures -These Gentlewomen are —One would as soon assault a Plush -Or violate a Star — Such Dimity Convictions -A Horror so refinedOf freckled Human Nature -Of Deity - ashamed - It's such a common - Glory -A Fisherman's - Degree -Redemption - Brittle Lady -Be so - ashamed of Thee - Summary: Gentlewomen take a hit in this oft-quoted poem. But, um, Dickinson herself would be considered among the gentlewomen of Amherst. But I think the poet's aim is directed at a certain kind of overly fastidious gentlewoman. She presents herself as 'Soft', Cherubic', and pure as a star, someone to be protected and indulged. Yet beneath and perhaps explaining her carefully maintained façade of gentile respectability lies her 'Horror' of 'freckled Human Nature' and her repugnance toward any lower socioeconomic class. This explains her being 'ashamed' of Deity, of Jesus who was born in a manger and, along with his ragtag fishermen disciples, performed his ministry among the poor, the diseased, and the sinners. His gruesome execution was a blood sacrifice for human redemption. Yet, to snobbish ladies, Dickinson claims, this is but a 'common' Glory, something regrettably low-class. Dickinson takes another jab by calling the Christian beliefs of these gentlewomen 'Dimity Convictions'.Dimity is a soft, light-weight cotton fabric popular for summer dresses. Floral and other designs are typically printed upon the surface of the cloth - not woven into it. Likewise, the religious convictions of the Gentlewomen are superficial. Beneath a veneer of Christian love and mercy, is the base weave of superiority. The 'Glory' of Redemption is 'common', is only Fisherman class. In the last stanza we have the infantilized and selfish creatures addressed as a singular 'Brittle Lady.' Propped up by corsets and status during life, she cannot stand alone when her time comes for judgment. Dickinson takes a righteous tone, almost calling for her doom: Just as you were ashamed of the Fisherman, so may he be ashamed of you. Poetically, Dickinson underscores the ultimate weakness of these ladies by using quite a few of what are called feminine or falling endings - that is to say, a line of poetry, typically iambic, that ends in an unaccented syllable. In this poem, Dickinson ends five of the twelve lines in this way: Creatures, Convictions, Nature, Glory, Lady.

The Image in Lava

Author: Felicia Hemans Publication date: 1827 Summary: Felicia Hemans, in her poem "The Image in Lava" tells the story of a mother and her child amid the obliteration of a city, consequential from the eruption of a volcano. This poem is said to be written after the infamous eruption of Mt. Vesuvius that destroyed the town of Pompeii. The main theme of the poem is concentrated around the love between a mother and her child. Through the turmoil of the poem, Hemans conveys a mother's feeling of genuine love and other themes through literary devices and diction. Hemans launches readers into her poem with the imagery of a town on the brink of total annihilation. Among the thorough depictions of destruction, a loving relationship between a mother and her child are introduced. Through the turmoil of the decaying city, the narrator in the poem makes her love for the child clear through comparison. Before referring to her child as "the only treasure", the narrator also communicates her love for her child to be so deeply enthralled that it would withstand the wreckage of the town more than the "proud memorials" that stood before it. Her soliloquy transcends into the following stanza's by communicating pain "One moment of a thousand pangs", darkness "strange, dark fate o'ertook you,", and the end of her child's life. Although heartbroken, the narrator quickly comes to terms with her eventual death. This is written in lines 29-32 as "Far better than to perish, Thy form within its clasp, Than live and lose thee, precious one! From that impassion'd grasp". She does this by reminding the audience of her love for her child and her unwillingness to live without it. The conflict between humanity and nature can also be argued as a major theme of this poem. The natural disaster of a volcano erupting challenges the fortitude of humanity through the obliteration of a city. The authors use of diction "fearfully enshrin'd" and "on ashes here impress'd" transmit the feeling of a decaying city in result of this natural phenomenon. The poem "The image in Lava" itself also acts as an item of remembering humanity's struggle and downfall against a natural phenomenon. "The Image in Lava" functions as a manifestation of a scene in the town of Pompeii in which a mother and her child experience their last moments of life together. The significance of their bond (and mother's love for her child) is felt deeply through the use of the authors literary language and choice of words.

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass

Author: Frederick Douglass Publication date: 1845 Summary: Frederick Douglass was born into slavery sometime in 1817 or 1818. Like many slaves, he is unsure of his exact date of birth. Douglass is separated from his mother, Harriet Bailey, soon after he is born. His father is most likely their white master, Captain Anthony. Captain Anthony is the clerk of a rich man named Colonel Lloyd. Lloyd owns hundreds of slaves, who call his large, central plantation the "Great House Farm." Life on any of Lloyd's plantations, like that on many Southern plantations, is brutal. Slaves are overworked and exhausted, receive little food, few articles of clothing, and no beds. Those who break rules—and even those who do not—are beaten or whipped, and sometimes even shot by the plantation overseers, the cruelest of which are Mr. Severe and Mr. Austin Gore. Douglass's life on this plantation is not as hard as that of most of the other slaves. Being a child, he serves in the household instead of in the fields. At the age of seven, he is given to Captain Anthony's son‑in‑law's brother, Hugh Auld, who lives in Baltimore. In Baltimore, Douglass enjoys a relatively freer life. In general, city slave-owners are more conscious of appearing cruel or neglectful toward their slaves in front of their non‑slaveowning neighbors. Sophia Auld, Hugh's wife, has never had slaves before, and therefore she is surprisingly kind to Douglass at first. She even begins to teach Douglass to read, until her husband orders her to stop, saying that education makes slaves unmanageable. Eventually, Sophia succumbs to the mentality of slaveowning and loses her natural kindliness. Though Sophia and Hugh Auld become crueler toward him, Douglass still likes Baltimore and is able to teach himself to read with the help of local boys. As he learns to read and write, Douglass becomes conscious of the evils of slavery and of the existence of the abolitionist, or antislavery, movement. He resolves to escape to the North eventually. After the deaths of Captain Anthony and his remaining heirs, Douglass is taken back to serve Thomas Auld, Captain Anthony's son‑in‑law. Auld is a mean man made harsher by his false religious piety. Auld considers Douglass unmanageable, so Auld rents him for one year to Edward Covey, a man known for "breaking" slaves. Covey manages, in the first six months, to work and whip all the spirit out of Douglass. Douglass becomes a brutish man, no longer interested in reading or freedom, capable only of resting from his injuries and exhaustion. The turning point comes when Douglass resolves to fight back against Covey. The two men have a two‑hour fight, after which Covey never touches Douglass again. His year with Covey over, Douglass is next rented to William Freeland for two years. Though Freeland is a milder, fairer man, Douglass's will to escape is nonetheless renewed. At Freeland's, Douglass begins educating his fellow slaves in a Sabbath school at the homes of free blacks. Despite the threat of punishment and violence they face, many slaves from neighboring farms come to Douglass and work diligently to learn. At Freeland's, Douglass also forms a plan of escape with three fellow slaves with whom he is close. Someone betrays their plan to Freeland, however, and Douglass and the others are taken to jail. Thomas Auld then sends Douglass back to Baltimore with Hugh Auld, to learn the trade of ship caulking. In Baltimore's trade industry, Douglass runs up against strained race relations. White workers have been working alongside free black workers, but the whites have begun to fear that the increasing numbers of free blacks will take their jobs. Though only an apprentice and still a slave, Douglass encounters violent tactics of intimidation from his white coworkers and is forced to switch shipyards. In his new apprenticeship, Douglass quickly learns the trade of caulking and soon earns the highest wages possible, always turning them over to Hugh Auld. Eventually, Douglass receives permission from Hugh Auld to hire out his extra time. He saves money bit by bit and eventually makes his escape to New York. Douglass refrains from describing the details of his escape in order to protect the safety of future slaves who may attempt the journey. In New York, Douglass fears recapture and changes his name from Bailey to Douglass. Soon after, he marries Anna Murray, a free woman he met while in Baltimore. They move north to Massachusetts, where Douglass becomes deeply engaged with the abolitionist movement as both a writer and an orator. Character list: Frederick Douglass: The author and narrator of the Narrative. Douglass, a rhetorically skilled and spirited man, is a powerful orator for the abolitionist movement. One of his reasons for writing the Narrative is to offer proof to critics who felt that such an articulate and intelligent man could not have once been a slave. The Narrative describes Douglass's experience under slavery from his early childhood until his escape North at the age of twenty. Within that time, Douglass progresses from unenlightened victim of the dehumanizing practices of slavery to educated and empowered young man. He gains the resources and convictions to escape to the North and wage a political fight against the institution of slavery. Captain Anthony: Douglass's first master and probably his father. Anthony is the clerk for Colonel Lloyd, managing Lloyd's surrounding plantations and the overseers of those plantations. Anthony is a cruel man who takes pleasure in whipping his slaves, especially Douglass's Aunt Hester. He is called "Captain" because he once piloted ships up the Chesapeake Bay. Colonel Edward Lloyd: Captain Anthony's boss and Douglass's first owner. Colonel Lloyd is an extremely rich man who owns all of the slaves and lands where Douglass grows up. Lloyd insists on extreme subservience from his slaves and often punishes them unjustly. Lucretia Auld: Captain Anthony's daughter and Thomas Auld's wife. After Captain Anthony's death, Lucretia inherits half his property, including Douglass. Lucretia is as cruel an owner as her husband. Captain Thomas Auld: Lucretia Auld's husband and Hugh Auld's brother. Thomas Auld did not grow up owning slaves, but gained them through his marriage to Lucretia. After attending a church meeting in Maryland, Thomas Auld becomes a "pious" man, but he uses his newfound Christianity to be even more self-righteously brutal toward his slaves. Hugh Auld: Thomas Auld's brother and Douglass's occasional master. Hugh lives in Baltimore with his wife, Sophia. Thomas and Lucretia Auld allow Hugh to borrow Douglass as a servant for Hugh's son, Thomas. Hugh is well aware that whites maintain power over Blacks by depriving them of education, and he unwittingly enlightens Douglass in this matter. Hugh is not as cruel as his brother Thomas, but he becomes harsher due to a drinking habit in his later years. Hugh seems to suffer some consciousness that slavery and the law's treatment of Blacks are inhumane, but he does not allow this consciousness to interfere with his exercising power over Douglass. Sophia Auld: Hugh Auld's wife. Sophia was a working woman before marrying Hugh, and she had never owned slaves. The corruption of owning a slave transforms Sophia from a sympathetic, kind woman into a vengeful monster. Edward Covey: A notorious slave "breaker" and Douglass's keeper for one year. Slave owners send their unruly slaves to Covey, who works and punishes them (thus getting free labor to cultivate his rented land) and returns them trained and docile. Covey's tactics as a slaveholder are both cruel and sneaky. He is deliberately deceptive and devious when interacting with his slaves, creating an atmosphere of constant surveillance and fear. Betsy Bailey: Douglass's grandmother. Betsy raised Douglass on Captain Anthony's land after Douglass's mother was taken away. Betsy served the Anthony family her whole life and had many children and grandchildren who became slaves for the Anthonys. After seeing Captain Anthony's children from birth to death, Betsy is abandoned to a hut in the woods instead of being allowed to go free. Aunt Hester: Douglass's aunt. Aunt Hester is an exceptionally beautiful and noble-looking woman. Captain Anthony is extraordinarily interested in Hester, and she therefore suffers countless whippings at his hands. Harriet Bailey: Douglass's mother. Harriet is separated from Douglass after his birth, but she still attempts to maintain family relations by walking twelve miles to see him at night. She dies when Douglass is young. Sandy Jenkins: A slave acquaintance of Douglass. The highly superstitious Sandy stands in the Narrative as a representative of all uneducated, superstitious slaves. Sandy is kind to Douglass when Douglass runs away from Covey's, but the Narrative also implies that Sandy may have informed William Freeland about Douglass's plans to escape. William Freeland: Douglass's keeper for two years following his time with Covey. Freeland is the most fair and straightforward of all Douglass's masters and is not hypocritically pious. Douglass acknowledges Freeland's exceptional fairness with a pun on his name—"free land." William Hamilton: Father-in-law of Thomas Auld. After Lucretia Auld's death, Thomas remarries Hamilton's oldest daughter. Hamilton himself sometimes takes charge of Douglass, as when Hamilton arrests Douglass for plotting to escape from Freeland. William Gardner: A Baltimore shipbuilder. Hugh Auld sends Douglass to Gardner to learn the trade of caulking. Gardner's shipyard is disorderly with racial tension between free-Black carpenters and white carpenters, and Gardner is under pressure to complete several ships for a deadline. Anna Murray: Douglass's wife. Anna is a free Black woman from Baltimore who becomes engaged to Douglass before he escapes to freedom. After his escape, Anna and Douglass marry in New York and then move to New Bedford, Massachusetts. Nathan Johnson: A Massachusetts worker and abolitionist. Johnson is immediately kind and helpful to the Douglasses, loaning them money, helping Douglass find work, and suggesting Douglass's new name. Johnson is well informed on national politics and keeps a nice household. William Lloyd Garrison: Founder of the American Anti-Slavery Society. Garrison meets Douglass when Douglass is persuaded to tell his history at an abolitionist convention in Nantucket in 1841. Immediately impressed with Douglass's poise and with the power of his story, Garrison hires him for the abolitionist cause. His Preface to the Narrative is thought by some to aggrandize his own role in Douglass's success. Wendell Phillips: President of the American Anti-Slavery Society. Phillips considers Douglass a close friend. He admires Douglass's bravery in publishing his history without pseudonyms, but also fears for Douglass's safety. Key quotes: "Never having enjoyed, to any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I received the tidings of [my mother's] death with much the same emotions I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger." "I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear." "Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gained from my master." "My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!" "In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than Patrick Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death." "I have observed this in my experience of slavery, - that whenever my condition was improved, instead of its increasing my contentment, it only increased my desire to be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain my freedom. I have found that, to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision, and, as far as possible, to annihilate the power of reason. He must be able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be brought to that only when he ceased to be a man."

