from the 1911 Book of Knowledge: The Children's Encyclopedia (Grolier)
page 2915
The Fairy Life
from "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coat spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a peral in every cowslip's ear.
A Winter Song
from "Love's Labour's Lost"
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-wit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-wit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel (cool) the pot.
Under the Greenwood Tree
from "As You Like It"
Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me;
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat.
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun;
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets.
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.
The Winter Wind
from "King Lear"
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the gree holly;
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Though thou the waters wwarp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friends remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly;
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly;
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
A Fairy Lullaby
from "A Midsummer Night's Dream:
You spotted snakes, with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm, nor snail, do not offence.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby;
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good-night, with lullaby.
Orpheus and His Lute
from "King Henry VIII"
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music, plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Showing posts with label Literature/Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature/Poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
A Little History of Literature and the Poet Caedmon
"Literature" by Maurice Francis Egan
from the McBride Art and Literature Reader, Book 6, Copyright 1902
Literature is a verbal reflection of life. It is the only means by which we know how mankind in other times lived, thought, and acted. English literature includes all literature written in the English language.
In speaking of American literature, we must remember that it means many writings not in English. In South America and Mexico there are great authors who do not write the English language; and in Canada, which is part of America, there are numbers of writers of the French language deservedly celebrated.
Before the invention of the art of writing, or when only a few wrote, literature was perpetuated by tradition; it was handed down from father to son. Then the memory of man was his library. It is said that the works of Homer were preserved in this manner among the Greeks for five hundred years. Later, symbolical characters, or letters, were impressed on various substances, such as the bark of trees and prepared leaves. About the year 1471, books began to be printed in England, and the monks, who had laboriously preserved great masterpieces of literature by writing and illuminating them with wonderful care and taste, now learned to print by the aid of carved blocks and hand presses. Many of the terms now in use among printers may be traced to the printing-offices of the Benedictine monks, who eagerly made use of the new art. To the care of the monks we owe not only the preservation of the Bible, but of the Greek and Latin classics.
Verse was the earliest form of literature in all languages. The old English poetry was not in rhyme as we understand it. Alliteration and accents were essential.
The language in which the earliest English poems were spoken or sung differs much from the English of today. It was brought from Jutland, or Saxony, by the tribes who landed in Britain and drove the Britons, whom they called Welsh, into Wales and Cornwall, and into the part of France called Brittany. The latter preserve a separate language and literature to this day.
Later the stories of the Britons crept into English literature. The "Tales of King Arthur," on which Tennyson founded his great epic, was British, not Saxon. The Britons left us some Celtic words of domestic import or the names of places: avon and ex (meaning water), cradle, mop, pillow, mattock, crock, kiln, and a few others. Saxons probably married British wives, and hence we have the domestic British terms; but the majority of the Britons fled, leaving the land to the Saxon conqueror and his language.
The first English poems and the epic "Beowulf" were doubtless composed long before the seventh century, and taken from the Continent to England in the memory of Saxon bards. "Beowulf" was reduced to writing in the eighth century by a monk of Northumbria. "The Song of the Traveler," the earliest poem, enumerates the singer's experiences with the Goths. "Deor's Complaint" is a sad story of one who is made a beggar by war; it speaks of dumb submission to the gods.
"The Fight at Finnsburg" and "Waldhere" are, with "Beowulf," all the poems or parts of poems brought to England from the homes of the Saxons.
These fragments and the epic of "Beowulf" may be studied with the help of an Anglo-Saxon grammar. "Beowulf" is the story of a ferocious monster called Grendel. It was sung in parts, by the warriors at their feasts, each chanting a part. This monster, Grendel, like the dragons of the fairy tales, had the habit of eating human flesh. He harassed Hrothgar, Thane of Jutland, appearing in the banquet hall and devouring any guest that suited his fancy.
Beowful of Sweden sails to Jutland to assist the unfortunate king, and succeeds in killing the monster. "Beowulf," however, no more shows the worst spirit of the Saxon pagan than Sir Edwin Arnold's poem, "The Light of Asia," shows the selfishness of Buddhism. The Northumbrian Christian who transcribed it in 3,184 alliterative lines put the mark of his finer and gentler thoughts upon it.
