In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. Prospice Robert Browning For biographical note concerning the author, see "An Incident of the French Camp," page 201. This poem was written in the autumn of 1864, following Mrs. Browning's death. "Prospice" is the Latin for "outlook," or literally, "look forward." The poet here contemplates the end of life. It requires a mature mind to grasp the thought, and a pupil below the sixth grade should hardly attempt orally to interpret this poem. The poet would face death open-eyed and fighting. Note the play of the deepest and strongest emotions as the "Arch Fear" is first faced, then conquered, and blended into a "peace out of pain." The climax is reached in the expressed faith, trust, and adoration, borne by the three closing lines. FEAR death? to feel the fog in my throat, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, I was ever a fighter, so- -one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest! Break, Break, Break Alfred Tennyson Alfred Tennyson was born at Somersby Rectory, Lincolnshire, in 1809. While attending Trinity College, he was awarded the Newdigate prize for a blank verse poem called, "Timbuctoo." Because of adverse criticism and ridicule occasioned by his publication of "Poems, Chiefly Lyrical," in 1830, he remained silent for a considerable period of time. In 1842, however, he ventured two more volumes which contained some of his best works, "The Lady of Shalott," "The Palace of Art," "Ulysses," and "Morte d'Arthur." "The Princess" and "In Memoriam" further established his reputation as a poet, and in 1850 he became poet laureate. chief work of his later years was "Idylls of the King," completed in 1872. Besides his many beautiful lyrics he wrote seven dramas, among them, "Queen Mary," "Harold," and "Becket." He died in 1892. The It is doubtful if this poem can ever be read perfectly, its imaginative depth is so great. But a good reader can approximate the melody with which the lines ring upon the inner ear. The rate is slow, the pitch, low. Make much of the sorrow that cannot be assuaged. BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter Oh, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! Oh, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Crossing the Bar Alfred Tennyson For biographical note concerning the author, see "Break, Break, Break," page 244. This poem should be delivered in extremely slow time, allowing for a great amount of collateral thinking. Imagine the poet looking out over the bar, and deliver the poem much as the poet might say it aloud while musing. SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to meet my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. How They Brought the Good News Robert Browning For biographical note concerning the author, see "An Incident of the French Camp," page 201. This spirited poem has a certain roughness in form that must be carefully dealt with. Be direct and alert, do not use sing-song, and beware of overdoing the "race" parts. I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the night we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffield, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church steeple we heard half the chime, So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" |