Benito Cereno

Author: Herman Melville Publication date: 1855 Summary: Based on a true story, Herman Melville's 1855 novella Benito Cereno follows American Captain Amasa Delano's discovery of a ship he first believes to be in distress before realizing, over the course of the same day, that a slave revolt has taken place on it. Amasa Delano is a naïve, optimistic ship captain from Massachusetts. When he anchors his trading ship, the Bachelor's Delight, in the harbor of the island of Santa Maria, near Chile, he soon sees a mysterious ship appear. Noticing that the ship is flag-less, in disrepair, and seems in peril, he decides to go offer his help, bringing provisions for what he imagines to be a troubled crew. Once Delano sets foot on the ship, the San Dominick, he discovers that it is a Spanish slave ship commanded by a strange captain, Don Benito Cereno. Everyone on board—slaves and sailors alike—is distraught and in miserable physical condition. Delano learns that the ship has experienced an epidemic of scurvy then a terrible storm, followed by a long period of calm, which decimated both the sailors and the slaves, ultimately leaving the black slaves much more numerous than the white crew members. Delano also discovers that Benito Cereno is uncommonly affected by these harrowing experiences. The Spanish captain behaves in unstable ways, alternating rude words, coughing fits, and moments of weakness in which he cannot stand. He is always accompanied by his faithful slave Babo, who supports Cereno at all times. Over time, Delano becomes increasingly annoyed by the intimacy that exists between Cereno and Babo. He finds that, when they speak together, they have a conspiratorial air. Cereno asks Delano strange questions about his ship and sometimes seems to forget the details that he mentioned about the San Dominick's journey. In addition to the distraught captain, Delano notices other bizarre occurrences on the ship, where insubordination and disorder seem to reign. Some groups of slaves, the oakum-pickers and hatchet-polishers, play a weak policing role on board, but Delano sees them as eerie, mysterious creatures. On a few occasions, the slaves behave violently toward the Spanish sailors, hitting them in a way that Delano believes should merit immediate punishment. However, weak and apathetic Cereno does nothing about it. Delano also notices that some Spanish sailors stare at him intently, perhaps trying to communicate a secret to him. However, any time the black slaves intervene in these exchanges, the sailors become shy and quiet. On one occasion, Delano sees a sailor make an intricate knot made of a variety of smaller knots. When Delano interrogates the man about the knot's purpose, the sailor suddenly throws it to him, telling him in broken English to cut the knot. Delano does not understand what is happening. A slave then arrives, taking the knot from Delano and throwing it in the ocean. Confused by these events, Delano attempts to reflect on their root causes. He considers various hypotheses. He wonders if Cereno is insane or an impostor plotting to kill him—perhaps even someone who has allied with the black slaves. However, every time Delano examines such theories, he concludes that they are ridiculous, that he is offending his host by nurturing such suspicions, and that everything is probably fine. Intensely concerned with politeness and good manners, Delano resolves to maintain a noble, generous attitude despite the underlying tensions he can sense on the ship. A crucial factor persuading Delano that everything must be fine on the San Dominick is his conviction that the racial hierarchy is natural and unchangeable. Throughout Benito Cereno, Delano proves deeply racist. He believes that black people are naturally inferior to white people and are meant to serve them as slaves. After a tension-filled shaving scene, in which Babo cuts Cereno's cheek while shaving him and Babo later shows Delano a wound that Cereno has apparently inflicted on him in retribution, Delano is shocked. Although he concludes that Cereno must be a cruel slave-master, he never realizes that slavery is inherently violent because it dehumanizes slaves and makes them vulnerable to their masters' whims. Rather, Delano sees Cereno and Babo's relationship as an intense friendship, marked by alternating moments of love and fighting. When Delano's boat finally arrives with provisions, he asks an ever-gloomy Benito Cereno to accompany him to the Bachelor's Delight, where he might recover physically and mentally from his hardships. Although Cereno refuses, he suddenly jumps into Delano's boat at the last minute. Still under the impression that Cereno is a suspicious character, Delano believes that Cereno is pretending that he has been kidnapped. It is only once Babo also jumps into the boat, holding a dagger aimed at Cereno, that Delano finally grasps the truth: it is not Cereno, but Babo who has murderous intentions. Looking up at the slaves on the San Dominick, who are now protesting in rage, Delano understands that a slave revolt has taken place on the ship and that, throughout his time on the ship, the black slaves, not the Spanish sailors, were secretly in control. Over the next few hours, Delano's crew succeeds in subduing the slaves and recapturing the San Dominick. The narrator then provides excerpts from Benito Cereno's testimony at the trial that took place in Lima against the rebellious slaves. Cereno explains that Babo was the leader of the slave revolt, assisted by Atufal, an imposing black slave who pretended to be kept in chains. Instead of being the passive, docile slave who confirmed Delano's racist stereotypes, Babo is in fact a highly intelligent leader capable of extreme cruelty. Babo and Atufal ordered Spanish sailors to be thrown overboard alive and fed to the sharks. Babo also ordered Cereno's best friend, slave-owner Alexandro Aranda, to be killed and his skeleton placed as the ship's figure-head. Babo used this corpse as a reminder to the Spanish sailors that, if they rebelled, they would "follow their leader"—that is, die. The narrator then goes back in time to a conversation Delano and Cereno had on their way to Lima after the recapture of the San Dominick. Noticing that Cereno is still sad and depressed, Delano tries to bolster his spirits by insisting that he is now safe. Cereno, however, is less concerned with personal safety than with moral issues. Traumatized by what he has experienced, Cereno realizes that slavery breeds rage and despair in the slaves, who then prove capable of committing atrocious acts of violence against their enslavers. This thought does not give Cereno rest. His focus on the past emphasizes that it is only by confronting past horrors and injustice that people can prove fully human and moral. After the trial, Babo—who has refused to talk ever since being captured—and the other slaves are sentenced to capital punishment. Babo's head is displayed on a public square. Still affected by everything he experienced on the San Dominick, Cereno dies three months later, thus metaphorically "following his leader" to the grave. The identity of this leader—whether Babo or Aranda—is left open to interpretation. Character list: Babo: A small, coarse-featured Senegalese around thirty years old, Babo, who was once the slave of a black man, follows Don Benito like a faithful dog and gives the impression of complete devotion to his master's physical comforts. Babo, a flagrant cutthroat, leads the slave revolt, chalks "Follow your leader" below Aranda's skeleton, and orders atrocities, but commits no murder himself. Captain Amasa Delano: The commander of a large sealer and general merchant ship, Delano, a native of Duxbury, Massachusetts, is "incapable of satire or irony" and demonstrates a trusting, altruistic nature. Fluent in Spanish, he voices racist attitudes, but displays a hearty benevolence toward a fellow captain in need. Don Benito Cereno: A reserved, richly dressed Spanish grandee in his late twenties, Cereno, tall and gaunt, bears a noble face marred by lack of sleep, trauma, and ill health. During the resolution of the plot, Cereno is referred to as "the deponent." Alexandro Aranda: Don Benito's friend and the former owner of the slaves, Aranda was a citizen of Mendoza. Doctor Juan Martinez de Rozas: Councilor of the royal court who presides over the taking of depositions. Infelez: A monk who attends Benito Cereno at the City of Kings refuge. The Mate of the Bachelor's Delight: An athletic, determined man, the chief mate, who once was a naval mercenary, leads the Americans against the rebels aboard the slave ship and is wounded in the chest. Atufal: A gigantic black man with a regal air who treads slowly about the ship, iron collar about his neck and padlocked to a waistband of iron. Every two hours during his sojourn, Atufal pretends to refuse to ask his master's pardon for an unnamed offense which occurred two months earlier. As Babo's lieutenant, he commits no murder and is shot to death in the raid by the American sealers. Francesco: A tall, magisterial mulatto wearing an Oriental turban who proposes poisoning Delano's food. José: Eighteen-year-old servant of Aranda who, previous to the revolt, spied on the captain, reported to Babo, and stabbed his mutilated master. Lecbe One of the most vicious of the Ashantis who wounds Delano's mate and strikes Masa with a hatchet. Lecbe joins Yan in riveting Aranda's skeleton to the bow. Negresses These unnamed women sing songs and dance solemnly during periods of violence against the Spaniards and urge the rebels to torture them to death. Yan Lecbe's cohort who prepares Aranda's skeleton for display. Bartholomew Barb Attempts to stab with a dagger a shackled black man who had assaulted him. Cabin-boy Has his arm broken by the rebels and is struck with hatchets. Cook Babo has the cook tied, ready to throw him overboard, then relents and spares him. Juan Bautista Gayette The ship's carpenter. Juan Robles Boatswain whom Babo orders drowned and who remains afloat long enough to make acts of contrition and to beg for a mass to be said for his soul. Luys Galgo A sixty-year-old Spanish sailor who tries to convey tokens to Delano. Martinez Gola A Spanish sailor who attempts to kill a man with a razor after the man is returned to shackles. Raneds The mate, the only navigator left among the decimated crew, is killed by the rebels while handing a quadrant to Cereno, an act they interpret as suspicious. Ship-boy Struck with a knife by a young slave boy for expressing hope of rescue. Don Alonzo Sidonia An elderly resident of Valparaiso and Peruvian civil official, Sidonia is a passenger aboard the San Dominick when it is overrun. Hearing cries from Aranda's berth opposite his own, Sidonia leaps through the window and drowns in the sea. Don Francisco Masa A middle-aged resident of Mendoza, Masa, who is Aranda's cousin, is struck with a hatchet, then thrown overboard at Babo's orders. Don Joaquin, Marques de Aramboalaza A youthful passenger aboard the San Dominick and recent arrival from Spain, he carries a jewel for the shrine of our Lady of Mercy in Lima. He is forced to dress as a sailor; Lecbe pours hot tar on his hands. Later, the rebels tie a hatchet to his hands so that he will appear to support the revolt. During the boarding, he is shot as a confederate of the rebels. Ponce Servant to Aramboalaza who is drowned on Babo's orders. Three Clerks from Cadiz José Mozairi, Lorenzo Bargas, Hermenegildo Gandix. Babo orders the drowning of Mozairi and Bargas. Gandix, who is forced to dress like a seaman, hints to Delano the shipboard situation. He is shot with a musket ball, falls from the mast, and drowns after urging the Americans not to board.

Bright Star

Author: John Keats Publication date: 1819 Summary: Bright star, I want to be as steady and unchanging as you are—though I don't want to hang alone in the night sky, with my eyes always open, like a hermit who never goes to sleep, patiently watching the earth's oceans wash the shores in the same way that a priest ceremonially washes people to purify them, or looking at the new-fallen snow on the mountains and hills. I don't want to be still in that sense, but I do want to be steady and unchanging, lying on my beautiful lover's chest, always feeling its rising and falling, always awake, in a pleasant sleeplessness, always hearing her breathe in and out. I want to live that way forever—or I want to die.