To understand something of the spirit of the Teutonic tribes that began to make England, one might read Longfellow's Skeleton in Armor, and the Invasion, by Gerald Griffin, and Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. In the last occurs the famous dialogue between Gurth and Wamba on the growth of the Norman, or corrupt Latin, element in the English language.
About the year 670, the first entirely English poem was written by Caedmon. It is a poetical paraphrase of the Old and New Testaments. It was written in Yorkshore, on a wind-swept cliff, in the abbey presided over by St. Hilda, a religious of noble blood. Caedmon was an elderly servant of the abbey, and when, after the feast, he was called on to sing in his turn, over his cup of mead, with the other servants, he refused because he had heard no songs that were not of cruelty and in praise of evil passions.
One night he crept away from the table, sad because the others jeered at him, and went to sleep in the cow-shed; and a voice in his dream said to him, "Sing me a song!" Caedmon answered that he could not sing; for that reason he had left the feast.
"You must sing!" said the voice. "Sing the beginning of created things."
Caedmon sang some lines in his sleep about God and the creation. He remembered these lines when he awoke. The Abbess Hilda, believing that his gift must come from God, had him taught sacred history, and he became a monk.
Caedmon's paraphrases are full of the poet's individuality. His description of the unholy triumph of Satan, when he succeeds in tempting Eve, is as striking as any passage in Milton's poem Paradise Lost, on the same subject. Caedmon's simplicity, naturalness, and deep religious feeling cause this ancient poem to be read and quoted by scholars today. It is said that the author died in 680 - a date which is also given as that of the death of St. Hilda, his friend and patroness. Caedmon gave the English a taste for the Old and New Testament. Caedmon's poems suggested to Milton the great epic, Paradise Lost.
from the McBride Art and Literature Reader, Book 6, Copyright 1902
Literature is a verbal reflection of life. It is the only means by which we know how mankind in other times lived, thought, and acted. English literature includes all literature written in the English language.
In speaking of American literature, we must remember that it means many writings not in English. In South America and Mexico there are great authors who do not write the English language; and in Canada, which is part of America, there are numbers of writers of the French language deservedly celebrated.
Before the invention of the art of writing, or when only a few wrote, literature was perpetuated by tradition; it was handed down from father to son. Then the memory of man was his library. It is said that the works of Homer were preserved in this manner among the Greeks for five hundred years. Later, symbolical characters, or letters, were impressed on various substances, such as the bark of trees and prepared leaves. About the year 1471, books began to be printed in England, and the monks, who had laboriously preserved great masterpieces of literature by writing and illuminating them with wonderful care and taste, now learned to print by the aid of carved blocks and hand presses. Many of the terms now in use among printers may be traced to the printing-offices of the Benedictine monks, who eagerly made use of the new art. To the care of the monks we owe not only the preservation of the Bible, but of the Greek and Latin classics.
Verse was the earliest form of literature in all languages. The old English poetry was not in rhyme as we understand it. Alliteration and accents were essential.
The language in which the earliest English poems were spoken or sung differs much from the English of today. It was brought from Jutland, or Saxony, by the tribes who landed in Britain and drove the Britons, whom they called Welsh, into Wales and Cornwall, and into the part of France called Brittany. The latter preserve a separate language and literature to this day.
Later the stories of the Britons crept into English literature. The "Tales of King Arthur," on which Tennyson founded his great epic, was British, not Saxon. The Britons left us some Celtic words of domestic import or the names of places: avon and ex (meaning water), cradle, mop, pillow, mattock, crock, kiln, and a few others. Saxons probably married British wives, and hence we have the domestic British terms; but the majority of the Britons fled, leaving the land to the Saxon conqueror and his language.
The first English poems and the epic "Beowulf" were doubtless composed long before the seventh century, and taken from the Continent to England in the memory of Saxon bards. "Beowulf" was reduced to writing in the eighth century by a monk of Northumbria. "The Song of the Traveler," the earliest poem, enumerates the singer's experiences with the Goths. "Deor's Complaint" is a sad story of one who is made a beggar by war; it speaks of dumb submission to the gods.
"The Fight at Finnsburg" and "Waldhere" are, with "Beowulf," all the poems or parts of poems brought to England from the homes of the Saxons.
