How to Teach Reading in the Public Schools :: PART THREE LITERARY INTERPRETATION

PART THREE LITERARY INTERPRETATION

CHAPTER XVI
LITERARY INTERPRETATION

In the concluding part of this work it is purposed to lay before the teacher some examples of literary interpretation. The object of these is to assist him to a deeper insight into literature, and hence to become a better reader and teacher of reading.

It is not too much to say that we accept as good reading what is often the reverse simply because the subject matter does not appeal to us or is only partly appreciated. A pupil may read such a passage as the following in a commonplace way, and be complimented by one teacher for his distinct articulation and forceful utterance, whereas a teacher who appreciated the true spirit of the lines would severely condemn the reading.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;

The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea;

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

The explanation of the difference in the attitudes of the teachers is that the former has no appreciation of the spirit of the lines, while the latter keenly feels their tenderness, their beauty, and their pensive solemnity.

The best way to learn to love good literature is to study only good literature, and to study it again, again and again. What is truly great art cannot be apprehended at a glance, but requires time for its fullest appreciation. We believe, however, that it is good pedagogy, in a work of this kind, to lay before the teacher certain examples of what careful analysis may reveal. The effect of such analysis upon the reading must be evident to all.

We have already discerned that all analysis preparatory to reading aloud is virtually literary analysis. This is well illustrated in the chapters on Climax and on Contrast. It remains, therefore, to deal only with certain broader aspects of literary appreciation, in connection with which we shall endeavor to show the application of the principles discussed in Parts I and II to vocal interpretation.

STUDY IN RHYTHM

It is a truism to state that every poem should be a unity, but we often forget a most important corollary, that every line should be scanned with a view to determine that unity. It is only in so far as we understand the parts that we understand the whole. Let us illustrate this principle in the following well-known poem:

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX

ROBERT BROWNING

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 midnight 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 Duffeld, ’twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime,

So Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!”

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,

And against him the cattle stood black every one,

To stare through the mist at us galloping past,

And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,

With resolute shoulders, each butting away

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his long head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

And one eye’s black intelligence,—ever that glance

O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon

His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault’s not in her;

We’ll remember at Aix,”—for one heard the quick wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

’Neath our feet broke the bright brittle stubble like chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”

“How they’ll greet us!”—and all in a moment his roan

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;

And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight

Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,

And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.

Then I cast loose my buff coat, each holster let fall,

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is, friends flocking round

As I sat with his head ’twixt my knees on the ground,

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

The central idea in this poem is Roland; not the rider, not the historical element. As a matter of fact, the poem has no historical basis. Browning tells us somewhere that after a tiresome and tedious sea voyage he longed for a gallop over the English downs, and that this poem is a result of that longing. The rhythm of the poem is peculiarly adapted to express the bounding joy of the poet, and is in striking contrast to the long, monotonous roll of ocean waves.

On studying the poem, we note the absence of any but cursory reference to the rider, and, on the contrary, the constant reference to the real hero, Roland. One might imagine a setting for the lines something as follows: Around a camp-fire are gathered many veterans of the wars. They are telling of the gallant deeds of their war steeds, when one of their number starts up and says:

“You talk of your horses; have you ever heard of mine? Have you heard how my Roland helped to save Aix? No? Let me tell you. You remember so-and-so’s famous campaign, and how the enemy were preparing to take Aix. You know, too, that the officer in command had no hope of saving the city and was preparing to capitulate the moment the enemy began the attack. Well, one night, just after we had turned in, a messenger came in hot haste to tell us that the king himself had that day started to relieve the city and that we must carry the good news to Aix and thus encourage them to hold out until his arrival. Our commander called for three volunteers to undertake the dangerous task of hearing the news. We—Joris, Dirck, and I—offered our services. They were accepted, and a moment after we had received our instructions,

‘I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;’”

From now on observe how the poet fixes our attention on Roland.

Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,

With resolute shoulders, each butting away

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight

Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine.

The whole of the fifth stanza is devoted to praise of Roland; while the failure of the horses of Joris and Dirck serves but to enhance the glory of Roland’s feat.

As soon as we perceive the meaning of the poem—its central thought—the entire reading becomes permeated with the joy and exultation of the rider in his steed. The poem is well adapted to develop vocal flexibility, and freedom of expression.

Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade affords another opportunity for analysis.

The atmosphere of this poem is that of a dirge. This does not mean that we snivel and whine while rendering it, but that the whole poem is enveloped in the atmosphere of dignified solemnity. It is true that this is not the popular view, which seems to be that Tennyson wrote the poem to afford the reader an opportunity of making descriptive gestures. Tennyson’s heart ached for those brave fellows in their useless sacrifice; and he wrote the poem, not primarily to show how they fought, but that they fought in vain. True, there is a vein of stirring patriotism in the lines, but all that is inferior in importance to the dignified solemnity and controlled pathos of the speaker.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

TENNYSON

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!” he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismayed?

Not tho’ the soldier knew

Some one had blunder’d:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Storm’d at with shot and shell

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,

Flash’d as they turn’d in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder’d:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro’ the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel’d from the sabre-stroke

Shatter’d and sunder’d.

Then they rode back, but not—

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Storm’d at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro’ the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder’d.

Honor the charge they made!

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble Six Hundred!

It is impossible to overlook the constant recurrence of the phrases “valley of Death;” “jaws of Death;” “mouth of Hell,” and their significance. The keynote of the poem is found in the line,

Some one had blunder’d:

Here is the central thought. The men made a gallant charge, went boldly and willingly to their doom; but it was all a mistake, a fearful, horrible mistake. We care not for the fact that cannons were to the right, to the left, and to the front of them. The mere position is nothing. But who can repress the shudder of despair as he contemplates that heroic band surrounded by fires from death-dealing cannon?

On pages 200 and 201 will be found three poems from Tennyson, each of which presents a different aspect. The first is marked by an exquisite simplicity. It contains but one simple idea, which is set forth in the simplest language. Consequently, the reading should be equally unassuming. The least appearance of affectation or effort will dissipate the atmosphere.

The second is a lullaby. The rocking cradle is felt in every line, while in the last line of each stanza we have the rhythmic picture of the gradual cessation of the rocking, and it seems impossible to omit the long pause before the last word in each of these lines, a pause exactly equal to the time of one of the preceding feet.

The third poem is of an entirely different nature. Here we have the strength of spirit that animated King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. When we bear in mind that this song is sung after King Arthur’s claim to the throne, which has long been in doubt, has been firmly established, and he has taken Guinevere to wife, we can better understand its passionate joy.

One of the most interesting features in connection with the study of literature is rhythm. The meaning of rhythm is not always clearly apprehended, many regarding it simply as poets’ playfulness, interesting in the nursery rhyme, tickling the childish ear, but beyond that a useless and even senseless filigree. Nothing could be farther from truth. Rhythm is not a conventional appendage of poetry, but its very heart, life, spirit. It springs spontaneously from the poet’s heart, and is the manifestation of his deepest feeling. Who can fail to catch the bounding spirit of life and joy in the following:

I come, I come! ye have called me long;

I come o’er the mountains with light and song;

Ye may trace my step o’er the wakening earth,

By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth,

By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,

By the green leaves opening as I pass.

—Spring. Hemans.

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and joyful Jollity,

Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,

Nods, and becks, and wreathÈd smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek;

Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Come and trip it as you go

On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty:

And, if I give thee honor due,

Mirth, admit me to thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee,

In unreprovÈd pleasures free:

—L’Allegro. Milton.