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Author: John Keats Publication date: 1819 Summary: The speaker directly addresses the urn, deeming it a pure partner of quietness itself as well as the adopted child of silence and vast lengths of time. The urn is a historian of rural scenes, which it depicts better than does the poetry of the speaker's era (or perhaps language more generally). The speaker wonders what stories are being told by the images on the urn; whether the figures it depicts are human beings or gods, and which part of Greece they are in. The speaker wonders about the specific identity of the male characters and the reluctant-looking women. Do the scenes show a chase and an attempt to escape? Noting the musical instruments on the urn, the speaker questions if the scenes on display represent some kind of delirious revelry. The speaker praises music, but claims that music that cannot be heard (like that on the urn) is even better. As such, the speaker implores the urn's pipes to keep playing—not for sensory reward, but in tribute to silence. The speaker focuses a young piper sitting under some trees; just as the piper can never stop playing his song—as he is frozen on the urn—so too the trees will never shed their leaves. The speaker then focuses on a scene that depicts two young lovers. Though they are nearly kissing, their lips can never meet. The speaker tells them not to be upset, however: though the kiss will never happen, the man and woman will always love one another (or the man will always love the woman), and the woman will always be beautiful. The speaker now addresses the images of trees on the urn, calling their boughs happy because they will never lose their leaves, and they will never have to say goodbye to spring. The speaker then returns to the piper, whom they perceive as happy and untiring—the piper will play new music for the rest of time. This fills the speaker with thoughts of happiness and love. The figures on the urn will always have happiness to look forward to, always be out of breath from the chase, and always be young. All the passions of the living human world are far removed from the figures on the urn—and these passions cause heartache, lovesick fevers, and thirst. The speaker turns their attention to another scene on the urn, which appears to depict a ceremonial progression. They notice the figure of a shadowy priest leading a cow, which is mooing towards the sky and is dressed with ceremonial silks and flowers. This image causes the speaker to wonder where those in the procession have come from—which town by the river, coast, or mountain has fallen quiet because they have left on this religiously significant morning? The speaker directly addresses this unknown town, acknowledging that its streets are frozen forever in silence. There is no one left who can explain why the town is empty. The speaker takes a more zoomed-out look at the urn, noting its shape and apparent attitude. They recap the urn's population of pictorial men and women and its depictions of nature. To the speaker, the urn seems to offer a temporary respite from thought, in the same way that eternity does. But this respite seems inhuman or false, leading the speaker to call the urn cold. Inspired by this sentiment, the speaker notes that, when everyone in their generation has died, the urn will still be around. It will become an object of contemplation for people with different problems than the speaker's generation. To them, the urn will say that beauty and truth are one and the same; this fact is all that it is possible to know, and all that anybody actually needs to know.

Frankenstein

Author: Mary Shelley Publication date: 1848 Summary: In a series of letters, Robert Walton, the captain of a ship bound for the North Pole, recounts to his sister back in England the progress of his dangerous mission. Successful early on, the mission is soon interrupted by seas full of impassable ice. Trapped, Walton encounters Victor Frankenstein, who has been traveling by dog-drawn sledge across the ice and is weakened by the cold. Walton takes him aboard ship, helps nurse him back to health, and hears the fantastic tale of the monster that Frankenstein created. Victor first describes his early life in Geneva. At the end of a blissful childhood spent in the company of Elizabeth Lavenza (his cousin in the 1818 edition, his adopted sister in the 1831 edition) and friend Henry Clerval, Victor enters the university of Ingolstadt to study natural philosophy and chemistry. There, he is consumed by the desire to discover the secret of life and, after several years of research, becomes convinced that he has found it. Armed with the knowledge he has long been seeking, Victor spends months feverishly fashioning a creature out of old body parts. One climactic night, in the secrecy of his apartment, he brings his creation to life. When he looks at the monstrosity that he has created, however, the sight horrifies him. After a fitful night of sleep, interrupted by the specter of the monster looming over him, he runs into the streets, eventually wandering in remorse. Victor runs into Henry, who has come to study at the university, and he takes his friend back to his apartment. Though the monster is gone, Victor falls into a feverish illness. Sickened by his horrific deed, Victor prepares to return to Geneva, to his family, and to health. Just before departing Ingolstadt, however, he receives a letter from his father informing him that his youngest brother, William, has been murdered. Grief-stricken, Victor hurries home. While passing through the woods where William was strangled, he catches sight of the monster and becomes convinced that the monster is his brother's murderer. Arriving in Geneva, Victor finds that Justine Moritz, a kind, gentle girl who had been adopted by the Frankenstein household, has been accused. She is tried, condemned, and executed, despite her assertions of innocence. Victor grows despondent, guilty with the knowledge that the monster he has created bears responsibility for the death of two innocent loved ones. Hoping to ease his grief, Victor takes a vacation to the mountains. While he is alone one day, crossing an enormous glacier, the monster approaches him. The monster admits to the murder of William but begs for understanding. Lonely, shunned, and forlorn, he says that he struck out at William in a desperate attempt to injure Victor, his cruel creator. The monster begs Victor to create a mate for him, a monster equally grotesque to serve as his sole companion. Victor refuses at first, horrified by the prospect of creating a second monster. The monster is eloquent and persuasive, however, and he eventually convinces Victor. After returning to Geneva, Victor heads for England, accompanied by Henry, to gather information for the creation of a female monster. Leaving Henry in Scotland, he secludes himself on a desolate island in the Orkneys and works reluctantly at repeating his first success. One night, struck by doubts about the morality of his actions, Victor glances out the window to see the monster glaring in at him with a frightening grin. Horrified by the possible consequences of his work, Victor destroys his new creation. The monster, enraged, vows revenge, swearing that he will be with Victor on Victor's wedding night. Later that night, Victor takes a boat out onto a lake and dumps the remains of the second creature in the water. The wind picks up and prevents him from returning to the island. In the morning, he finds himself ashore near an unknown town. Upon landing, he is arrested and informed that he will be tried for a murder discovered the previous night. Victor denies any knowledge of the murder, but when shown the body, he is shocked to behold his friend Henry Clerval, with the mark of the monster's fingers on his neck. Victor falls ill, raving and feverish, and is kept in prison until his recovery, after which he is acquitted of the crime. Shortly after returning to Geneva with his father, Victor marries Elizabeth. He fears the monster's warning and suspects that he will be murdered on his wedding night. To be cautious, he sends Elizabeth away to wait for him. While he awaits the monster, he hears Elizabeth scream and realizes that the monster had been hinting at killing his new bride, not himself. Victor returns home to his father, who dies of grief a short time later. Victor vows to devote the rest of his life to finding the monster and exacting his revenge, and he soon departs to begin his quest. Victor tracks the monster ever northward into the ice. In a dogsled chase, Victor almost catches up with the monster, but the sea beneath them swells and the ice breaks, leaving an unbridgeable gap between them. At this point, Walton encounters Victor, and the narrative catches up to the time of Walton's fourth letter to his sister. Walton tells the remainder of the story in another series of letters to his sister. Victor, already ill when the two men meet, worsens and dies shortly thereafter. When Walton returns, several days later, to the room in which the body lies, he is startled to see the monster weeping over Victor. The monster tells Walton of his immense solitude, suffering, hatred, and remorse. He asserts that now that his creator has died, he too can end his suffering. The monster then departs for the northernmost ice to die. Character list: Victor Frankenstein: The doomed protagonist and narrator of the main portion of the story. Studying in Ingolstadt, Victor discovers the secret of life and creates an intelligent but grotesque monster, from whom he recoils in horror. Victor keeps his creation of the monster a secret, feeling increasingly guilty and ashamed as he realizes how helpless he is to prevent the monster from ruining his life and the lives of others. The Monster: The eight-foot-tall, hideously ugly creation of Victor Frankenstein. Intelligent, eloquent, and sensitive, the Monster attempts to integrate himself into human social patterns, but all who see him shun him. His feeling of abandonment compels him to seek revenge against his creator. Robert Walton: The Arctic seafarer whose letters open and close Frankenstein. Walton picks the bedraggled Victor Frankenstein up off the ice, helps nurse him back to health, and hears Victor's story. He records the incredible tale in a series of letters addressed to his sister, Margaret Saville, in England. Alphonse Frankenstein: Victor's father, very sympathetic toward his son. Alphonse consoles Victor in moments of pain and encourages him to remember the importance of family. Elizabeth Lavenza: An orphan, four to five years younger than Victor, whom the Frankensteins adopt. In the 1818 edition of the novel, Elizabeth is Victor's cousin, the child of Alphonse Frankenstein's sister. In the 1831 edition, Victor's mother rescues Elizabeth from a destitute peasant cottage in Italy. Elizabeth embodies the novel's motif of passive women, as she waits patiently for Victor's attention. Henry Clerval: Victor's boyhood friend, who nurses Victor back to health in Ingolstadt. After working unhappily for his father, Henry begins to follow in Victor's footsteps as a scientist. His cheerfulness counters Victor's moroseness. William Frankenstein: Victor's youngest brother and the darling of the Frankenstein family. The monster strangles William in the woods outside Geneva in order to hurt Victor for abandoning him. William's death deeply saddens Victor and burdens him with tremendous guilt about having created the monster. Justine Moritz: A young girl adopted into the Frankenstein household while Victor is growing up. Justine is blamed and executed for William's murder, which is actually committed by the monster. Beaufort: A merchant and friend of Victor's father; the father of Caroline Beaufort. Peasants: A family of peasants, including a blind old man, De Lacey; his son and daughter, Felix and Agatha; and a foreign woman named Safie. The monster learns how to speak and interact by observing them. When he reveals himself to them, hoping for friendship, they beat him and chase him away. M. Waldman: The professor of chemistry who sparks Victor's interest in science. He dismisses the alchemists' conclusions as unfounded but sympathizes with Victor's interest in a science that can explain the "big questions," such as the origin of life. M. Krempe: A professor of natural philosophy at Ingolstadt. He dismisses Victor's study of the alchemists as wasted time and encourages him to begin his studies anew. Mr. Kirwin: The magistrate who accuses Victor of Henry's murder.