These fragments and the epic of "Beowulf" may be studied with the help of an Anglo-Saxon grammar. "Beowulf" is the story of a ferocious monster called Grendel. It was sung in parts, by the warriors at their feasts, each chanting a part. This monster, Grendel, like the dragons of the fairy tales, had the habit of eating human flesh. He harassed Hrothgar, Thane of Jutland, appearing in the banquet hall and devouring any guest that suited his fancy.
Beowful of Sweden sails to Jutland to assist the unfortunate king, and succeeds in killing the monster. "Beowulf," however, no more shows the worst spirit of the Saxon pagan than Sir Edwin Arnold's poem, "The Light of Asia," shows the selfishness of Buddhism. The Northumbrian Christian who transcribed it in 3,184 alliterative lines put the mark of his finer and gentler thoughts upon it.
To understand something of the spirit of the Teutonic tribes that began to make England, one might read Longfellow's Skeleton in Armor, and the Invasion, by Gerald Griffin, and Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. In the last occurs the famous dialogue between Gurth and Wamba on the growth of the Norman, or corrupt Latin, element in the English language.
About the year 670, the first entirely English poem was written by Caedmon. It is a poetical paraphrase of the Old and New Testaments. It was written in Yorkshore, on a wind-swept cliff, in the abbey presided over by St. Hilda, a religious of noble blood. Caedmon was an elderly servant of the abbey, and when, after the feast, he was called on to sing in his turn, over his cup of mead, with the other servants, he refused because he had heard no songs that were not of cruelty and in praise of evil passions.
One night he crept away from the table, sad because the others jeered at him, and went to sleep in the cow-shed; and a voice in his dream said to him, "Sing me a song!" Caedmon answered that he could not sing; for that reason he had left the feast.
"You must sing!" said the voice. "Sing the beginning of created things."
Caedmon sang some lines in his sleep about God and the creation. He remembered these lines when he awoke. The Abbess Hilda, believing that his gift must come from God, had him taught sacred history, and he became a monk.
Caedmon's paraphrases are full of the poet's individuality. His description of the unholy triumph of Satan, when he succeeds in tempting Eve, is as striking as any passage in Milton's poem Paradise Lost, on the same subject. Caedmon's simplicity, naturalness, and deep religious feeling cause this ancient poem to be read and quoted by scholars today. It is said that the author died in 680 - a date which is also given as that of the death of St. Hilda, his friend and patroness. Caedmon gave the English a taste for the Old and New Testament. Caedmon's poems suggested to Milton the great epic, Paradise Lost.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
The Spacious Firmament by Joseph Addison
[It's funny because we just came across a part of this poem in the lastest installment of The Happy Little Family series from Bethlehem Books.]
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And, nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice:
Forever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is Divine."
Joseph Addison, a famous English writer, an essayist, a poet, a dramatist, and a statesman, was born in 1672 and died in 1719. He received the chief part of his school education at the "Charter House" and at "Queen's College." He is best known for his famous essays published in the Spectator, the Guardian, and the Tattler. His poem, "Peace of Ryswick," published in 1697, brought him a hundred pounds.
His essays are considered models of diction and are read by all who wish to acquire a polished style in writing.
from The Art and Literature Reader, Book 4, Copyright 1904
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And, nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice:
Forever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is Divine."
Joseph Addison, a famous English writer, an essayist, a poet, a dramatist, and a statesman, was born in 1672 and died in 1719. He received the chief part of his school education at the "Charter House" and at "Queen's College." He is best known for his famous essays published in the Spectator, the Guardian, and the Tattler. His poem, "Peace of Ryswick," published in 1697, brought him a hundred pounds.
His essays are considered models of diction and are read by all who wish to acquire a polished style in writing.
from The Art and Literature Reader, Book 4, Copyright 1904
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
The Names of Our Lady by Adelaide A. Procter
from the Art and Literature Reader, Book 4, copyright 1904
Through the wide world thy children raise
Their prayers, and still we see
Calm are the nights and bright the days
Of those who trust in thee.
Around thy starry crown are wreathed
So many names divine;
Which is the dearest to my heart,
And the most worthy thine?
Star of the Sea! we kneel and pray
When tempests raise their voice;
Star of the Sea! the haven reached,
We call thee and rejoice.
Help of the Christian! in our need
Thy might aid we claim;
If we are faint and weary, then
We trust in that dear name.