What a dignity is imparted to the scene by the rhythm in the following extracts:

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarlÈd pines,

That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground

Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up

Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet

To linger here, among the flitting birds

And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds

That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass,

A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set

With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades—

Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—

My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,

Back to the earliest days of liberty.

—Freedom. Bryant.

A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,

Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;

And some through wavering lights and shadows broke

Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.

They saw the gleaming river seaward flow

From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,

Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,

Stood sunset-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops,

Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

—The Lotos-Eaters. Tennyson.

Often in the same poem the emotional changes are manifested in changes of rhythm. Observe this in the following lines:

Look! look! that livid flash!

And instantly follows the rattling thunder

As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,

Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,

On the earth, which crouches in silence under;

And now a solid gray wall of rain

Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile;

For a breath’s space I see the blue wood again,

And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile,

That seemed but now a league aloof,

Bursts rattling over the sun-parched roof;

Against the windows the storm comes dashing,

Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing,

The blue lightning flashes,

The rapid hail clashes,

The white waves are tumbling,

And in one baffled roar,

Like the toothless sea mumbling

A rock-bristling shore,

The thunder is rumbling

And crashing and crumbling,—

Will silence return never more?

—A Summer Shower. Lowell.

Or in the concluding stanzas of Wordsworth’s ode on Intimations of Immortality:

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young lambs bound

As to the tabor’s sound!

We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May!

What though the radiance that was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind,

In the primal sympathy

Which having been, must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And O ye fountains, meadows, hills and groves,

Forebode not any severing of our loves!

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;

I only have relinquished one delight,

To live beneath your more habitual sway.

I love the brooks which down their channels fret,

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they:

The innocent brightness of a new-born day

Is lovely yet;

The clouds that gather round the setting sun

Do take a sober coloring from an eye

That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;

Another race hath been, and other palms are won.

Thanks to the human heart by which we live;

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears,

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

In blank verse we get the best and clearest illustration of the meaning of rhythm. Here the poet has the utmost freedom, untrammeled by rhyme or any limitations as to the length of his stanza. The rhythm in the description of the overthrow of Satan is most suggestive of strength and determination:

Him the Almighty power

Hurl’d headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,

With hideous ruin and combustion, down

To bottomless perdition; there to dwell

In adamantine chains and penal fire,

Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms!

—Paradise Lost, Book I. Milton.

How clearly the frantic passion of Lear is shown in the irregular, erratic, almost chaotic, rhythm of the following speech:

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench’d our steeples, drowned the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,

Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!

Crack Nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once,

That make ingrateful man!

—King Lear, Act iii., Sc. 2.

Note how the varying rhythm in the following passage corresponds with the ever varying moods of the King and the poet:

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:

“Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,

Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!

Authority forgets a dying king,

Laid widow’d of the power in his eye

That bow’d the will. I see thee what thou art

For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,

In whom should meet the offices of all,

Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl

Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.

Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,

And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,

I will arise and slay thee with my hands.”

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,

And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged

Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch’d the sword,

And strongly wheel’d and threw it. The great brand

Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon,

And flashing round and round, and whirl’d in an arch,

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,

Seen where the moving isles of winter shock

By night, with noises of the northern sea.

So flash’d and fell the brand Excalibur:

But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

And caught him by the hilt, and brandish’d him

Three times, and drew him under in the mere.

And lightly went the other to the King.

—Morte d’Arthur. Tennyson.

In order to give a clear conception of the meaning and purpose of rhythm, the analysis of an entire poem is given.

THE REVENGE

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET

TENNYSON

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,

And a pinnace, like a flutter’d bird, came flying from far away:

“Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!”

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: “’Fore God I am no coward;

But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, 5

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?”

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: “I know you are no coward;

You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.

But I’ve ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. 10

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,

To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.”

III

So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day,

Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land 15

Very carefully and slow,

Men of Bideford in Devon,

And we laid them on the ballast down below;

For we brought them all aboard.

And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, 20

To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,

And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,

With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.

“Shall we fight or shall we fly? 25

Good Sir Richard, tell us now,

For to fight is but to die!

There’ll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.”

And Sir Richard said again: “We be all good English men.

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, 30

For I never turn’d my back upon Don or devil yet.”

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh’d, and we roar’d a hurrah, and so

The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,

With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;

For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, 35

And the little Revenge ran on thro’ the long sea-lane between.

Thousands of their soldiers look’d down from their decks and laugh’d,

Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft

Running on and on, till delay’d

By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, 40

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay’d.

VII

And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud

Whence the thunderbolt will fall

Long and loud, 45

Four galleons drew away

From the Spanish fleet that day,

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,

And the battle-thunder broke from them all.

VIII

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went 50

Having that within her womb that had left her ill content;

And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,

For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,

And a dozen times we shook ’em off as a dog that shakes his ears

When he leaps from the water to the land. 55

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer
sea, 55

But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,

Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and
her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shatter’d, and so could fight us
no more— 60

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

For he said “Fight on! fight on!”

Tho’ his vessel was all but a wreck;

And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone,

With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, 65

But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead,

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,

And he said “Fight on! fight on!”

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea,

And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; 70

But they dared not touch us again, for they fear’d that we still could sting,

So they watch’d what the end would be.

And we had not fought them in vain,

But in perilous plight were we,

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 75

And half of the rest of us maim’d for life

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife;

And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold,

And the pikes were all broken or bent and the powder was all of it spent;

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; 80

But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,

“We have fought such a fight for a day and a night

As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men!

And a day less or more 85

At sea or ashore,

We die—does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner—sink her, split her in twain!

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!”

XII

And the gunner said “Ay, ay,” but the seamen made reply: 90

“We have children, we have wives,

And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield to let us go;

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.”

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. 95

XIII

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,

Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last,

And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace;

But he rose upon their decks, and he cried:

“I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; 100

I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do:

With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!”

And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

XIV

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap 105

That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,

But they sank his body with honor down into the deep,

And they mann’d the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,

And away she sail’d with her loss and long’d for her own; 110

When a wind from the lands they had ruin’d awoke from sleep,

And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,

And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,

Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and
their flags, 115

And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter’d navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

NOTES ON RHYTHM

Stanza I

l. 1-2.—Normal rhythm.

l. 3.—Note the emphasis imparted to the call by the trochees.

l. 4-6.—The effect of the internal rhymes Howard—coward, here—gear, sick—quick, is very marked. Similar effects are frequently introduced in the poem.

Stanza II

l. 10.—The two emphatic syllables, I’ve and nine-, coming in succession, add force to Sir Richard’s statement.

Stanza III

l. 13.—Note how the author retards his movement and hence impresses us with the slow moving picture, by drawing his emphatic syllables together, as So Lord How-; five ships; and that day. This effect is one of the commonest in literature, and one of the most natural. This line will scan as a normal line; but let us bear in mind that sense accent determines the rhythm in English, not quantity.

l. 16.—A strange device, the effect of which is to cause Sir Richard’s gallantry to stand out most strikingly. In spite of the fact that fifty-three Spanish galleons were coming down upon him, the brave captain was as considerate in the handling of his sick sailors as a mother of her babe. And this is emphasized by making this statement in a line by itself.

Stanza IV

l. 24.—Again note the strength imparted by the successive accents in huge sea-castles heaving.

l. 25-27.—The abruptness aptly fits in with the sentiment. Observe that the effect of the short line is brought out by the rhyme, fly—die. The further apart the rhyme, the less striking it becomes. See lines 43-45, and 57-59.