Minister's Black Veil

Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne Publication date: 1837 Summary: The story focuses on a minister in a New England parish. The story is thought to be set in the first half of the eighteenth century, before the so-called Great Awakening of the 1730s and 1740s, when American ministers put more emphasis on individual sin and the need for redemption. Mr Hooper, a minister in the town of Milford, Connecticut, shocks his parishioners one Sunday when he turns up to deliver his sermon wearing a black veil. This veil, which is semi-transparent, largely obscures much of his face, leaving only his mouth fully visible. His parishioners are amazed by this, and start to chatter about why he has started wearing such a veil. Hooper's sermon that day is on 'secret sin'. After the sermon, Hooper continues to wear the veil while officiating at the funeral of a young woman, and then, the same night, at a wedding. Nobody dares to confront Mr Hooper about his sudden decision to start concealing himself behind the black veil - except one person, his wife-to-be, Elizabeth. However, the minister refuses to tell her any precise reason why he is wearing it, only that he is resolved to wear it and never lift it until his dying day. When Elizabeth asks him to lift it for her, he refuses, and she leaves him, breaking off their engagement. The years pass, and Mr Hooper's parishioners die, until he is left with only a small congregation. He becomes old, and starts to be known as 'Father Hooper' on account of his advanced years. Then he, too, lies on his death bed, surrounded by other holy men and by his patient wife, Elizabeth, who has refused to wash her hands of him altogether and now sits tenderly nursing him in his dying moments. As the minister is about to die, one of the men gathered around his death bed, Reverend Mr. Clark, tries to persuade him to lift the black veil from his face while the last rites are delivered. However, Hooper summons his dying strength to prevent Clark from raising the veil, crying that he will never lift it while he remains 'on earth'. When he is confronted about it, Hooper tells them that they should not be scared by his veil alone, because when he looks at them, they are all wearing black veils too. Having shocked everyone around him with this enigmatic announcement, Hooper dies, with the black veil still covering his face. Character list: Reverend Hooper: The protagonist of "The Minister's Black Veil," Hooper is a young, mild-mannered preacher in the town of Milford. However, one day, without giving an explicit reason, he begins wearing a black veil that covers his face from his forehead down to just above his mouth. While Hawthorne never reveals exactly why Hooper decides to wear the veil, Hooper suggests that he does so to teach the townspeople to consider their own sins, to consider the way that they hide or are separated from each other and from God. Despite his somber appearance, Hooper is a kind, loving man and hates the isolation he endures when the town assumes that he must wear the veil as atonement for having committed a serious sin. Whether or not Hooper is atoning for a specific crime, his character is difficult to understand: while he exhibits great humility by cutting himself off from his society in order to deliver his message, he could be considered a proud, arrogant character, too, since the wearing of the veil is such an overt or even ostentatious way to communicate his message (a message that isn't even understood by the town until he reveals it on his deathbed). Elizabeth: Elizabeth is Hooper's fiancée at the beginning of the story. After he begins wearing his veil, she is the only person in Milford who isn't immediately afraid of him. When Hooper refuses to show his face and explain himself, she begins to fear him, and shortly thereafter she breaks off the engagement. Despite abandoning Hooper, Elizabeth continues to love him even as he grows old, and on his deathbed, she takes care of him and helps to ensure that his veil isn't removed. The young woman: The young woman, who is being buried on the day that Hooper first wears his veil, has no lines in "The Minister's Black Veil," but it's been suggested by some readers that she is the story's most important character. Edgar Allan Poe argued that she and Hooper were lovers, and Hooper's decision to cover his face is caused by his guilt after her death. Mr. Joseph Moody: Another clergyman who wears a veil. Hawthorne explains that Moody, a minister of a town in Maine, does so because he accidentally killed his friend as a young man. Hawthorne adds, cryptically, that Hooper's veil has a different meaning than Moody's. Reverend Clark: Reverend Clark, a young priest from the nearby town of Westbury, is standing by Hooper's bedside when he dies. He asks Hooper what crime caused him to hide his face, and listens in shock and amazement to Hooper's response. Squire Saunders: An old member of the Milford community who usually invites Hooper to dine with him after services, but doesn't do so in the story because, it is strongly implied, once Hooper starts wearing the veil. The physician: The physician thinks that Hooper is insane when he first puts on the veil, but also notes, perceptively, that men are sometimes afraid to be alone with themselves, foreshadowing Hooper's discussion of sin and guilt. The sexton: The first person to notice that Hooper is wearing the veil, the sexton quickly draws the entire town's attention with his shocked response to Hooper's changed appearance. Key quotes: "There was but one thing remarkable about his appearance. Swathed about his forehead, and hanging down over his face so low as to be shaken by his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view it seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his features, except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his sight, further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things." "Did he seek to hide [his face] from the dread Being whom he was addressing?" "Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape, that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house. Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister, as his black veil to them." "The sermon which he now delivered was marked by the same characteristics of style and manner as the general series of his pulpit oratory. But there was something, either in the sentiment of the discourse itself, or in the imagination of the auditors, which made it greatly the most powerful effort that had ever heard from their pastor's lips. It was tinged, rather more darkly than usual, with the gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper's temperament." "The people hurried out with indecorous confusion, eager to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits the moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gathered in little circles, huddled closely together, with their mouths all whispering in the center; some went homeward alone, rapt in silent meditation; some talked loudly, and profaned the Sabbath day with ostentatious laughter." "Truly do I," replied the lady; "and I would not be alone with [Hooper] for the world. I wonder he is not afraid to be alone with himself!"Men are sometimes so," said her husband [the physician]." "The clergyman stepped into the room where the corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin, to take a last farewell of his deceased parishioner. As he stooped, the veil hung straight down from his forehead, so that, if her eyelids had not been closed forever, the dead maiden might have seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her glance, that he so hastily caught back the black veil?" "There is an hour to come," said he, "when all of us shall cast aside our veils. Take it not amiss, beloved friend, if I wear this piece of crape till then." "But what if the world will not believe that it is the type of an innocent sorrow?" urged Elizabeth. "Beloved and respected as you are, there may be whispers that you hide your face under the consciousness of secret sin. For the sake of your holy office do away this scandal." "Have patience with me, Elizabeth!" cried he, passionately. "Do not desert me though this veil must be between us here on earth. Be mine, and hereafter there shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between our souls. It is but a mortal veil; it is not for eternity. Oh, you know not how lonely I am, and how frightened to be alone behind my black veil!" "Among all its bad influences, the black veil had the one desirable effect of making its wearer a very efficient clergyman. By the aid of his mysterious emblem—for there was no other apparent cause—he became a man of awful power over souls that were in agony for sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that before he brought them to celestial light they had been with him behind the black veil." "In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irreproachable in outward act, yet shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving, though unloved and dimly feared; a man apart from men, shunned in their health and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mortal anguish." "Why do you tremble at me alone?" cried he, turning his veiled face round the circle of pale spectators. "Tremble also at each other. Have men avoided me and women shown no pity and children screamed and fled only for my black veil? What but the mystery which it obscurely typifies has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows his inmost heart to his friend, the lover to his best-beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely treasuring up the secret of his sin,—then deem me a monster for the symbol beneath which I have lived and die. I look around me, and, lo! on every visage a black veil!"

The Birthmark

Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne Publication date: 1843 Summary: The narrator introduces Aylmer as a brilliant scientist and natural philosopher who has abandoned his experiments for a while to marry the beautiful Georgiana. One day, Aylmer asks his wife whether she has ever thought about removing the birthmark on her cheek. She cheerfully says no but grows serious when she sees that he asked the question seriously. Many people, she says, have told her the mark is a charm, and she has always thought maybe they were right. Aylmer says that because her face is almost perfect, any mark is shocking. Georgiana is angry at first, and then she weeps, asking how he can love her if she is shocking to him. The narrator explains that the birthmark in question is a red mark in the shape of a tiny hand on Georgiana's left cheek. The mark disappears when she blushes. Georgiana's male admirers love the birthmark, and many would risk their lives just to kiss it. Some women think the mark ruins her beauty, but the narrator says this is nonsense. Aylmer obsesses about the birthmark. For him, it symbolizes mortality and sin and comes to tower over Georgiana's beauty in his mind. He can think of nothing else. One night she reminds him of a dream he had. He spoke in his sleep, saying they must take out her heart. Aylmer remembers dreaming that he had removed the birthmark with a knife, plunging down until he had reached his wife's heart, which he decided to cut out. Georgiana says that she will risk her life to have the birthmark erased. Thrilled, Aylmer agrees to try. He professes complete confidence in his own abilities, likening himself to Pygmalion. He kisses his wife's unmarked cheek. They decide to move to the apartments where Aylmer has his laboratory. He has already made stunning discoveries about volcanoes, fountains, mines, and other natural wonders. Now he will resume his studies of the creation of life. As the couple enters the laboratory, Aylmer shudders at the sight of Georgiana, and she faints. Aminadab, Aylmer's grotesque assistant, comes out to help. He says he would not remove the birthmark if Georgiana were his wife. Georgiana wakes up in sweet-smelling rooms that have been made beautiful for her. Aylmer comforts her with some of his more magical creations: "airy figures, absolute bodiless ideas, and forms of unsubstantial beauty." He shows her moving scenes that mimic real life. Then he gives her a fast-growing flower that dies as soon as she touches it. Next he tries to create a portrait of her with a metal plate, but when the plate shows a hand, he throws it into acid. Between experiments, Aylmer tells Georgiana about alchemy. He believes that he could turn base metal into gold and create a potion that would grant eternal life if he wanted to, even though he says he knows that doing so would be wrong. He disappears for hours and then shows her his cabinet of wonders. One such wonder is a vial that holds a powerful perfume. Another is a poison that, depending on the dose, would allow Aylmer to kill someone instantly or after a long period of time. Georgiana is appalled, but Aylmer says the poison is more good than bad. He shows her another potion that can wipe away freckles, but he says her birthmark needs a much deeper cure. Georgiana realizes that Aylmer has been doctoring her food or making her inhale something in the air. Her body feels strange. She reads the books in his scientific library, as well as his accounts of his own experiments. She realizes that his achievements always fall short of the goals he originally sets. Still, the accounts of his studies make her worship him. Aylmer catches her crying over his journals, and although his words are kind, he is angry. She sings to him, restoring his spirits. A few hours later, Georgiana goes to the laboratory to find Aylmer. When he sees her, he grows angry, accuses her of prying, and tells her to go away. She stands her ground and refuses, saying he should trust her and not try to hide his fears. She promises to drink whatever he tells her to drink. Moved, Aylmer says the mark goes deep into her body, and its removal will be dangerous. In her room, Georgiana thinks about how noble it is that Aylmer refuses to love her as she is, insisting instead to create his ideal version of her. He brings her a potion that he says cannot fail. He shows her how it cures a geranium of blots. She drinks the liquid and sleeps. Aylmer watches her with tenderness but also as if he is watching a scientific experiment unfold. Gradually the birthmark fades. Aminadab laughs. Georgiana wakes, sees herself in the mirror, and tells Aylmer not to feel bad about rejecting "the best the earth could offer." Then she dies. Characters: Aylmer: A brilliant yet misguided scientist and the protagonist of the story. Aylmer's experiments and creations have made him famous in the scientific community. He has investigated volcanoes, mines, and clouds; bottled the world's most delicious scents; created a powerful poison; and made a potion capable of erasing physical flaws such as freckles. Although his intentions are good, Aylmer is a selfish and cruel man whose delusions ultimately kill his wife. Georgiana: Aylmer's wife. A beautiful, intelligent, and caring woman, Georgiana is physically and spiritually lovely. Her only flaw is a small red birthmark shaped like a tiny hand on her left cheek. Georgiana worships her husband and submits to his unreasonable demands, despite her suspicions that they will kill her. Aminadab: Aylmer's assistant. A hulking, strong, grubby man, Aminadab is an able helper but simultaneously disgusted by Aylmer's desire to erase Georgiana's birthmark. Because Aminadab represents the physical side of existence, his disgust is a strong indictment of Aylmer. Ironically, Aminadab feels more compassion for Georgiana than her own husband does. Key quotes: "[H]ere is a powerful cosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase of water, freckles may be washed away. . . . A stronger infusion would take the blood out of the cheek, and leave the rosiest beauty a pale ghost. . . . Your case demands a remedy that shall go deeper." "[W]ith her whole spirit she prayed that, for a single moment, she might satisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one moment she well knew it could not be; for his spirit was ever on the march, ever ascending . . . [requiring] something that was beyond the scope of the instant before." "He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studies ever to be weaned from them by any second passion." - This quote describes the protagonist, Aylmer, and his obsession with science. "The crimson hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible frames return to dust." - This quote refers to the birthmark on Georgiana's cheek, which Aylmer sees as a flaw that he can eliminate through science. "It was the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain." - This quote reflects Aylmer's belief that science can overcome human imperfection. "Georgiana's lovers were wont to say that some fairy at her birth-hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and left this impress there in token of the magic endowments that were to give her such sway over all hearts." - This quote describes the origin of Georgiana's birthmark, which is seen as a symbol of her beauty and charm. "In truth, she had but one weakness—a weakness that--morbid as it might be--she had not the strength to resist." - This quote refers to Georgiana's desire to please her husband by removing her birthmark, even though she knows it may lead to her death. "Science, so far as it has yet gone, confines its researches to the domain of mortality." - This quote reflects Aylmer's belief that science can overcome human mortality and imperfection. "It was not unusual for the love of science to rival the love of woman in its depth and absorbing energy." - This quote describes Aylmer's devotion to science and his belief that it can bring him greater satisfaction than love. "Had she been less beautiful—if Envy's self could have found aught else to sneer at—it might have been easier to detach his eyes from the object of their idolatry." - This quote refers to Aylmer's obsession with Georgiana's beauty, which ultimately leads to her downfall. "Aylmer appeared to believe that, by the plainest scientific logic, it was altogether within the limits of possibility to discover this long-sought medium." - This quote describes Aylmer's belief that he can find a way to remove Georgiana's birthmark through scientific means. "In his grasp the newly discovered metal became a subject of the most unbounded curiosity and research." - This quote refers to Aylmer's discovery of a metal that he believes can remove Georgiana's birthmark, and his subsequent obsession with studying it. "As the last crimson tint of the birthmark—that sole token of human imperfection—faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenward flight"

The Rose of the World

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication Date: 1893 Summary: Yeats contests the cliché that beauty "passes like a dream,' noting that beauty has been responsible for major tragedies of human violence, including the sack of Troy and the death of Usna's children. He insinuates that Maud Gonne's beauty is capable of inspiring such destruction as well. Yeats then suggests that while most human life passes by like a dream, Maud Gonne's "lonely face" lives on. He even insists that immortal beings - archangels - bow down before Gonne's unchanging beauty, suggesting that her being existed alongside God before the world began. The world, indeed, is a mere grassy path created for her to tread.