Our Lady of the Rosary!
What name can be so sweet
As what we call thee when we place
Our chaplet at thy feet.
Bright Queen of Heaven! when we are sad,
Best solace of our pains;-
It tells us of the badge we wear,
To live and die thine own.
Our Lady dear of Victories!
We see our faith oppressed,
And, praying for our erring land,
We love that name the best.
Refuge of Sinners! many a soul,
By guilt cast down, and sin,
Has learned through this dear name of thine
Pardon and peace to win.
Health of the Sick! when anxious hearts
Watch by the sufferer's bed,
On this sweet name of thine we lean,
Consoled and comforted.
Mother of Sorrows! many a heart
Half-broken by despair
Has laid its burden by the cross
And found a mother there.
Queen of all Saints! the Church appeals
For her loved dead to thee;
She knows they wait in patient pain
A bright eternity.
Fair Queen of Virgins! thy pure band
The lilies round thy throne,
Love the dear title, which they bear,
Most that it is thine own.
True Queen of Martyrs! if we shrink
From want, or pain, or woe,
We think of the sharp sword that pierced
Thy heart, and call thee so.
Mary! the dearest name of all,
The holiest and the best;
The first low word that Jesus lisped
Laid on His mother's breast.
Mary! the name that Gabriel spoke,
The name that conquers hell;
Mary! the name that through high heaven
The angels love so well.
Mary! our comfort and our hope,-
O may that word be given
To be the last we sigh on earth,
The first we breathe in heaven.
Adelaide Anne Procter, an English poet, was born in London, October 30, 1852; died in London, February 3, 1864. She was a daughter of the writer Bryan Walter Procter (Barry Cornwall). Her poetry is popular and some of her poems have been translated into several languages. Her first published articles appeared in a magazine edited by Charles Dickens. In the year 1851 she became a Catholic, and from that time on her writings show her bent of mind, the desire to do all things possible for God.
Through the wide world thy children raise
Their prayers, and still we see
Calm are the nights and bright the days
Of those who trust in thee.
Around thy starry crown are wreathed
So many names divine;
Which is the dearest to my heart,
And the most worthy thine?
Star of the Sea! we kneel and pray
When tempests raise their voice;
Star of the Sea! the haven reached,
We call thee and rejoice.
Help of the Christian! in our need
Thy might aid we claim;
If we are faint and weary, then
We trust in that dear name.
Our Lady of the Rosary!
What name can be so sweet
As what we call thee when we place
Our chaplet at thy feet.
Bright Queen of Heaven! when we are sad,
Best solace of our pains;-
It tells us of the badge we wear,
To live and die thine own.
Our Lady dear of Victories!
We see our faith oppressed,
And, praying for our erring land,
We love that name the best.
Refuge of Sinners! many a soul,
By guilt cast down, and sin,
Has learned through this dear name of thine
Pardon and peace to win.
Health of the Sick! when anxious hearts
Watch by the sufferer's bed,
On this sweet name of thine we lean,
Consoled and comforted.
Mother of Sorrows! many a heart
Half-broken by despair
Has laid its burden by the cross
And found a mother there.
Queen of all Saints! the Church appeals
For her loved dead to thee;
She knows they wait in patient pain
A bright eternity.
Fair Queen of Virgins! thy pure band
The lilies round thy throne,
Love the dear title, which they bear,
Most that it is thine own.
True Queen of Martyrs! if we shrink
From want, or pain, or woe,
We think of the sharp sword that pierced
Thy heart, and call thee so.
Mary! the dearest name of all,
The holiest and the best;
The first low word that Jesus lisped
Laid on His mother's breast.
Mary! the name that Gabriel spoke,
The name that conquers hell;
Mary! the name that through high heaven
The angels love so well.
Mary! our comfort and our hope,-
O may that word be given
To be the last we sigh on earth,
The first we breathe in heaven.
Adelaide Anne Procter, an English poet, was born in London, October 30, 1852; died in London, February 3, 1864. She was a daughter of the writer Bryan Walter Procter (Barry Cornwall). Her poetry is popular and some of her poems have been translated into several languages. Her first published articles appeared in a magazine edited by Charles Dickens. In the year 1851 she became a Catholic, and from that time on her writings show her bent of mind, the desire to do all things possible for God.
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