Stanza V

l. 32.—Full of strength and admirably expressive in rhythm.

l. 36.—Again we observe the retardation and its effect. Observe further, that this is the first time the concluding line of a stanza has deviated from the normal, and note how appropriate is the deviation; not merely for the sake of variety, but the spontaneous expression of feeling.

Stanza VI

l. 37-38.—How forceful is the effect of beginning each line with the accented syllable!

l. 42.—The contrast of this line with the preceding is most marked. Line 41 is long drawn out, while in 42 one can feel the shock of the abrupt stop.

Stanza VIII

l. 53-54.—The first four lines of this stanza are quite regular, but when we reach the last two, observe the correspondence between the rhythm and the sense.

Stanza IX

l. 56-60.—How admirably the rhythm lends itself to the expression of the feelings of the narrator as he recalls the terrible strain of that never-ending night! One must read the passage aloud to appreciate this effect.

Stanza X

l. 63.—Observe the strength of Fight on! Fight on! and also the contrast between the rhythm of this stanza and that of Stanza IX.

The stanza as a whole moves quite rapidly, owing to the preponderance of unaccented syllables. The appropriateness of this rapid movement is recognized when we bear in mind that the stanza is intended to cite but one incident of that awful night, and serves only as a link between Stanzas IX and XI.

Stanza XI

l. 70.—Compare this rhythm with that of line 56, and observe how the emotion of Stanza IX is recalled by the similarity of rhythm.

l. 83-90.—Compare with lines 25-28 and 91-95.

Stanza XIII

l. 100.—Compare with lines 42 and 103, and note similarity of mood.

Stanza XIV

l. 112-119.—It is almost impossible to analyze the effect of these lines, so admirably do sound, sense, and rhythm correspond. We can, however, clearly observe the forceful effect of great gale blew; the accumulation of power and size in line 115; the exultant joy of the speaker as he describes the effect of the storm in lines 116 and 117; and the gradual diminution of the passion as the poem comes back to normal movement in the concluding line.

INTERPRETATIVE NOTES

The poem as a whole is a magnificent specimen of vigorous Anglo-Saxon. There are few inversions, the style is simple and direct, and the imagery peculiarly appropriate. The speaker is a survivor, and brings us face to face with one of the proudest moments in the history of English naval warfare.

The poem deals with an event at the close of the expedition of the Spanish Armada against Great Britain, and it is interesting to know that it is almost literally true to fact and history.

Stanza I

l. 4-7.—The opening words seem a little like brag. But Sir Richard’s reply, which is borne out by history, proves the contrary. The oath is not the vain oath of a braggart, but the solemn words of one who believes in God and calls upon Him to bear witness to the truth of his statement.

Stanza II

l. 8.—The delivery of the first five words will certainly manifest the pride of the narrator in such a leader.

l. 12.—Note the contempt expressed in dogs and devildoms.

Stanza III

l. 15-18.—Be sure to bring out the speaker’s emotion. How the common sailor worships him who stayed to certain death to save the lives of his sick men!

l. 21.—Note the irony, contempt, and even hate.

Stanza IV

l. 25-28.—The rhythm clearly indicates the abrupt manner in which these lines should be read.

l. 29.—We be all good English men: this is Sir Richard’s answer to their appeal.

Stanza V

l. 33.—Heart: right into the midst of the fleet. The Spaniards came down in double line of battle. It was evidently Sir Richard’s intention to attempt to escape with his fleet craft by running the gauntlet of heavy, large, unwieldy Spanish galleons. A picture of these galleons, with their triple and quadruple decks, will greatly assist us to comprehend the disastrous outcome of one of the most elaborate naval demonstrations in the history of the world. The vessels were so unwieldy that only a few at a time could attack the Revenge, and, by constant maneuvering, Sir Richard could almost always avoid the effect of their cannonading.

Stanza VI

l. 37-38.—There is bitter sarcasm in these lines as the speaker recalls the outcome of the fight.

Stanza VIII

l. 50.—Bethought herself: note the sarcasm.

Stanza IX

l. 56-60.—The emotion of these five lines is very striking. Oh! the anguish, horror, and suspense of that awful night. The sun went down, but the battle went on. The stars came out, but still no rest. And so on, on, on, through that dreadful night.

l. 62-61.—Observe the sudden transition and the exultant shout at the end.

Stanza X

See note on rhythm.

Stanza XI

l. 72.—Observe the note of pride and grim determination.

l. 74.—The speaker apologizes for even an appearance of boastfulness.

l. 75-81.—Pathos.

l. 83-90.—Note the contrast between the emotion of Sir Richard in these lines and that of the speaker in uttering lines 75-81.

Stanza XII

l. 92-95.—The sailors would naturally speak rapidly. The rhythm helps us to understand their feelings.

l. 93.—And therefore we have no right to kill ourselves. A most significant line.

Stanza XIII

l. 99.—Observe the tribute the Englishman pays to his foe. See also line 108. The voice should manifest the speaker’s attitude and will when we grasp the situation.

l. 101-103.—Note and bring out the blunt defiance of Sir Richard.

Stanza XIV

l. 111.—How natural seems the use of her! It is expressive of the sailor’s love for his vessel. And further, we remark that the Revenge becomes human as she yearns for those who so long have seemed her very children.

l. 112.—Here we have one of the most significant lines in the whole poem. History tells us that a storm arose and shattered the remnant of the Armada, and sunk the battered hulk of the little Revenge. Poetry conjures up this storm as an avenging Nemesis. Out of the lands they had ruined comes the storm that avenges the Revenge.

l. 118.—What tenderness is there in that word little!

l. 118-119.—There is no regret in these lines. On the contrary, they are full of exultation. Remember, the poet was limited by history. He could not save the Revenge, but he could sink her on the spot where the glorious victory had been won. The picture of shattered greatness is not an inspiring one. If the Revenge had not sunk, she would have been dragged ignominiously at the hawser’s end into some Spanish port, to become the object of every Spaniard’s petty spite, and finally to fall into decay and ruin. Now she lives evermore as she was in that fight, a glorious inspiration to every son of England.

HINTS ON READINGS

YOUNG LOCHINVAR

SIR WALTER SCOTT

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best:

And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone;

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar! 6

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,

He swam the Esk river where ford there was none—

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 12

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

’Mong bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:

Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword—

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word—

“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” 18

“I long wooed your daughter, my suit was denied;

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!

And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,

To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine!

There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” 24

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar—

“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar. 30

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace!

While her mother did fret and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,

And the bride-maidens whispered, “’Twere better by far,

To have matched our fair cousin to young Lochinvar!” 36

One touch to her hand, and one word to her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near.

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar. 42

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see!

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar! 48

We observe, in the first place, that the rhythm is very pronounced. It reminds us of the rhythm of The Ride from Ghent, and suggests, in fact, what we soon discover to be true, that the two poems are in spirit very closely allied.

l. 2-6 are intended to win our sympathy for the hero. Observe his courage in riding unarmed and alone.

l. 10.—The accent on gallant is on the final syllable. Observe how the emphasis on -lant, came, and late retards the movement and suggests the contrast between Lochinvar’s hope and his failure to arrive in time.

l. 11.—Note the contempt in laggard and dastard. Also in line 16, where the movement is again retarded.

l. 19-24.—How cleverly Lochinvar conceals his true intention, under the guise of indifference!

l. 20.—Love swells like ocean tides, but diminishes with equal rapidity: I can get along without your daughter.

l. 32.—Galliard: a lively dance.

l. 33-34.—Bring out the pictures clearly. Do not slur.

l. 37.—Accelerate the movement, but not with a manufactured speed. Catch the spirit of haste and the movement will accelerate itself.

l. 41-42.—Note the triumphant joy of Lochinvar.

l. 41.—Scaur: a steep bank; pronounced scar.

l. 43-45.—The lively movement continues throughout these lines.

l. 46.—This is a summary. The time will be slow when we recognize and endeavor to express the full import of the passage.