"The Lake Isle of Innisfree"

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication date: 1892 Summary: William Butler Yeats wrote "The Lake Isle of Innisfree," one of his most famous and widely-anthologized works, in 1888. The poem gets its title from a very small, uninhabited island that sits in Lough Gill, a lake in Yeats's home county of Sligo, Ireland. The speaker of this pastoral poem longs to build a simple life on Innisfree, finding peace through communion with nature. However, it becomes clear that ties to city life prevent the speaker from realizing this dream. The young poet's fixation on questions of spirituality and Irish identity is felt in this poem, which also contains the sort of archaic language that he would later abandon and decry. Following an ABAB rhyme scheme and loosely iambic meter, the poem's seemingly neat, concise structure belies its complex networks of rhythm and sound, which are responsible for much of its visceral impact and enduring popularity. The speaker expresses an intention to get up and go to a small island in Ireland called Innisfree. On the island, the speaker wishes to build a modest cabin out of clay and bundled twigs. The speaker hopes to plant nine rows of beans in a clearing, which will buzz with the sound of honeybees tending to a nearby hive. The speaker believes that this setting promises peace, which will emerge slowly as the hazy mist of the morning falls to the earth, where crickets chirp. On the island, light flickers beautifully in the middle of the night and glows with a purple hue at midday, while little birds flutter about in the evenings. The speaker reiterates an intent to get up and go to Innisfree, explaining that all day and all night, the speaker imagines hearing the lake's waves breaking on the island's shore. As the speaker stands on roads or other paved places, that imagined lake sound resonates deep within the speaker's heart.

Who Goes with Fergus?

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication date: 1893 Summary: "Who Goes With Fergus?" is a 1892 lyric poem by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. In the poem, Yeats references the mythical Irish king and poet Fergus in order to encourage people to focus on the mystical beauty of the universe. In Yeats's play The Countess Cathleen, this song is sung to soothe the title character after she sells her soul to the devil. Stephen Dedalus repeatedly thinks of this poem, which he sang to his mother on her deathbed. He especially remembers the lines, "And no more turn aside and brood / Upon love's bitter mystery." In this poem, Yeats asks the people of Ireland, who will follow the path that Fergus took, to turn away from the hopes and fears of daily life and pursue the mystic, which is symbolized by the woods, the sea, and the wandering stars. It is worth noting that Yeats uses three metaphors to describe the mystical realm. I believe this is intentional, evoking the trinity as well as the kabbalistic crown which represents the godhead. Who will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood's woven shade, And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet brow, And lift your tender eyelids, maid, And brood on hopes and fear no more. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery; For Fergus rules the brazen cars, And rules the shadows of the wood, And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars.

The Stolen Child

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication dates: 1893 Summary: The poet describes the 'leafy island' where the fairies live. The leafy island lies where the rocky highland of Sleuth Wood touches the lake's water. Herons are sleepy awakening rats with the noise of their wings flapping. The fairies hid their fairy pots full of stolen berries and red cherries. The fairies call the human child to come to the waters of the lake and wild rock. The fairies ask the child to walk hand in hand with them towards their fairy island because the world in which the child lives is more full of miseries and sorrows than he can understand. The fairies talk about a place that is far away from the distant Roses, where the stream of moonlight falls on the grey sands and brighten them, where the fairies walk all night and dance, join hands together, and cast glances at one another till the moon has reached heaven. The fairies tell us that they jump here and there and chase bubbles at night while the world full of troubles sleeps and is full of anxieties even when they are sleeping. The fairies call the child to come to the fairy island because the child lives in such a world that is fuller of miseries and tears than he can comprehend. The third stanza of The Stolen Child describes where the fairies look for sleepy fish and give them disturbing dreams by whispering in their ears. They say that place lies where the water flows from hills above Glen-Car and causes out in pools among the tall grass. The fairies bend over the herbs against the dewdrops near the streams. The fairies call upon the human child to their fairyland because the world where the human child lives is fuller of miseries than the child can think of. In the final stanza of The Stolen Child, the child goes to the island with the fairies. The child looks serious. The fairies say that the child will no longer hear the sound of the calves on the hillside or the sound of the kettle over the fire that gives him warmth. The child will no longer see the brown mice jumping around the boxes containing oatmeal. He will miss the sights and sounds of the world because he is now coming to the leafy island to live with the fairies to escape from a world full of miseries and sorrows that the child can comprehend.

Sailing to Byzantium

Author: William Butler Yeats Year: 1928 Summary: The speaker, referring to the country that he has left, says that it is "no country for old men": it is full of youth and life, with the young lying in one another's arms, birds singing in the trees, and fish swimming in the waters. There, "all summer long" the world rings with the "sensual music" that makes the young neglect the old, whom the speaker describes as "Monuments of unageing intellect." An old man, the speaker says, is a "paltry thing," merely a tattered coat upon a stick, unless his soul can clap its hands and sing; and the only way for the soul to learn how to sing is to study "monuments of its own magnificence." Therefore, the speaker has "sailed the seas and come / To the holy city of Byzantium." The speaker addresses the sages "standing in God's holy fire / As in the gold mosaic of a wall," and asks them to be his soul's "singing-masters." He hopes they will consume his heart away, for his heart "knows not what it is"—it is "sick with desire / And fastened to a dying animal," and the speaker wishes to be gathered "Into the artifice of eternity." The speaker says that once he has been taken out of the natural world, he will no longer take his "bodily form" from any "natural thing," but rather will fashion himself as a singing bird made of hammered gold, such as Grecian goldsmiths make "To keep a drowsy Emperor awake," or set upon a tree of gold "to sing / To lords and ladies of Byzantium / Or what is past, or passing, or to come."

Adam's Curse

Author: William Butler Yeats Publication date: 1903 Summary: Addressing his beloved, the speaker remembers sitting with her and "that beautiful mild woman, your close friend" at the end of summer, discussing poetry. He remarked then that a line of poetry may take hours to write, but if it does not seem the thought of a single moment, the poet's work has been useless. The poet said that it would be better to "scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones / Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather," for to write poetry is a task harder than these, yet less appreciated by the "bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen" of the world. The "beautiful mild woman"—whose voice, the speaker notes, is so sweet and low it will cause many men heartache—replied that to be born a woman is to know that one must work at being beautiful, even though that kind of work is not discussed at school. The speaker answered by saying that since the fall of Adam, every fine thing has required "labouring." He said that there have been lovers who spent time learning "precedents out of beautiful old books," but now such study seems "an idle trade enough." At the mention of love, the speaker recalls, the group grew quiet, watching "the last embers of daylight die." In the blue-green sky the moon rose, looking worn as a shell "washed by time's waters as they rose and fell / About the stars and broke in days and years." The speaker says that he spoke only for the ears of his beloved, that she was beautiful, and that he strove to love her "in the old high way of love." It had all seemed happy, he says, "and yet we'd grown / As weary-hearted as that hollow moon."

1855

Benito Cereno Herman Melville

III (excerpt) Hearts with one purpose alone Through summer and winter seem Enchanted to a stone To trouble the living stream.

Easter, 1916, William Butler Yeats

Emily Dickinson Letters info

Emily Dickinson, pre-eminent poet, also distinguished herself as a writer of letters, which she regarded as a "joy of Earth" (L960). Cryptic and allusive in style, dazzling in verbal effects, and sensitively attuned to her recipients, Dickinson was a prolific and gifted epistolary artist. Scholars estimate that the printed editions of her letters represent only about one-tenth of the letters Dickinson actually wrote. While others may yet be recovered, many were probably destroyed, according to the custom of the time, upon their recipients' deaths. Nonetheless, the thousand extant letters to about a hundred friends and family members are an extensive and profoundly revealing record of the poet's intellectual interests and emotional journeys. The existing letters date from 1842, when Dickinson was eleven years old, until the final "Little Cousins, / Called back" letter to Louise and Frances Norcross just before her death in 1886 (L 1046). Her early letters reveal much about her relationships with her friends and family, her changing attitudes toward her religious experiences, and her year away from home at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary. Her later letters, often more epigrammatic, include exquisite condolence messages for grieving friends, notes to her brother's family next door, and, of course, poetry.

as cold and passionate as the dawn

Sailing to Byzantium, William Butler Yeats

1853-1855

The Crimean War, war against Russia, inspired The Charge of the Light Brigade

QUOTE: "The stench of the hold was so intolerably loathsome, that it was dangerous to remain there for any time. . . . The closeness of the place, and the heat of the climate, added to the number in the ship, which was so crowded that each had scarcely room to turn around, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspiration, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration, from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died. . . . This wretched situation was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insupportable, and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often fell, and were almost suffocated. The shrieks of the women, and the groans of the dying, rendered the whole a scene of horror almost inconceivable."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

Who will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood's woven shade, And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet brow, And lift your tender eyelids, maid, And brood on hopes and fear no more. And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery; For Fergus rules the brazen cars, And rules the shadows of the wood, And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars.

Who Goes with Fergus, William Butler Yeats

1770-1850

William Wordsworth

Settler colonialism:

a distinct type of colonialism that functions through the replacement of indigenous populations with an invasive settler society that, over time, develops a distinctive identity and sovereignty. Settler colonial states include Canada, the United States, Australia, and South Africa.

I I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the head Or polite meaningless words, Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words, And thought before I had done Of a mocking tale or a gibe To please a companion Around the fire at the club, Being certain that they and I But lived where motley is worn: All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

Easter, 1916, William Butler Yeats

"Thus was I going about the islands upwards of four years, and ever trading as I went, during which I experienced many instances of ill usage, and have seen many injuries done to other Negroes in our dealings with whites."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

"Ah, I thought so. For it were strange, indeed, and not very creditable to us white-skins, if a little of our blood mixed with the African's, should, far from improving the latter's quality, have the sad effect of pouring vitriolic acid into black broth; improving the hue, perhaps, but not the wholesomeness." "But if the whites had dark secrets concerning Don Benito, could then Don Benito be any way in complicity with the blacks? But they were too stupid. Besides, who ever heard of a white so far a renegade as to apostatize from his very species almost, by leaguing in against it with negroes?"

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

"Ah, this slavery breeds ugly passions in man!"

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

"You generalize, Don Benito; and mournfully enough. But the past is passed; why moralize upon it? Forget it. See, yon bright sun has forgotten it all, and the blue sea, and the blue sky; these have turned over new leaves." "Because they have no memory," he dejectedly replied; "because they are not human." "But these mild trades that now fan your cheek, do they not come with a human-like healing to you? Warm friends, steadfast friends are the trades."

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

"a dreamy inquietude, like that of one who alone on the prairie feels unrest from the repose of the noon...."

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

... the living spectacle [a ship] contains, upon its sudden and complete disclosure, has, in contrast with the blank ocean which zones it, something of the effect of enchantment. The ship seems unreal; these strange costumes, gestures, and faces, but a shadowy tableau just emerged from the deep, which directly must receive back what it gave.

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

Some months after, dragged to the gibbet at the tail of a mule, the black met his voiceless end. The body was burned to ashes; but for many days, the head, that hive of subtlety, fixed on a pole in the Plaza, met, unabashed, the gaze of the whites; and across the Plaza looked toward St. Bartholomew's church, in whose vaults slept then, as now, the recovered bones of Aranda; and across the Rimac bridge looked toward the monastery, on Mount Agonia without; where, three months after being dismissed by the court, Benito Cereno, borne on the bier, did, indeed, follow his leader.

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

With no small interest, Captain Delano continued to watch her- a proceeding not much facilitated by the vapours partly mantling the hull, through which the far matin light from her cabin streamed equivocally enough; much like the sun- by this time hemisphered on the rim of the horizon, and apparently, in company with the strange ship, entering the harbour- which, wimpled by the same low, creeping clouds, showed not unlike a Lima intriguante's one sinister eye peering across the Plaza from the Indian loophole of her dusk saya-y-manta.

