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3rd Class, Part 1, Longfellow
Transcript of 3rd Class, Part 1, Longfellow
THE FIRST LITERARY FIGURE IN AMERICA
New England, Portland (Maine)
professorship of modern languages at Bowdoin College
French, German, Italian, Spanish
married Mary Storer Potter
1833: Outre-Mer: A Pilgrimage beyond the Sea
, travel essays modeled after Irving's
Professor of modern languages
European and Scandinavian countries
the German romantics:
Novalis and Goethe
sentimental prose romance
his pursuit of Frances Appleton
Longfellow's house, Craigie House
‘Ballads and Other Poems,’ 1841; ‘Poems on Slavery,’ 1842; ‘The Spanish Student,’ 1843; ‘Belfry of Bruges,’ 1846; ‘Evangeline,’ 1847; ‘Seaside and Fireside,’ 1850; ‘The Golden Legend,’ 1851
radical goodness of heart
the well-disposed, the virtuous and intelligent New-Englander
no hell and no devil
the joys of home
‘The Arrow and the Song,’ the ‘Psalm of Life,’
-- outsold Tennyson, more familiar than Wordsworth!
Two classes, based on subject matter
1. Medieval themes
The Christus: A Mystery
2. American poems
, 1847, and
The Song of Hiawatha
—Acadian girl separated from her lover
savage people in their myths
the trochaic four-accent line, not natural to English
(trochee / - )
American patriot, Paul Revere
85 years after the actual ride
(April 18, 1775)
American Civil War
need of patriotism
to avoid the break up of the Union
“hardly a man is now alive who remembers that day and year”
Not a historical account!!
patriotism and the fight for independence
Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.
It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.
It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.
You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
Paul Revere's Ride (1860)
Edgar Allan Poe
, Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine
"UNQUESTIONABLY THE BEST POET IN AMERICA"
"THE LONGFELLOW WAR":
plagiarism -- Tennyson
Voices of the Night (1839)
“A Psalm of Life”
What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR VS SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
Trochee: ( / - )
I, the | friend of | man, Mon|damin,
Come to | warn you |and in|struct you,
How by | struggle |and by | labor
You shall | gain what |you have |prayed for.
Death of his second wife
Tales of a Wayside Inn
translation of Dante's
“The Arrow and the Song”
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.