Longfellow’s Peace-Pipe, from The Song of Hiawatha, is particularly adapted to analytic study. We shall confine our study principally to questions of sense relations, such as Momentary Completeness, Values, and the like.

THE PEACE-PIPE

LONGFELLOW

On the Mountains of the Prairie,

On the great Red Pipe-Stone Quarry,

Gitche Manito, the mighty,

He the Master of Life, descending,

On the red crags of the quarry 5

Stood erect, and called the nations,

Called the tribes of men together.

From his footprints flowed a river,

Leaped into the light of morning,

O’er the precipice plunging downward 10

Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.

And the Spirit, stooping earthward,

With his finger on the meadow

Traced a winding pathway for it,

Saying to it, “Run in this way!” 15

From the red stone of the quarry

With his hand he broke a fragment,

Moulded it into a pipe-head,

Shaped and fashioned it with figures;

From the margin of the river 20

Took a long reed for a pipe-stem,

With its dark green leaves upon it!

Filled the pipe with bark of willow,

With the bark of the red willow;

Breathed upon the neighboring forest, 25

Made its great boughs chafe together,

Till in flame they burst and kindled;

And erect upon the mountains,

Gitche Manito, the mighty,

Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, 30

As a signal to the nations.

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,

Through the tranquil air of morning,

First a single line of darkness,

Then a denser, bluer vapor, 35

Then a snow-white cloud unfolding,

Like the tree-tops of the forest,

Ever rising, rising, rising,

Till it touched the top of heaven,

Till it broke against the heaven, 40

And rolled outward all around it.

From the Vale of Tawasentha,

From the Valley of Wyoming,

From the groves of Tuscaloosa,

From the far-off Rocky Mountains, 45

From the Northern lakes and rivers

All the tribes beheld the signal,

Saw the distant smoke ascending,

The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe.

And the Prophets of the nations 50

Said: “Behold it, the Pukwana!

By this signal from afar off,

Bending like a wand of willow,

Waving like a hand that beckons,

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 55

Calls the tribes of men together,

Calls the warriors to his council!”

Down the rivers, o’er the prairies,

Came the warriors of the nations,

Came the Delawares and Mohawks, 60

Came the Choctaws and Camanches,

Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet,

Came the Pawnees and Omahas,

Came the Mandans and Dacotahs,

Came the Hurons and Ojibways, 65

All the warriors drawn together

By the signal of the Peace-Pipe,

To the Mountains of the Prairie,

To the Great Red Pipe-Stone Quarry.

And they stood there on the meadow, 70

With their weapons and their war-gear,

Painted like the leaves of Autumn,

Painted like the sky of morning,

Wildly glaring at each other;

In their faces stern defiance, 75

In their hearts the feuds of ages,

The hereditary hatred,

The ancestral thirst of vengeance.

Gitche Manito, the mighty,

The creator of the nations, 80

Looked upon them with compassion,

With paternal love and pity;

Looked upon their wrath and wrangling

But as quarrels among children,

But as feuds and fights of children! 85

Over them he stretched his right hand,

To subdue their stubborn natures,

To allay their thirst and fever,

By the shadow of his right hand;

Spake to them with voice majestic 90

As the sound of far-off waters,

Falling into deep abysses,

Warning, chiding, spake in this wise:—

“O my children! my poor children!

Listen to the words of wisdom, 95

Listen to the words of warning,

From the lips of the Great Spirit,

From the Master of Life, who made you!

“I have given you lands to hunt in,

I have given you streams to fish in, 100

I have given you bear and bison,

I have given you roe and reindeer,

I have given you brant and beaver,

Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl,

Filled the rivers full of fishes; 105

Why then are you not contented?

Why then will you hunt each other?

“I am weary of your quarrels,

Weary of your wars and bloodshed,

Weary of your prayers for vengeance, 110

Of your wranglings and dissensions;

All your strength is in your union,

All your danger is in discord;

Therefore be at peace henceforward,

And as brothers live together. 115

“I will send a Prophet to you,

A Deliverer of the nations,

Who shall guide you and shall teach you,

Who shall toil and suffer with you.

If you listen to his counsels, 120

You will multiply and prosper;

If his warnings pass unheeded,

You will fade away and perish!

“Bathe now in the stream before you,

Wash the war-paint from your faces, 125

Wash the blood-stains from your fingers,

Bury your war-clubs and your weapons,

Break the red stone from this quarry,

Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes,

Take the reeds that grow beside you, 130

Deck them with your brightest feathers,

Smoke the calumet together,

And as brothers live henceforward!”

Then upon the ground the warriors

Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin, 135

Threw their weapons and their war-gear,

Leaped into the rushing river,

Washed the war-paint from their faces.

Clear above them flowed the water,

Clear and limpid from the footprints 140

Of the Master of Life descending;

Dark below them flowed the water,

Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson,

As if blood were mingled with it!

From the river came the warriors, 145

Clean and washed from all their war-paint;

On the banks their clubs they buried,

Buried all their warlike weapons.

Gitche Manitou, the mighty,

The Great Spirit, the creator, 150

Smiled upon his helpless children!

And in silence all the warriors

Broke the red stone of the quarry,

Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,

Broke the long reeds by the river, 155

Decked them with their brightest feathers,

And departed each one homeward,

While the Master of Life, ascending,

Through the opening of cloud-curtains,

Through the doorways of the heaven, 160

Vanished from before their faces,

In the smoke that rolled around him,

The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!

It is to be hoped that the following notes will be carefully considered. Inflections are most subtle indications of interpretation, and their meaning none too well apprehended. Time spent in such an analysis as that herein undertaken should solve all the ordinary difficulties of the class-room.

l. 1.—Incomplete, hence rising inflection[15] on Prairie.

l. 2.—The same inflection on Quarry.

l. 3-5.—(a) Gitche Manito is the central idea; hence there will be more force on those words. (b) Note that descending is separated from the next line by a comma. This is a good illustration of the function of punctuation; for if the comma were not inserted we should read, descending On the red crags of the quarry, and should not learn of our mistake until we came to the next line.

l. 6.—Nations: falling inflection. A good illustration of the principle that punctuation does not determine inflection: the sense is complete, and the falling inflection instinctively denotes that fact. The whole paragraph is pointing forward to the main statement, called the nations. There might be some reason in the use of a falling inflection on erect, but perhaps the other interpretation is to be preferred.

l. 8-9.—Falling inflections on river and on morning.

l. 10.—Rising inflection on downward. There is likelihood of misinterpretation here. Paraphrased, lines 10 and 11 are equivalent to, And the river, plunging downward over the precipice, gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.

l. 11.—Falling inflection on Ishkoodah, because the river did not gleam like the comet Ishkoodah, but like Ishkoodah, which is the Indian name for comet.

l. 12.—Stooping earthward: subordinate idea.