Benito Cereno, Herman Melville

1843

"The Birth-Mark"

"Animated by this important object, I shall disdain to cull my phrases or polish my style. . . . wishing rather to persuade by the force of my arguments, than dazzle by the elegance of my language. . . . I shall be employed about things, not words!"

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

"Like the flowers which are planted in too rich a soil, strength and usefulness are sacrificed to beauty; and the flaunting leaves, after having pleased a fastidious eye, fade, disregarded on the stalk.."

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

"One cause of this barren blooming I attribute to a false system of education, gathered from the books written on this subject by men who, considering females rather as women than human being, have been more anxious to make them alluring mistresses than affectionate wives and rational mothers."

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

"Strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience; but, as blind obedience is ever sought for by power, tyrants and sensualists are in the right when they endeavour to keep women in the dark, because the former only want slaves, and the latter a play thing."

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

"The great misfortune is this, that they both acquire manners before morals, and a knowledge of life before they have, from reflection, any acquaintance with the grand ideal outline of human nature. The consequence is natural; satisfied with common nature, they become prey to prejudices, and taking all their opinions on credit, they blindly submit to authority."

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

The understanding of the sex has been so bubbled by this specious homage, that the civilized women of the present century, with few exceptions, are only anxious to inspire love, when they ought to cherish a nobler ambition, and by their abilities and virtue exact respect.

A Vindication of the Rights of Women

"If I have no ties and affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes. . . . My vices are the children of a forced solitude which I abhor; and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being, and become linked to the chain of existence and events, from which I am now excluded."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse -- MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, All are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

Easter 1916, William Butler Yeats

Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is heaven's part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death. Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead.

Easter 1916, William Butler Yeats

We sat together at one summer's end, That beautiful mild woman, your close friend, And you and I, and talked of poetry. I said, "A line will take us hours maybe: Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather; For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world."

Adam's Curse, William Butler Yeats

1795

The Eolian Harp

Picaresque

"a genre of usually satiric prose fiction . . . depicting in realistic detail the adventures of a roguish hero of low social degree living by his or her wits in a corrupt society."

A Defence of Poetry

1821

We are to reverence the rust of antiquity, and term the unnatural customs, which ignorance and mistaken self-interest have consolidated, the sage fruit of experience . . . the venerable vestiges of ancient days. These are Gothic notions of beauty—the ivy is beautiful though it insidiously destroys the trunk from which it received support.

A Vindication of the Rights of Men

Every being may become perfect by the exercise of its own reason. . . . Consequently, the most perfect education, in my opinion, is such an exercise of the understanding as is best calculated to strengthen the body and form the heart. Or, in other words, to enable the individual to attain such habits of virtue as will render it independent.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft

If [women] be really capable of acting like rational creatures, let them not be treated like slaves; or, like the brutes who are dependent on the reason of man, when they associate with him; but cultivate their minds, give them the salutary, sublime curb of principle, and let them attain conscious dignity by feelings themselves only dependent on God.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft

The conduct and manners of women, in fact, evidently prove that their minds are not in a healthy state; for, like the flowers which are planted in too rich a soil, strength and usefulness are sacrificed to beauty; and the flaunting leaves, after having pleased a fastidious eye, fade, disregarded on the stalk, long before the season when they ought to have arrived at maturity.—One cause of this barren blooming I attribute to a false system of education.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft

1763-1823

Amasa Delano

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Author: Lord Byron Publication date: 1812-1818 Summary: In the fourth canto, Harold is in Italy. He begins in Venice, whose decay does not diminish its beauty because of its exceptional spirit. In Rome, Harold finally dies. Byron, intruding again into the poem, admits a certain amount of regret over having left England, expressing his wish that he will be remembered among his countrymen. He avows that his soul will always belong to England and one day will return to it. The canto ends, famously, with one of the most quoted sections of Childe Harold:Byron's address to the ocean.Childe Harold inaugurated the literary archetype of the "Byronic hero," a darkly glamorous figure - reminiscent of Lord Byron himself, and later iterated in several of his other works - characterized by his charisma, moodiness, and mysterious past. Debates about how much Harold was simply a literary avatar for Byron himself raged even during his day, and in the preface to the fourth canto, he addresses the controversy directly. The topic continues to draw interest among scholars. Regardless, Childe Harold stands as one of the most idiosyncratic and enduring of Romantic works, and one that, incidentally, emphasizes the importance of travel to the development and growth of the self in a way that seems strikingly modern.

A Defence of Poetry

Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley Publication date: Summary: Shelley wrote 'A Defence of Poetry' in 1821 in response to an essay written by his friend, Thomas Love Peacock. In 'The Four Ages of Poetry', Peacock - now best-remembered for novels like Nightmare Abbey - wittily argued that poetry was surplus to requirements in the modern age, because scientific and technological discoveries had rendered it unnecessary. We can get all the wonder we need from science. Arguing from a Utilitarian position, Peacock (with his tongue if not firmly in his cheek then certainly languidly resting against it) suggests that poetry is of less use to modern man than it was in previous ages. Shelley intended his essay to be published in the follow-up issue of the Literary Miscellany, which had published Peacock's essay that had prompted Shelley's rebuttal. However, the Miscellany folded after its first issue, so Shelley's essay was never printed in his lifetime - and it only appeared in print in 1840, eighteen years after Shelley's death, when his widow, Mary Shelley, published it.LITERATUREA Summary and Analysis of Percy Shelley's 'A Defence of Poetry' 'A Defence of Poetry' is an essay written by the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822). One of the most important prose works of the Romantic era, and a valuable document concerning Shelley's own poetic approach, the essay is deserving of closer analysis and engagement. 0 of 1 minute, 24 secondsVolume 0% This ad will end in 13 You can read Shelley's 'A Defence of Poetry' here before proceeding to our summary and analysis of the essay below. 'A Defence of Poetry': summary Shelley wrote 'A Defence of Poetry' in 1821 in response to an essay written by his friend, Thomas Love Peacock. In 'The Four Ages of Poetry', Peacock - now best-remembered for novels like Nightmare Abbey - wittily argued that poetry was surplus to requirements in the modern age, because scientific and technological discoveries had rendered it unnecessary. We can get all the wonder we need from science. Arguing from a Utilitarian position, Peacock (with his tongue if not firmly in his cheek then certainly languidly resting against it) suggests that poetry is of less use to modern man than it was in previous ages. Shelley intended his essay to be published in the follow-up issue of the Literary Miscellany, which had published Peacock's essay that had prompted Shelley's rebuttal. However, the Miscellany folded after its first issue, so Shelley's essay was never printed in his lifetime - and it only appeared in print in 1840, eighteen years after Shelley's death, when his widow, Mary Shelley, published it. Shelley argues that poetry is mimetic: that is, it reflects the real world. In the early days of civilisation, men 'imitate[d] natural objects', observing the order and rhythm of these things, and from this impulse was poetry born. Reason and imagination are both important faculties in the poet. Reason, he tells us, is logical thought, whereas imagination is perceiving things, and noticing the similarities between things (here, we might think of the poet's stock-in-trade, the metaphor and simile, which liken one thing to another). It is through reason but also through imagination that we can identify beauty in the world, and from such a perception or realisation are great civilisations made. Poets, then, are the makers of civilisation itself, as Shelley argues: But poets, or those who imagine and express this indestructible order, are not only the authors of language and of music, of the dance, and architecture, and statuary, and painting: they are the institutors of laws, and the founders of civil society, and the inventors of the arts of life, and the teachers, who draw into a certain propinquity with the beautiful and the true that partial apprehension of the agencies of the invisible world which is called religion. The poet throughout history has been both legislator (law-maker) and prophet (religious messenger). And because poets work within the medium of language (unlike the sculptor or painter, who works in the visual medium), they have attained a greater degree of fame than other artists. Shelley distinguishes between 'measured' and 'unmeasured' language, the former being poetry (which uses metre, i.e., you measure out the syllables per line) and the latter being prose. Poetry is superior to prose, even though both use language, because poetry also taps into the possibilities of sounds: 'the language of poets has ever affected a certain uniform and harmonious recurrence of sound, without which it were not poetry, and which is scarcely less indispensable to the communication of its influence, than the words themselves, without reference to that peculiar order.' Shelley also makes a distinction between storytelling (and, indeed, history) and poetry, arguing, 'A story of particular facts is as a mirror which obscures and distorts that which should be beautiful; poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.' Poetry thus reflects the world, like a mirror, but does so in a way that renders the distorted image beautiful. Indeed, poetry can make us see the world in a new light, making it richer and more beautiful: Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar; it reproduces all that it represents, and the impersonations clothed in its Elysian light stand thenceforward in the minds of those who have once contemplated them, as memorials of that gentle and exalted content which extends itself over all thoughts and actions with which it coexists. The key to all of this, Shelley reiterates, is imagination. Shelley devotes the next portion of 'A Defence of Poetry' to a sort of critical history of poetry from the days of ancient Greece up to the present, considering how, throughout the ages, poets have had a moral influence upon the world. He argues that, following the Fall of Rome and the establishment of Christianity, it was poets who saved the world from ruin and anarchy: 'the world would have fallen into utter anarchy and darkness, but that there were found poets among the authors of the Christian and chivalric systems of manners and religion, who created forms of opinion and action never before conceived; which, copied into the imaginations of men, became as generals to the bewildered armies of their thoughts.' He sees the medieval poet Dante (1265-1321) as the 'bridge' between the ancient and modern world. Responding to Peacock, Shelley argues that the poet's purpose is utilitarian, since poetry 'lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world', and has a moral purpose. Shelley concludes his essay with the rousing and famous words: Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.

Ode to the West Wind

Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley Publication date: 1820 Summary: The speaker invokes the "wild West Wind" of autumn, which scatters the dead leaves and spreads seeds so that they may be nurtured by the spring, and asks that the wind, a "destroyer and preserver," hear him. The speaker calls the wind the "dirge / Of the dying year," and describes how it stirs up violent storms, and again implores it to hear him. The speaker says that the wind stirs the Mediterranean from "his summer dreams," and cleaves the Atlantic into choppy chasms, making the "sapless foliage" of the ocean tremble, and asks for a third time that it hear him. The speaker says that if he were a dead leaf that the wind could bear, or a cloud it could carry, or a wave it could push, or even if he were, as a boy, "the comrade" of the wind's "wandering over heaven," then he would never have needed to pray to the wind and invoke its powers. He pleads with the wind to lift him "as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!"—for though he is like the wind at heart, untamable and proud—he is now chained and bowed with the weight of his hours upon the earth. The speaker asks the wind to "make me thy lyre," to be his own Spirit, and to drive his thoughts across the universe, "like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth." He asks the wind, by the incantation of this verse, to scatter his words among mankind, to be the "trumpet of a prophecy." Speaking both in regard to the season and in regard to the effect upon mankind that he hopes his words to have, the speaker asks: "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

Ozymandias

Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley Publication date: 1818 Summary: The speaker of the poem meets a traveller who came from an ancient land. The traveller describes two large stone legs of a statue, which lack a torso to connect them and which stand upright in the desert. Near the legs, half-buried in sand, is the broken face of the statue. The statue's facial expression—a frown and a wrinkled lip—form a commanding, haughty sneer. The expression shows that the sculptor understood the emotions of the person the statue is based on, and now those emotions live on, carved forever on inanimate stone. In making the face, the sculptor's skilled hands mocked up a perfect recreation of those feelings and of the heart that fed those feelings (and, in the process, so perfectly conveyed the subject's cruelty that the statue itself seems to be mocking its subject). The traveller next describes the words inscribed on the pedestal of the statue, which say: "My name is Ozymandias, the King who rules over even other Kings. Behold what I have built, all you who think of yourselves as powerful, and despair at the magnificence and superiority of my accomplishments." There is nothing else in the area. Surrounding the remnants of the large statue is a never-ending and barren desert, with empty and flat sands stretching into the distance.

