Children's Literature Part 123

Those who live near the sea know that outside a harbor a bar is formed of earth washed down from the land. At low tide this may be so near the surface as to be dangerous to ships pa.s.sing in and out, and the waves may beat against it with a moaning sound. In his eighty-first year Tennyson wrote "Crossing the Bar" to express his thought about death. He represents the soul as having come from the boundless deep of eternity into this world-harbor of Time and Place, and he represents death as the departure from the harbor. He would have no lingering illness to bar the departure. He would have the end of life's day to be peaceful and without sadness of farewell, for he trusts that his journey into the sea of eternity will be guided by "my Pilot." This poem may be somewhat beyond the comprehension of eighth-grade pupils, but they can perceive the beauty of the imagery and music, and later in life it will be a source of hope and comfort.

CROSSING THE BAR

ALFRED TENNYSON

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 though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

350

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) was an English essayist, journalist, and poet. His one universally known poem is "Abou Ben Adhem." The secret of its appeal is no doubt the emphasis placed on the idea that a person's att.i.tude toward his fellows is more important than mere professions. The line "Write me as one that loves his fellow men" is on Hunt's tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery, London.

ABOU BEN ADHEM

LEIGH HUNT

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?"--the vision rais'd its head, And with a look made all of sweet accord, Answer'd, "The names of those that love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And show'd the names whom love of G.o.d had blest, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

351

Cincinnatus Heine Miller, generally known as Joaquin Miller (1841-1912), revealed in his verse much of the restless energy of Western America, where most of his life was pa.s.sed.

"Columbus" is probably his best known poem.

"For Those Who Fail" suggests the important truth that he who wins popular applause is not usually the one who most deserves to be honored.

FOR THOSE WHO FAIL

JOAQUIN MILLER

"All honor to him who shall win the prize,"

The world has cried for a thousand years; But to him who tries and who fails and dies, I give great honor and glory and tears.

O great is the hero who wins a name, But greater many and many a time, Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame, And lets G.o.d finish the thought sublime.

And great is the man with a sword undrawn, And good is the man who refrains from wine; But the man who fails and yet fights on, 'Lo! he is the twin-born brother of mine!

352

Numerous poems have been written about the futility of searching on earth for a place of perfect happiness. The next poem, by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), seems to deal with this subject. Some lines from Longfellow are good to suggest its special message:

"No endeavor is in vain, Its reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain."

ELDORADO

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old-- This knight so bold-- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow-- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be-- This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow Ride, boldly ride,"

The Shade replied, "If you seek for Eldorado!"

353

Lord Byron (1788-1824) was the most popular of English poets in his day. His fame has since declined, although his fiery, impetuous nature, expressing itself in rapid verse of great rhetorical and satiric power, still reaches kindred spirits. His "Prisoner of Chillon" is often studied in the upper grades. It is full of the pa.s.sion for freedom which was the dominating idea in Byron's work as it was in his life.

He gave his life for this idea, striving to help the Greeks gain their independence.

The poem which follows is from an early work called _Hebrew Melodies_. We learn from II Chronicles 32:21 that Sennacherib, King of a.s.syria, having invaded Judah, Hezekiah cried unto heaven, "And the Lord sent an angel, which cut off the mighty men of valor, and the leaders and captains in the camp of the King of a.s.syria.

So he returned with shame of face to his own land." Byron's t.i.tle seems to indicate that Sennacherib was himself destroyed.

The fine swinging measure of the lines, and the vivid picture of the destroyed hosts in contrast to the brilliant glory of their triumphant invasion, are two of the chief elements in its appeal.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

LORD BYRON

The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, The host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pa.s.sed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.