l. 12-15.—It is surprising how careless pupils are in reading these lines. They nearly always read them to convey the idea that the Spirit stooped earthward with his finger on the meadow. Observe how the meaning is brought out by the following reading:

And the Spirit (pause), stooping earthward (pause),

With his finger (pause) on the meadow (pause),

Traced a winding pathw`ay for it` (pause),

Saying to it (pause), “Run in th`is way!”

l. 17-19.—The melody is virtually the same in each of these lines, with a falling inflection on fragment, pipe-head and figures.

l. 21.—Rising inflection preferable on pipe-stem. The poem abounds in lines ending with falling inflections; hence, one should be on the alert for such lines as this.

l. 23.—Falling inflection on willow.

l. 25-26.—Rising inflection on forest and on together. We note that these two lines point forward.

l. 28-31.—Rising inflections throughout, even on calumet, upon which word the pupil often errs.

l. 30.—The Peace-Pipe is not a subordinate idea; it is an idea coÖrdinate with calumet.

l. 32.—Observe the rhythmic change and its meaning.

l. 33.—Falling inflection on morning. Lines 32 and 33 contain the general statement, and

l. 34-39 contain the particular. When we perceive this latter fact we will use the rising inflection at the end of each line until we reach heaven in line 39, when, of course, we shall have the falling.

l. 37.—Subordinate.

l. 40.—Observe that broke is the emphatic word, not against. Rising inflection on heaven.

l. 42-46.—It is an open question whether we should use a rising or a falling inflection at the end of each of these lines. To use the falling would convey the idea that each detail was important; to use the rising, to lay the stress upon the whole. (See Momentary Completeness, page 61, et seq.) The former reading seems the better.

l. 51.—Falling inflection on Behold it.

l. 53-54.—Subordinate.

l. 56.—Falling inflection on together.

l. 58.—An interesting point is presented in this line. The poet intends to convey the idea that some tribes came down the rivers and others o’er the prairies. Hence the melody and force of the two phrases will be identical.

l. 59.—Falling inflection on nations.

l. 60-65.—The most natural interpretation seems to be to use a rising inflection on the name of the first tribe in each line, and a falling on the second.

l. 66-67.—Rising inflection on together and on Peace-Pipe.

l. 68.—Falling inflection on Prairie.

l. 70.—Rising inflection on meadow.

l. 71-74.—Falling inflection on war-gear, Autumn, morning, and other.

l. 74.—This is the strongest line of the four.

l. 75-76.—Faces and hearts are not contrasted. The melody of the two lines is virtually the same.

l. 81.—Falling inflection on compassion.

l. 86.—Falling inflection on hand is to be preferred.

l. 87-89.—These three lines should be construed as one idea. Hence rising inflection will be given on natures and on fever.

l. 90-93.—Rising inflections on majestic, waters, warning, chiding. Why? Falling inflection on abysses. Why?

l. 94.—Does he use rising inflection or falling on children? What would be the difference in the idea conveyed by each?

l. 95-96.—Do these lines mean “Will you not listen?” If so they are full of pleading. If the speaker is imperative the inflection will be falling.

l. 98.—Falling inflection on Life. Observe how meaningful are the words who made you.

l. 99-105.—Shall there be rising or falling inflection at the end of these lines? What would each convey respectively?

l. 112.—Observe the radical change in the speaker’s attitude. He has been asserting; now he argues and pleads.

l. 116-117.—Falling inflection on you and on nations.

l. 118.—Rising inflection on guide.

l. 119.—Toil and suffer should be joined together, with the main pause after suffer. Do not emphasize with.

l. 121.—Rising inflection on multiply.

l. 122.—Note the contrast on unheeded.

l. 124-127.—Falling inflection on all the emphatic words. There will be a tendency to use the rising inflection on war-paint, blood-stains, war-clubs.

l. 128.—Rising inflection on quarry. Why?

l. 130.—Rising inflection on you.

l. 131.—Falling inflection on feathers.

l. 133.—Principal pause after brothers, with perhaps a brief pause after live.

l. 134.—Short pause after then; longer after ground.

l. 135.—Rising inflection on deer-skin seems preferable.

l. 136.—Falling inflection on war-gear.

l. 138.—Falling inflection on faces.

l. 139.—Falling inflection on water.

l. 140.—Falling inflection on limpid.

l. 142.—Rising inflection on water.

l. 143-144.—Falling inflection on crimson and on blood.

l. 134-144.—This is the climax of the poem. When one grasps this idea the voice becomes full of joy. Be sure to get the picture of the clear and limpid water as it flows down to where the warriors are, and note the change as it passes below them, tinged with the war-paint it has washed away. Note the emphasis on clear above, and on dark below.

l. 145.—Rising inflection on warriors.

l. 148.—Falling inflection on weapons.

l. 149-150.—Rising inflection on mighty and on creator.

l. 151.—Falling inflection on smiled.

l. 152.—Pause after silence; rising inflection on warriors.

l. 153.—Rising inflection on quarry.

l. 154.—Falling inflection on Peace-Pipes.

l. 155-156.—Rising inflection on river, feathers.

l. 158.—Note the pause after ascending. He ascended through and vanished in.

l. 158-160.—Rising inflection on Life, ascending, curtains, and heaven.

l. 161.—Falling inflection on vanished; rising on faces.

l. 162.—It seems that the rising inflection would be preferable on him.

In the following poem it is purposed to offer comments principally as to the movement. There is nothing that conduces more to variety in reading than frequent changes in movement. Not that these changes should be haphazard; on the contrary, as we have seen in Chapter I, there is a definite principle underlying movement. The analysis should reveal that the various ideas are of different degrees of importance, and the recognition of these differences will lead to the variety of movement.

Attention is also directed to transitions, and occasionally to the atmosphere.

Every comment should be carefully considered and challenged. The printed page is a monochrome of type. The danger is, therefore, that we read monotonously. With the years we acquire a fatal facility for pronouncing words without getting the underlying thought. The object of these analyses is to take the mind from the words to the ideas which they express, and so to improve the reading.

HORATIUS

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCIX

I[16]

Lars Porsena of Clusium

By the Nine Gods he swore

That the great house of Tarquin

Should suffer wrong no more.

By the Nine Gods he swore it, 5

And named a trysting day,

And bade his messengers ride forth,

East and west and south and north,

To summon his array.

And now hath every city 10

Sent up her tale of men:

The foot are fourscore thousand,

The horse are thousands ten.

Before the gates of Sutrium

Is met the great array. 15

A proud man was Lars Porsena

Upon the trysting day.

XII

For all the Etruscan armies

Were ranged beneath his eye,

And many a banished Roman, 20

And many a stout ally;

And with a mighty following

To join the muster came

The Tusculan Mamilius,

Prince of the Latian name. 25

XIII

But by the yellow Tiber

Was tumult and affright:

From all the spacious champaign

To Rome men took their flight.

A mile around the city, 30

The throng stopped up the ways:

A fearful sight it was to see

Through two long nights and days.

XIV

For aged folks on crutches,

And women great with child, 35

And mothers sobbing over babes

That clung to them and smiled,

And sick men borne in litters

High on the necks of slaves,

And troops of sunburned husbandmen 40

With reaping-hooks and staves,

And droves of mules and asses

Laden with skins of wine,

And endless flocks of goats and sheep,

And endless herds of kine, 45

And endless trains of wagons

That creaked beneath the weight

Of corn-sacks and of household goods,

Choked every roaring gate.