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Author: William Blake Publication date: 1790 Summary: In the book's second section, "The Voice of the Devil," Blake writes from the point of view of Satan, from his place in Hell. Like Milton in his epic poem Paradise Lost, which strongly influenced The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Blake sees Satan as a hero who avoided the blind obedience of the prophets and the angels in favor of pursuing knowledge and wisdom. Blake, through the voice of Satan, also argues that the body is not, as religious texts would have us believe, separate from the soul, but rather united with it. The senses are merely an extension of that soul and the way it interprets the world.

"Lines Written at a Small Distance from my House, and Sent by my Little boy to the Person to whom They are Addressed"

Author: William Wordsworth Publication date: 1798 Summary: The poem itself starts in a rush of Romantic natural imagery, the "mild day of March" (1) hailed by the "red-breast" (3) bird singing from his perch on "the tall larch," (3) a coniferous Alpine tree that was cultivated in Britain (Gamer & Porter 93). The speaker gives us the impression of breathing deeply in the fresh air; taking in "a sense of joy" (6) from the "bare trees," (7) "mountains bare," (7) and "grass in the green field" (8). This representation is very Wordsworthian, emblematic of the legendary walker revelling in the beauty of his Lake District, even as the bare trees signify to us the climate of an early spring day, perhaps one of the first glorious days of the season, as the speaker pleads his sister to "Come forth and feel the sun" (12). The paradoxical pursuit of "idleness" has the speaker asking his sister to her "morning task resign" (11) and "Put on with speed your woodland dress" (14). There is a sense of urgency in this appeal that may paradoxically contradict the goal itself. However, what the speaker craves is an escape from the "joyless forms" that "regulate/Our living Calendar" (18-19). What he wants is an escape from time itself, a reversion to nature in the form of a retreat into the woods, if only for the day. The speaker, beyond wanting to escape time, also looks to rid himself and his family of the bondage of knowledge. He sets up a clear dichotomy between the pleasures of nature and the constraints of academic or literary knowledge. He firstly asks that his sister "bring no book" (15), later going on to say, "One moment now may give us more/Than fifty years of reason" (25-26). There is a clear dismissal of human knowledge, the kind gathered after years of logic and study, in favour of the type of human feeling that can only be gained through a surrender of knowledge. In this piece, love is the universal feeling that connects man to nature, to others, and to himself, pulling him out of his manmade house and his manmade knowledge to a more primal, expansive space. The parallelism of the line "From earth to man, from man to earth" (23) signifies the reciprocal relationship of humankind with the natural world, feeling is the connective tissue between the two. Wordsworth emphasizes his escape from temporality and society when he rushes us through to the last, powerful line in the stanza through the use of an em-dash, making it a proclamation: "—It is the hour of feeling" (24). If the sister will only obey the call of the speaker, himself obeying the call of nature, they will be able to slip away from their human constructions and give themselves completely to "idleness," which becomes a refrain in its repetition in the closing line of the poem. Though the speaker recognizes that this escape cannot be permanent and therefore incomplete, he regulates himself to giving "this one day" (39) on which feeling may still be experienced fully.

Preface to Lyrical Ballads

Author: William Wordsworth Publication date: 1802 Summary: The "Preface" is often considered a manifesto of the Romantic movement in English literature. Wordsworth explains his intention in his poems to express incidents from everyday life in everyday language and imbued with poetic sentiment. He defines poetry as a "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings" (13) and the poet as "a man speaking to men" (8). Because poetry speaks of universal human emotions, it should use diction that is natural rather than artificial and self-consciously literary. Thus, Wordsworth sets himself apart from classicist poets who addressed an elite audience in language that was tied to formal rules. Wordsworth argues that poetry and prose should be close in style and that the aim of poetry should be to imitate nature and inspire emotion in the reader in a way that emphasizes pleasure. In the final part of the essay, Wordsworth outlines the procedure whereby a poet may observe the world around them and compose poetry through deep reflection on their experiences.

Lines Written a few Miles Above Tintern Abbey

Author: William Wordsworth Publication date: 1798 Summary: The full title of this poem is "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798." It opens with the speaker's declaration that five years have passed since he last visited this location, encountered its tranquil, rustic scenery, and heard the murmuring waters of the river. He recites the objects he sees again, and describes their effect upon him: the "steep and lofty cliffs" impress upon him "thoughts of more deep seclusion"; he leans against the dark sycamore tree and looks at the cottage-grounds and the orchard trees, whose fruit is still unripe. He sees the "wreaths of smoke" rising up from cottage chimneys between the trees, and imagines that they might rise from "vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods," or from the cave of a hermit in the deep forest. The speaker then describes how his memory of these "beauteous forms" has worked upon him in his absence from them: when he was alone, or in crowded towns and cities, they provided him with "sensations sweet, / Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart." The memory of the woods and cottages offered "tranquil restoration" to his mind, and even affected him when he was not aware of the memory, influencing his deeds of kindness and love. He further credits the memory of the scene with offering him access to that mental and spiritual state in which the burden of the world is lightened, in which he becomes a "living soul" with a view into "the life of things." The speaker then says that his belief that the memory of the woods has affected him so strongly may be "vain"—but if it is, he has still turned to the memory often in times of "fretful stir." Even in the present moment, the memory of his past experiences in these surroundings floats over his present view of them, and he feels bittersweet joy in reviving them. He thinks happily, too, that his present experience will provide many happy memories for future years. The speaker acknowledges that he is different now from how he was in those long-ago times, when, as a boy, he "bounded o'er the mountains" and through the streams. In those days, he says, nature made up his whole world: waterfalls, mountains, and woods gave shape to his passions, his appetites, and his love. That time is now past, he says, but he does not mourn it, for though he cannot resume his old relationship with nature, he has been amply compensated by a new set of more mature gifts; for instance, he can now "look on nature, not as in the hour / Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes / The still, sad music of humanity." And he can now sense the presence of something far more subtle, powerful, and fundamental in the light of the setting suns, the ocean, the air itself, and even in the mind of man; this energy seems to him "a motion and a spirit that impels / All thinking thoughts.... / And rolls through all things." For that reason, he says, he still loves nature, still loves mountains and pastures and woods, for they anchor his purest thoughts and guard the heart and soul of his "moral being." The speaker says that even if he did not feel this way or understand these things, he would still be in good spirits on this day, for he is in the company of his "dear, dear (d) Sister," who is also his "dear, dear Friend," and in whose voice and manner he observes his former self, and beholds "what I was once." He offers a prayer to nature that he might continue to do so for a little while, knowing, as he says, that "Nature never did betray / The heart that loved her," but leads rather "from joy to joy." Nature's power over the mind that seeks her out is such that it renders that mind impervious to "evil tongues," "rash judgments," and "the sneers of selfish men," instilling instead a "cheerful faith" that the world is full of blessings. The speaker then encourages the moon to shine upon his sister, and the wind to blow against her, and he says to her that in later years, when she is sad or fearful, the memory of this experience will help to heal her. And if he himself is dead, she can remember the love with which he worshipped nature. In that case, too, she will remember what the woods meant to the speaker, the way in which, after so many years of absence, they became more dear to him—both for themselves and for the fact that she is in them. KEY QUOTES: "Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur." "These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet," "The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 'Mid groves and copses." "Nature never did betray The heart that loved her." "And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things."

Bright Star, John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

1789 - 1832

British Romanticism

XXIII But ever and anon of griefs subduedThere comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued;And slight withal may be the things which bringBack on the heart the weight which it would flingAside for ever: it may be a sound --A tone of music -- summer's eve -- or spring --A flower -- the wind -- the ocean -- which shall wound,Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound; XXIV And how and why we know not, nor can traceHome to its cloud this lightning of the mind,But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,Which out of things familiar, undesign'd,When least we deem of such, calls up to viewThe spectres whom no exorcism can bind,The cold -- the changed -- perchance the dead -- anew,The mourn'd, the loved, the lost -- too many! -- yet how few! But my soul wanders; I demand it backTo meditate amongst decay, and standA ruin amidst ruins; there to trackFall'n states and buried greatness.... . . . Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin gracedWith an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lord Byron

"But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. . . . I had never yet seen a being resembling me, or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? . . . I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful!—Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion, and straight black lips. . . . "I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. . . . And now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt." "But I—I was a wretch, and none ever conceived of the misery that I then endured." "I was seized by remorse and a sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe." "I am a blasted tree." "I am chained in an eternal Hell."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"I could not so easily get rid of my hideous phantom."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature: they were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head. . . . While I watched the storm, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands and exclaimed aloud, 'William, dear angel! This is thy funeral, this thy dirge!' As I said these words, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy daemon to whom I had given life."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out. . . . His success would terrify the artist; he would rush away from his odious handywork, horror-stricken"

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your tastes for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit to interfere with the tranquility of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved; Caesar would have spared his country; America would have been discovered more gradually; and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and separated from all other apartments by a gallery and staircase, I kept my workshop of filthy creation."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"Such was our domestic circle, from which care and pain seemed forever banished. . . . The voice of command was never heard amongst us; but mutual affection engaged us all to comply with and obey the slightest desire of each other."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. . . . For some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. . . . The sea, or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose aerial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed—'Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the joys of this life.' As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance, advancing towards me with superhuman speed."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster?" "Where were my friends and relations?" "I am alone, and miserable." "Let [mankind] live with me in the interchange of kindness, and, instead of injury, I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance." "If any being felt emotions of benevolence to me, I should return them an hundred and an hundred fold. . . . But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realized."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

After the De Lacey debacle, the creature wanders in the night woods: "Now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment. I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me; and, finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin."

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley

"the idling Spirit...every where/ Echo or mirror seeking of itself"

Frost at Midnight, Coleridge

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou cans't not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare.....

Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme

Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats

What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Ode to the West Wind, Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains: round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley

Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be "the expression of the Imagination": and poetry is connate with the origin of man. Man is an instrument over which a series of external and internal impressions are driven, like the alternations of an ever-changing wind over an Aeolian lyre, which move it by their motion to ever-changing melody. But there is a principle within the human being, and perhaps within all sentient beings, which acts otherwise than in the lyre, and produces not melody alone, but harmony....It is as if the lyre could accommodate its chords to the motions of that which strikes them, in a determined proportion of sound; even as the musician can accommodate his voice to the sound of the lyre. It is impossible to read the compositions of the most celebrated writers of the present day without being startled with the electric life which burns within their words....it is less their spirit than the spirit of the age. Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration, the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present, the words which express what they understand not, the trumpets which sing to battle and feel not what they inspire: the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the World.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, A Defence of Poetry

Vindication of the Rights of Woman

Publication date: 1792 Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Summary: Wollstonecraft doesn't waste a whole lot of time in getting to the point in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman . She says from the get-go that humanity's greatest gift is its ability to reason. And since men and women are born with the same ability to reason, women should enjoy just as much education, power, and influence in society as men do. The only reason women don't seem as smart as men, she says, is because they aren't given the same education. The one thing she's willing to admit is that men might have an advantage in physical strength. But in a modern civilization, this advantage shouldn't really mean anything. For a gentleman living in Wollstonecraft's time, there were very few (if any) occasions in life where he would be called upon to use all of his strength. Once she gets into her argument, Wollstonecraft goes after some writers who have claimed that women's education should focus solely on making young women pleasing to men. In other words, popular opinion in Wollstonecraft's time states that women shouldn't busy themselves with too much reading or studying. They should focus on dressing nicely and being quiet. Wollstonecraft tears these arguments to shreds, saying that they end up causing a lot of social problems. For example, how can people expect a woman to raise children well if she has no education and no ability to reason? Further, how can women be moral and virtuous if all they're ever taught is how to look moral and virtuous? This kind of education focuses only on appearances and makes women totally superficial. As the book continues, Wollstonecraft argues that education should be available equally to both boys and girls regardless of how wealthy their families are. That's why she thinks that there should be a national public school system that is free for children up to a certain age. That probably sounds familiar; it's a lot like today's public school system. Wollstonecraft closes the book with one last flurry, summing up all the arguments she's made and showing once and for all that there's no possible way to support the oppression of women without being a bully and a tyrant. In the end, Wollstonecraft states that a future with educated women will be much brighter than a future without them.

1789

Publication of The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, set by France's National Constituent Assembly in 1789, is a human civil rights document from the French Revolution.