XVI

Now, from the rock Tarpeian, 50

Could the wan burghers spy

The line of blazing villages

Red in the midnight sky.

The Fathers of the city,

They sat all night and day; 55

For every hour some horseman came

With tidings of dismay.

XIX

They held a council, standing

Before the River-Gate:

Short time was there, ye may well guess, 60

For musing or debate.

Out spake the Consul roundly:

“The bridge must straight go down;

For, since Janiculum is lost,

Naught else can save the town.” 65

Just then a scout came flying,

All wild with haste and fear:

“To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:

Lars Porsena is here.”

On the low hills to westward 70

The Consul fixed his eye,

And saw the swarthy storm of dust

Rise fast along the sky.

XXI

And nearer fast, and nearer,

Doth the red whirlwind come; 75

And louder still, and still more loud,

From underneath that rolling cloud,

Is heard the trumpet’s war-note proud,

The trampling and the hum.

And plainly, and more plainly, 80

Now through the gloom appears,

Far to left, and far to right,

In broken gleams of dark-blue light,

The long array of helmets bright,

The long array of spears. 85

XXV

But when the face of Sextus

Was seen among the foes,

A yell that rent the firmament

From all the town arose.

On the housetops was no woman 90

But spat towards him, and hissed;

No child but screamed out curses.

And shook its little fist.

XXVI

But the Consul’s brow was sad,

And the Consul’s speech was low; 95

And darkly looked he at the wall,

And darkly at the foe.

“Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge, 100

What hope to save the town?”

XXVII

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the Gate:

“To every man upon this earth,

Death cometh soon or late. 105

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods,”

XXIX

“Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 110

With all the speed ye may:

I, with two more to help me,

Will hold the foe in play.

In yon strait path a thousand

May well be stopped by three. 115

Now, who will stand on either hand,

And keep the bridge with me?”

XXX

Then out spake Spurius Lartius,—

A Ramnian proud was he,—

“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 120

And keep the bridge with thee.”

And out spake strong Herminius,—

Of Titian blood was he,—

“I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee.” 125

XXXI

“Horatius,” quoth the Consul,

“As thou sayest, so let it be.”

And straight against that great array

Forth went the dauntless Three.

For Romans in Rome’s quarrel 130

Spared neither land nor gold,

Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,

In the brave days of old.

XXXIV

Now, while the Three were tightening

Their harness on their backs, 135

The Consul was the foremost man

To take in hand an axe.

And Fathers mixed with commons

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,

And smote upon the planks above, 140

And loosed the props below.

XXXV

Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold,

Come flashing back the noonday light,

Rank behind rank, like surges bright 145

Of a broad sea of gold.

Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of warlike glee,

As that great host, with measured tread,

And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 150

Rolled slowly towards the bridge’s head,

Where stood the dauntless Three.

XXXVI

The Three stood calm and silent,

And looked upon the foes,

And a great shout of laughter 155

From all the vanguard rose:

And forth three chiefs came spurring

Before that deep array;

To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,

And lifted high their shields, and flew 160

To win the narrow way.

XXXVIII

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus

Into the stream beneath;

Herminius struck at Seius,

And clove him to the teeth; 165

At Picus brave Horatius

Darted one fiery thrust,

And the proud Umbrian’s gilded arms

Clashed in the bloody dust.

Herminius smote down Aruns; 170

Lartius laid Ocnus low;

Right to the heart of Lausulus

Horatius sent a blow.

“Lie there,” he cried, “fell pirate!

No more, aghast and pale, 175

From Ostia’s walls the crowd shall mark

The track of thy destroying bark.

No more Campania’s hinds shall fly

To woods and caverns when they spy

Thy thrice accursÈd sail.” 180

XLI

But now no sound of laughter

Was heard among the foes.

A wild and wrathful clamor

From all the vanguard rose.

Six spears’ lengths from the entrance 185

Halted that deep array,

And for a space no man came forth

To win the narrow way.

XLII

But hark! the cry is Astur;

And lo! the ranks divide, 190

And the great Lord of Luna

Comes with his stately stride.

Upon his ample shoulders

Clangs loud the fourfold shield,

And in his hand he shakes the brand 195

Which none but he can wield.

XLIII

He smiled on those bold Romans,

A smile serene and high

He eyed the flinching Tuscans,

And scorn was in his eye. 200

Quoth he, “The she-wolf’s litter

Stand savagely at bay;

But will ye dare to follow

If Astur clears the way?”

XLIV

Then, whirling up his broadsword 205

With both hands to the height,

He rushed against Horatius,

And smote with all his might.

With shield and blade Horatius

Right deftly turned the blow. 210

The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh:

It missed its helm, but gashed his thigh.

The Tuscans raised a joyful cry

To see the red blood flow.

XLV

He reeled, and on Herminius 215

He leaned one breathing-space,

Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,

Sprang right at Astur’s face.

Through teeth and skull and helmet,

So fierce a thrust he sped, 220

The good sword stood a hand-breadth out

Behind the Tuscan’s head.

XLVI

And the great Lord of Luna

Fell at that deadly stroke,

As falls on Mount Alvernus 225

A thunder-smitten oak.

XLVII

On Astur’s throat Horatius

Right firmly pressed his heel,

And thrice and four times tugged amain,

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 230

“And see,” he cried, “the welcome,

Fair guests, that waits you here!

What noble Lucumo comes next

To taste our Roman cheer?”

Yet one man for one moment 235

Strode out before the crowd:

Well known was he to all the Three,

And they gave him greeting loud.

“Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!

Now welcome to thy home! 240

Why dost thou stay, and turn away?

Here lies the road to Rome.”

LII

Thrice looked he at the city;

Thrice looked he at the dead;

And thrice came on in fury, 245

And thrice turned back in dread,

And, white with fear and hatred,

Scowled at the narrow way,

Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,

The bravest Tuscans lay. 250

LIII

But meanwhile axe and lever

Have manfully been plied;

And now the bridge hangs tottering

Above the boiling tide.

“Come back, come back, Horatius!” 255

Loud cried the Fathers all.

“Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!

Back, ere the ruin fall!”

LIV

Back darted Spurius Lartius:

Herminius darted back: 260

And, as they passed, beneath their feet

They felt the timbers crack.

But when they turned their faces,

And on the farther shore

Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 265

They would have crossed once more.

But with a crash like thunder

Fell every loosened beam,

And, like a dam, the mighty wreck

Lay right athwart the stream: 270

And a long shout of triumph

Rose from the walls of Rome,

As to the highest turret-tops

Was splashed the yellow foam.

LVI

And like a horse unbroken, 275

When first he feels the rein,

The furious river struggled hard,

And tossed his tawny mane,

And burst the curb, and bounded,

Rejoicing to be free, 280

And whirling down, in fierce career,

Battlement and plank and pier,

Rushed headlong to the sea.

LVII

Alone stood brave Horatius,

But constant still in mind; 285

Thrice thirty thousand foes before,

And the broad flood behind.

“Down with him!” cried false Sextus,

With a smile on his pale face.

“Now yield thee,” cried Lars Porsena, 290

“Now yield thee to our grace.”

LVIII

Round turned he, as not deigning

Those craven ranks to see;

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,

To Sextus naught spake he; 295

But he saw on Palatinus

The white porch of his home,

And he spake to the noble river

That rolls by the towers of Rome.

LIX

“O Tiber! father Tiber! 300

To whom the Romans pray,

A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,

Take thou in charge this day!”

So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed

The good sword by his side, 305

And with his harness on his back,

Plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow

Was heard from either bank:

But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 310

With parted lips and straining eyes,

Stood gazing where he sank;

And when above the surges,

They saw his crest appear,

All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 315

And even the ranks of Tuscany

Could scarce forbear to cheer.

LXI

But fiercely ran the current,

Swollen high by months of rain:

And fast his blood was flowing, 320

And he was sore in pain,

And heavy with his armor,

And spent with changing blows;

And oft they thought him sinking,

But still again he rose. 325

LXIII

“Curse on him!” quoth false Sextus:

“Will not the villain drown?

But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town!”

“Heaven help him!” quoth Lars Porsena, 330

“And bring him safe to shore;

For such a gallant feat of arms

Was never seen before.”

LXIV

And now he feels the bottom;

Now on dry earth he stands; 335

Now round him throng the Fathers,

To press his gory hands;

And now, with shouts and clapping,

And noise of weeping loud,

He enters through the River-Gate, 340

Borne by the joyous crowd.

Stanza I

l. 1-4.—The exalted position of Lars Porsena, the oath, and the grandeur of the Tarquin house, all contribute to make the movement slow and the atmosphere dignified.

l. 5.—Note the repetition and its effect on the movement.

l. 7.—Rather fast.

l. 8.—According to the importance we attach to this line will be the rate of movement. If it means simply in all directions, the time will be moderate. If, however, we desire to emphasize that the messengers rode far to the east, and far to the west, and so forth, the time will be slow. Probably the former is the better interpretation.

Stanza XI

Colloquial style and moderate time prevail throughout the stanza except in

l. 16, where the transition is marked.

Stanza XII

The atmosphere is that of the pride of Porsena in his army.

Stanza XIII

l. 26.—Observe the transition to the atmosphere of fright and terror that pervades the entire stanza.

l. 30.—Conceive that mass of humanity and note how the length of the inflection on mile is extended.

l. 33.—Very slow; each day and each night seems to be endless.

Stanzas XIV and XV

Observe that the principal verb does not appear until line 49. Hence there will be a rising inflection at the end of every line of these stanzas except 49.

The movement is rather fast and the atmosphere that of despair.

l. 49.—Very slow.

Stanza XVI

l. 50-54.—Narrative style.

l. 55.—Slow.

l. 56.—Note the longer inflections on every hour.

Stanza XIX

l. 58.—Be careful to separate the last two words.

l. 63.—Slower time and marked transition.

Stanza XX

l. 66-67.—Fast time; not in imitation of the speed of the scout, but in sympathy with his feelings.

l. 68-69.—No effort should be made to shriek these words; it is sufficient to suggest the fact that he is calling, and his fear. The time will be fast.

l. 70.—Observe the change in time and atmosphere.

l. 73.—A good illustration of the principle underlying movement. This line is read slowly, for it announces the doom of the city.

Stanza XXI

l. 74-75.—Moderate time.

l. 76-79.—Note that the time grows gradually slower as the mind becomes more and more engrossed with the picture, and how the voice swells with increasing grandeur.

l. 80-85.—Prevailingly moderate movement.

l. 84.—Rising inflection on bright because the speaker no doubt has in mind the two lines, 84 and 85.

Stanza XXV

The hatred and contempt of the speaker will color the entire stanza. The movement will be on the whole moderate.

l. 88.—Slow.

Stanza XXVI

l. 94.—Slower time, and an atmosphere of sadness. Bear in mind the speaker sympathizes with the Consul.

l. 98.—Despair and sadness.

Stanza XXVII

l. 102-103.—Manifest the speaker’s pride in Horatius, and note the striking contrast between the atmosphere of these lines and that of the concluding lines of the preceding stanza.

l. 104-109.—Solemn and deliberate.

Stanza XXIX

l. 110-115.—Note the change in Horatius.

l. 116-117.—As if addressing the crowd; a marked transition.

Stanza XXX

A good study in variety; nearly every line presents a change of atmosphere.

Stanza XXXI

l. 126-127.—Very deliberately the Consul speaks. Why? What are his feelings?

l. 128-129.—Observe the patriotic ring in the speaker’s words.

Stanza XXXIV

The stanza is in simple narrative style, and contains but little emotion. The significant idea is that the patricians in this hour of trial worked side by side with plebeians.

Stanza XXXV

The time is moderate at the beginning, becoming gradually slower to the end.

Observe the change in atmosphere in the last line. Once more it is well to remind the reader that the speaker is a patriot.

Stanza XXXVI

The movement of the first two lines is rather slow; after that it accelerates to the end, in sympathy with the fast moving picture.

Stanza XXXVIII

The atmosphere is that of struggle and of the joy of victory.

The time will be rather fast, retarding towards the close.

Stanza XL

l. 170-173.—See note on preceding stanza.

l. 174.—Transition. Observe the hate of Horatius.

Stanza XLI

The time is prevailingly slow, and the atmosphere in marked contrast to that of the preceding stanza. There is, too, a note of contempt and irony.

Stanza XLII

l. 189.—Abrupt transition to atmosphere of what is almost fear. Time fast.

l. 190-196.—Time slow, and atmosphere in sympathy with the size and strength of Astur.

Stanza XLIII

l. 197-198.—Observe the contrast between the atmosphere of these lines and that of the succeeding two.

l. 201-202.—Astur’s contempt for his own allies.

l. 203.—Boastfully.

Stanza XLIV

l. 205-208.—Fast and strong.

l. 209-210.—Fast.

l. 211-212.—Slower, and note change in feeling: Horatius is wounded.

l. 213-214.—The joy of the enemy serves but to increase the speaker’s sorrow.

Stanza XLV

l. 217-222.—Note the intensity of the speaker’s feeling and his savage joy at the close.

Stanza XLVI

Slow time throughout.

Stanza XLVII

l. 227.—Moderate time.

l. 231-234.—Transition to the proud and contemptuous defiance of Horatius. The time is moderate; the key is high, because Horatius is calling to the opposing army.

Stanza LI

l. 235-236.—Simple narrative.

l. 237-238.—Contemptuous.

l. 239-242.—Sarcastic throughout. Time quite slow.

Stanza LII

l. 246.—Very slow and contemptuous, especially the last four words. Falling inflection on dread.

Stanza LIII

l. 251.—Note the transition.

l. 251-254.—Rather fast.

l. 255.—Suggest the sustained call and the warning.

l. 256.—Subordinate.

l. 257-258.—Faster and with greater trepidation.

Stanza LIV

l. 259-262.—Fast.

l. 263.—Transition.

Stanza LV

This stanza is the climax of the poem. Horatius’ work is done! The atmosphere is that of joy, triumph, and exultation.

Stanza LVI

The excitement of the speaker carries him on with headlong speed as he recalls the picture described in this stanza.

Stanza LVII

l. 284.—The excitement subsides.

l. 286-287.—No hope.

l. 289.—What is the emotion of Sextus? Note the smile.

l. 290.—Observe the difference between Lars Porsena and Sextus in their feelings toward Horatius.

Stanza LVIII

l. 292.—Slower time. Is there not a note of pride in the speaker’s voice as he recalls the bravery of Horatius?

l. 297-299.—Tender and slow.

Stanza LIX

l. 300-303.—Slow and reverential.

l. 304-307.—Rather fast, with pause before and after headlong.

Stanza LX

l. 308-312.—Rather slow.

l. 313.—Note transition to the feeling of joy.

Stanza LXI

The entire stanza is permeated with the speaker’s suspense and with his sympathy with the struggles of the wounded man.