1845

Publication of the life of Frederick Douglass

The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano

Published: 1789 Summary: Olaudah Equiano begins his narrative by describing the customs of his native land in modern-day Nigeria. The customs are very different from those of England, but he also makes the case for their similarity to traditions of the Jews, even suggesting that Jews and Africans share a common heritage. This argument allows Equiano to begin to assert the full humanity of slaves and of black people in general, who only seem inferior to Europeans because they are cruelly subjugated by white people. While Equiano describes the practice of slavery as common among his own people, he contrasts slavery within Africa to the brutal racial hierarchy established by white Europeans. Equiano recounts being kidnapped along with his sister by slave traders at the age of eleven. After spending time with a number of different masters in the interior of Africa, he was eventually separated from his sister and brought to the coast. There he saw a slave ship for the first time and was stunned by the cramped, unclean, even inhuman condition in which black Africans were confined on the ships. He was entranced and frightened, too, by the strange workings of the ship, which seemed to him to be driven by magic. He was initially terrified that the frightening-looking white men directing the ship were going to eat him, but the other captives eventually convinced Equiano that they were being brought across the sea to work for white men. After a long, torturous voyage, in which the conditions were so bad as to provoke some of the slaves to commit suicide, they reached Barbados, where Equiano witnessed families being separated without any thought to the pain and distress this caused. He himself was subsequently taken to Virginia, where he was isolated on a plantation. He spoke little English and had almost no one to talk to. After a few months, a merchant and naval officer, Michael Henry Pascal, came to visit Equiano's master and liked the look of Equiano. Pascal purchased Equiano and brought him to the ship to be taken to England. Pascal treated Equiano better than any other white man had in the past, though he also refused to call Equiano by the name of Jacob as Equiano preferred, instead naming him Gustavus Vassa. On the ship Equiano also befriended a young white boy named Richard (Dick) Baker, and the two became inseparable. In London Equiano lodged with relatives of Pascal, two sisters called the Miss Guerins, who were kind to Equiano and began to teach him to read and write. They also instructed him in the Bible and took him to be baptized. Equiano accompanied Pascal on a few more voyages in which they participated in battles of the French and Indian Wars, and then they left for Gibraltar and the Mediterranean. After a number of further battles, they returned to England, where Equiano began to hope he might gain his freedom. However, Pascal betrayed Equiano by preventing him from leaving the ship and forcing him into yet another form of slavery under Captain James Doran. Pascal also stole everything in Equiano's possession besides nine guineas he'd saved over the years. Under Doran, Equiano traveled to the West Indies, where the subjugated state of the slaves there deeply affected him and reminded him of his own enslavement. Soon Doran sold Equiano to a Quaker merchant, Mr. Robert King, who treated Equiano with greater respect and acknowledged his substantial skills as a seaman. King hired Equiano out to a captain, Thomas Farmer, and eventually permitted him to participate in a series of voyages between the West Indies, St. Eustatia, and Georgia—voyages that involved the transport and exchange of slaves and other goods. Farmer allowed Equiano to develop his own commercial activities: starting with three pence, Equiano slowly built up savings and goods to trade himself. All throughout their voyages, though, Equiano constantly struggled with unfair treatment by white men who refused to pay him or tried to cheat him. Equiano realized that as a black man it was impossible for him to get legal retribution. Finally Equiano managed to save forty pounds, which King had agreed would be the price of his freedom, and he bought his own manumission. Still, King and Farmer cajoled him into staying with them as an employee, to which he agreed. Equiano still observed a number of cases in which freemen were forced back into slavery—something which nearly happened to him as well—and this underlined for him the fragility of his freedom. On the way back from one trip to Georgia, Farmer grew ill and died, and Equiano became the de facto captain. He continued to travel and participate in the slave trade under a new captain, William Phillips, though Equiano was increasingly desirous of making his way back to England. After being betrayed by a number of different captains, he finally managed to return to the West Indies, where he obtained a certificate of good behavior from Mr. King and returned to England. In England Equiano got back into contact with the Miss Guerins, who helped him attain a trade as a hairdresser, and also went to see Pascal, who seemed entirely unremorseful for his betrayal. After a time, Equiano grew restless and decided he could make more money at sea, so he worked on a number of voyages. During this time, he also began to struggle with his faith, wandering among churches and growing unsatisfied both with his questions about eternal life, and with the sinfulness he saw among apparent Christians all around him. In Turkey, Equiano became acquainted with a group of people who helped him better understand Bible verses. These Christians seemed far holier than many of those he knew in England. On one voyage back to England, he experienced a spiritual epiphany, which included a vision of Jesus on the cross: this proved to be a spiritual rebirth, solidifying Equiano's faith but also distancing him from other sailors, who were more likely to belittle his conversion. Equiano had been hired by Dr. Irving, who decided to establish a plantation in Jamaica and asked Equiano to join. On the voyage, he tried to instruct a Musquito Indian prince in Christianity, with uncertain results. Equiano helped Irving establish a plantation, and he himself treated the slaves kindly and generously. Eventually he wanted to return to England, but once again he found himself stymied by betrayals and cruel treatment by white captains. Finally he did manage to return to England, where he began to settle down, though he never remained on land for too long. He participated in one unsuccessful, though theoretically inspiring, voyage to Africa to return some former slaves to their place of origin. He concludes with a powerful rhetorical argument against the slave trade, calling on the Christian feelings of the British and making economic and commercial arguments for abolishing slavery and opening Africa up to British goods and products.

That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. II An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. IV Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Sailing to Byzantium, William Butler Yeats

And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caressed, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers, Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing! And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquility: Full many a thought uncalled and undetained, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject Lute! And what if all of animated nature Be but organic Harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

The Eolian Harp, Lord Byron

1799-1804

The Haitian Revolution

THOU thing of years departed!What ages have gone by,Since here the mournful seal was setBy love and agony! Temple and tower have moulder'd,Empires from earth have pass'd,-And woman's heart hath left a traceThose glories to outlast! [Page 311] And childhood's fragile imageThus fearfully enshrin'd,Survives the proud memorials rear'dBy conquerors of mankind. Babe! wert thou brightly slumberingUpon thy mother's breast,When suddenly the fiery tombShut round each gentle guest? A strange, dark fate o'ertook you,Fair babe and loving heart!One moment of a thousand pangs-Yet better than to part! Haply of that fond bosomOn ashes here impress'd,Thou wert the only treasure, child!Whereon a hope might rest. [Page 312] Perchance all vainly lavish'dIts other love had been,And where it trusted, nought remain'dBut thorns on which to lean. Far better then to perish,Thy form within its clasp,Than live and lose thee, precious one!From that impassion'd grasp. Oh! I could pass all relicsLeft by the pomps of old,To gaze on this rude monument,Cast in affection's mould. Love, human love! what art thou?Thy print upon the dustOutlives the cities of renownWherein the mighty trust! [Page 313] Immortal, oh! immortalThou art, whose earthly glowHath given these ashes holiness-It must, it must be so!

The Image in Lava, Felicia Hemans

"I was now persuaded that I had gotten into a world of bad spirits, and that they were going to kill me. Their complexions, too, differing so much from ours, their long hair, and the language they spoke . . . united to confirm me in this belief. . . . I asked [my companions] if we were not going to be eaten by those white men with horrible looks, red faces, and long hair. . . . They looked and acted in so savage a manner; for I had never seen among my people such instances of brutal cruelty."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

"I was wonderfully surprised to see the laws and rules of my own country written almost exactly here; a circumstance which I believe tended to impress our manners and customs more deeply in my memory. I used to tell [Daniel Queen] of this resemblance, and many a time we have sat up the whole night together at this employment."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

"O, ye nominal Christians! might not an African ask you—Learned you this from your God?"

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

"People generally think those memoirs only worthy to be read or remembered which abound in great or striking events. . . . It is therefore, I confess, not a little hazardous in a private and obscure individual, and a stranger too, thus to solicit the indulgent attention of the public; especially when I own I offer here the history of neither a saint, a hero, nor a tyrant. I believe there are few events in my life, which have not happened to many; it is true the incidents of it are numerous; and did I consider myself an European, I might say my sufferings were great: but when I compare my lot with that of most of my countrymen, I regard myself as a particular favorite of Heaven."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

"There was scarcely any part of his business, or household affairs, in which I was not occasionally engaged. I often supplied the place of a clerk, in receiving and delivering cargoes to the ships, in tending stores, and delivering goods . . . and when it was necessary, which was very often, I worked likewise on board of different vessels of his. By these means I became very useful to my master, and saved him, as he used to acknowledge, above a hundred pounds a year."

The Interesting Narrative of Olaudah Equiano

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree, William Butler Yeats

...the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy whereas it now appears finite & corrupt. This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment. If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: In- finite.

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, William Blake

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide, Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam, And Usna's children died. We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls, that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race, Under the passing stars, foam of the sky, Lives on this lonely face. Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode: Before you were, or any hearts to beat, Weary and kind one lingered by his seat; He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet.

The Rose of the World, William Butler Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

The Stolen Child, William Butler Yeats

1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul -- for that calld Body is a portion of Soul discernd By the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this Age 2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body And Reason is the bound or outward circumference Of Energy 3. Energy is Eternal Delight

The voice of the Devil William Blake

1789

When The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African was published for the first time

Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur - These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:—feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,— Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

William Wordsworth "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798"

...No joyless forms shall regulateOur living Calendar:We from to-day, my friend, will dateThe opening of the year.Love, now an universal birth.From heart to heart is stealing,From earth to man, from man to earth,—It is the hour of feeling.One moment now may give us moreThan fifty years of reason;Our minds shall drink at every poreThe spirit of the season. Some silent laws our hearts may make,Which they shall long obey;We for the year to come may takeOur temper from to-day.And from the blessed power that rollsAbout, below, above,We'll frame the measure of our souls,They shall be tuned to love.Then come, my sister! come, I pray,With speed put on your woodland dress,And bring no book; for this one dayWe'll give to idleness.

William Wordsworth, "Lines written at a small distance from my house, and sent by my little boyto the person to whom they are addressed"

...on the shore I found myself of a huge sea of mist,Which meek and silent rested at my feet.A hundred hills their dusky backs upheavedAll over this still ocean, and beyond,Far, far beyond, the vapours shot themselvesIn headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes, Into the sea, the real sea, that seemedTo dwindle and give up its majesty,Usurped upon as far as sight could reach. Meanwhile, the moon looked down upon this shew In single glory... A meditation rose in me that nightUpon the lonely mountain when the sceneHad passed away, and it appeared to meThe perfect image of a mighty mind,Of one that feeds upon infinity,That is exalted by an under-presence,The sense of God, or whatsoe'er is dimOr vast in its own being....

William Wordsworth, 1805, Prelude, Book 13

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless— Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:— We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

from William Wordsworth, "The Tables Turned":

"an experiment...to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement...the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart."(1) "The Poet writes under one restriction only, namely, the necessity of giving immediate pleasure to a human Being...Nor let this necessity of producing immediate pleasure be considered as a degradation of the Poet's art. It is far otherwise. It is an acknowledgement of the beauty of the universe...it is a task light and easy to him who looks at the world in the spirit of love: further, it is a homage paid to the native and naked dignity of man, to the grand elementary principle of pleasure, by which he knows, and feels, and lives, and moves." (7) "the human mind is capable of being excited without the application of gross and violent stimulants"(4) ["a multitude of causes, unknown to former times, are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and, unfitting it for all voluntary exertion, to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor. The most effective of these causes are the great national events which are daily taking place, and the increasing accumulation of men in cites, where the uniformity of their occupations produces a craving for extraordinary incident, which the rapid communication of intelligence hourly gratifies."]

from Wordsworth's "Preface" to Lyrical Ballads

The Black Legend

•Anti-Spanish •Anti-Catholic •Anti-Latin American •Anti-Jewish/anti-Semitic: "Or was the Spaniard less hardened than the Jew, who refrained not from supping at the board of him whom the same night he meant to betray?" "Benito Cereno" •Anti-Moorish or Islamic: the sinister Lima intrigante •Anti-African •The Black Legend is a historical bias—a bias in history writing—in which all these forms of white Anglo Protestant supremacy come together.

Romanticism:some major themes

•Imagination and inspiration •The inner life (memory, pleasure, desire) •Nature and the sublime •Pursuit of transcendence and the ideal •Nightmares, gothic terror, altered states, madness •Sincerity and authenticity •Individual creativity and self-expression •Spiritual freedom and political liberty •Rebellion, revolution, reform: the role of art •The presence of the past: ruins, relics, monuments