Stanza LXIII

Observe again the contrast between Sextus and Lars Porsena, both enemies of Horatius.

Stanza LXIV

If we will follow the picture and describe it as we see it and as the speaker now recalls it, we will make long pauses after bottom and stands.

The time increases in rapidity through the first four lines, and then is retarded to the end.

The atmosphere of the first four lines is that of joy, and it is hardly possible to keep back the tears as we utter the last four.

In the final selection we shall call attention to all the interpretative difficulties which the teacher is likely to meet with in the class-room. There is no reason why such a piece of literature as this cannot be used to advantage even in the public school, provided we take the time for careful analysis.

JULIUS CAESAR.—Shakespeare

Act IV., Scene 3

Brutus’s Tent

Enter Brutus and Cassius

Cas. That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this:

You have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella

For taking bribes here of the Sardians;

Wherein my letters, praying on his side,

Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Bru. You wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.

Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet

That every nice offence should bear his comment.

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself

Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm; 10

To sell and mart your offices for gold

To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm!

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,

Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,

And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember:

Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake?

What villain touch’d his body, that did stab, 20

And not for justice? What, shall one of us,

That struck the foremost man of all this world

But for supporting robbers, shall we now

Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,

And sell the mighty space of our large honours

For so much trash as may be grasped thus?

I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,

Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay not me;

I’ll not endure it; you forget yourself,

To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 30

Older in practice, abler than yourself

To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius.

Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;

Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.

Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is’t possible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?

Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 40

Cas. O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this?

Bru. All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;

Go show your slaves how choleric you are,

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?

Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch

Under your testy humour? By the gods,

You shall digest the venom of your spleen,

Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,

I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,

When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this? 50

Bru. You say you are a better soldier;

Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,

And it shall please me well: for mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;

I said, an elder soldier, not a better:

Did I say ‘better’?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.

Bru. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.

Cas. I durst not! 60

Bru. No.

Cas. What, durst not tempt him!

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love;

I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,

For I am arm’d so strong in honesty

That they pass by me as the idle wind,

Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me: 70

For I can raise no money by vile means:

By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring

From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash

By any indirection: I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?

Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 80

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;

Dash him to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: he was but a fool that brought

My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart:

A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me.

Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 90

Bru. A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,

Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,

For Cassius is aweary of the world:

Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;

Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observed,

Set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote,

To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep

My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, 100

And here my naked breast; within, a heart

Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:

If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth;

Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,

I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;

Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.

O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 110

That carries anger as the flint bears fire;

Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,

And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,

When grief, and blood ill-temper’d, vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru. What’s the matter?

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with me,

When that rash humour which my mother gave me 120

Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus.

He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

A few words of introduction are first necessary. We should understand the play as a whole, and be conversant with the events that lead up to this particular scene; further, we should bear in mind the tense, splenetic character of Cassius, and the calm, controlled, stoical disposition of Brutus.

l. 1.—In Scene 2 we get the keynote to Cassius’ manner. He is so full of his supposed wrong that he pays no heed to the surroundings, and bluntly plunges into the matter in hand. Brutus restrains him, and together they move to the former’s tent. No sooner do they enter than again Cassius bursts forth.

l. 4.—Cassius is piqued that his letters should have failed to shield Lucius Pella from the punishment for his wrongdoing.

l. 5.—Subordinate and explanatory.

l. 6.—Brutus’s answer is simple and direct, yet without feeling.

l. 8.—Nice is equivalent to unimportant, small. There is a touch of contempt in this speech.

l. 9.—Again we note the directness of Brutus’s statement, and the absence of feeling. Note, too, that he in no way seeks to soften his charges.

l. 12.—Imagine the surprise and rage of Cassius. There will be a sweeping upward inflection on I. It is only with the utmost effort that the fiery Cassius can control himself.

l. 15-16.—Paraphrased, these lines mean, The name of Cassius is associated with this corruption, and hence the hands of justice are tied. For, to bring the corrupters to trial would be to drag in Cassius with them.

l. 17.—Do you dare to use the term chastisement in connection with my name?

l. 18.—Unmoved by the anger of Cassius, Brutus proceeds calmly and perhaps too ruthlessly to arraign his friend.

l. 21.—Observe the high moral standard of Brutus.

l. 21-26.—Rising inflections throughout.

l. 27.—Observe the contempt.

l. 28.—During the speech of Brutus, Cassius can scarcely contain himself. Never has any one dared to arraign him. Now he is even forgetting the deference he has been wont to show to one whom he recognizes as his superior.

l. 32-34.—Rapidly, as the passion of the men rises.

l. 35-36.—Now Cassius begins to threaten.

l. 37.—There is no anger in this. Brutus knows that Cassius is beside himself, and brushes him aside as one would brush an insignificant dust speck from his clothing.

l. 38.—Such treatment Cassius cannot understand. The line is exclamatory rather than interrogative. It is equivalent to, Can I believe my ears?

l. 38.—Brutus now begins to assert himself. It is a new aspect of his character, which we can comprehend only when we learn, as we do later, that Portia is dead.

l. 40.—Brutus must be greatly moved to call his dearest friend a madman.

l. 41.—The strain of listening to such words is becoming too great for Cassius to bear.

l. 42.—Brutus seems almost to enjoy the terrible lesson he is reading Cassius. It is well-nigh incredible that the thoughtful, loving husband of Portia, and the considerate master of Lucius, should speak thus to any one, let alone his best friend.

l. 50.—There seems to be no feeling but surprise in this, surprise verging on bewilderment. As Brutus grows more passionate Cassius seems to subside.

l. 51-54.—It is Brutus now who appears to lose self-control. Cassius never said he was a better soldier.

l. 55-57.—Anger and bewilderment give way to a sense of having been wronged: the last sentence is almost pathetic in its humility.

l. 57.—Anger and contempt.

l. 58.—Cassius’ passion is again beginning to rise.

l. 59-62.—Note the increasing astonishment in the speeches of Cassius, and the superciliousness of Brutus.

l. 63-64.—A threat uttered not so much in anger as in fear that he may not be able to control his feelings.

l. 65.—Have and should are the emphatic words.

l. 65-82.—This speech needs no commentary. It is a plain and unmistakable arraignment, uttered in unequivocal language, and in simple, direct manner.

l. 82.—Cassius is pained that his friend should so misunderstand him. From now to line 93 Cassius seems to throw himself upon the mercy of his friend, while the latter repels his advances, each time with greater harshness.

l. 93-107.—Cassius’ heart is broken. If his best friend can so wantonly misunderstand him, what can he hope from his enemies? There is nothing left to live for, and he would eagerly welcome death even at the hands of Antony. The passage is overflowing with heartbreak, and gains our sympathy for one who else would seem but a crafty, self-seeking schemer.

l. 107.—The speech of Cassius brings Brutus back to himself. Here is the real Brutus, full of tenderness and love.

To understand fully the unusual display of feeling in this scene we should read further to the stage direction, Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] Let it be understood once for all that the various elements in expression should be the spontaneous outcome of the mental action. As has been so often stated, to tell a pupil to use a rising inflection or to emphasize this word or that, is a violation of the fundamental principle of correct teaching.

[16] The stanzas are numbered as in the original poem.

Clyx.com

CHAPTER XVI LITERARY INTERPRETATION

STUDY IN RHYTHM

NOTES ON RHYTHM

INTERPRETATIVE NOTES

HINTS ON READINGS

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XVI
LITERARY INTERPRETATION