Victorian Poet: Alfred Tennyson, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)

“The Lady of Shalott”

 

PART I

ON either side the river lie       

Long fields of barley and of rye,           

That clothe the wold and meet the sky; 

And thro' the field the road runs by       

          To many-tower'd Camelot;                  5

And up and down the people go,         

Gazing where the lilies blow     

Round an island there below,   

          The island of Shalott.     

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,    10

Little breezes dusk and shiver   

Thro' the wave that runs for ever          

By the island in the river           

          Flowing down to Camelot.         

Four gray walls, and four gray towers,     15

Overlook a space of flowers,   

And the silent isle imbowers     

          The Lady of Shalott.      

By the margin, willow-veil'd,    

Slide the heavy barges trail'd       20

By slow horses; and unhail'd    

The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd 

          Skimming down to Camelot:      

But who hath seen her wave her hand? 

Or at the casement seen her stand?         25

Or is she known in all the land, 

          The Lady of Shalott?     

Only reapers, reaping early      

In among the bearded barley,   

Hear a song that echoes cheerly              30

From the river winding clearly, 

          Down to tower'd Camelot:         

And by the moon the reaper weary,     

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,   

Listening, whispers ''Tis the fairy              35

          Lady of Shalott.'

PART II

There she weaves by night and day      

A magic web with colours gay. 

She has heard a whisper say,   

A curse is on her if she stay         40

          To look down to Camelot.         

She knows not what the curse may be, 

And so she weaveth steadily,   

And little other care hath she,   

          The Lady of Shalott.         45

And moving thro' a mirror clear

That hangs before her all the year,        

Shadows of the world appear. 

There she sees the highway near           

          Winding down to Camelot:            50

There the river eddy whirls,      

And there the surly village-churls,         

And the red cloaks of market girls,       

          Pass onward from Shalott.         

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,        55

An abbot on an ambling pad,   

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,          

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,     

          Goes by to tower'd Camelot;     

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue        60

The knights come riding two and two:   

She hath no loyal knight and true,         

          The Lady of Shalott.      

But in her web she still delights 

To weave the mirror's magic sights,         65

For often thro' the silent nights  

A funeral, with plumes and lights,          

          And music, went to Camelot:     

Or when the moon was overhead,        

Came two young lovers lately wed;         70

'I am half sick of shadows,' said           

          The Lady of Shalott.      

PART III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,     

He rode between the barley-sheaves,   

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,    75

And flamed upon the brazen greaves    

          Of bold Sir Lancelot.     

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd      

To a lady in his shield,  

That sparkled on the yellow field,            80

          Beside remote Shalott.   

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see     

Hung in the golden Galaxy.       

The bridle bells rang merrily        85

          As he rode down to Camelot:    

And from his blazon'd baldric slung      

A mighty silver bugle hung,       

And as he rode his armour rung,           

          Beside remote Shalott.      90

All in the blue unclouded weather         

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,           

The helmet and the helmet-feather        

Burn'd like one burning flame together, 

          As he rode down to Camelot.       95

As often thro' the purple night,  

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,      

          Moves over still Shalott. 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;            100

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;         

From underneath his helmet flow'd       

His coal-black curls as on he rode,       

          As he rode down to Camelot.    

From the bank and from the river          105

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,          

'Tirra lirra,' by the river 

          Sang Sir Lancelot.         

She left the web, she left the loom,       

She made three paces thro' the room,    110

She saw the water-lily bloom,  

She saw the helmet and the plume,       

          She look'd down to Camelot.     

Out flew the web and floated wide;      

The mirror crack'd from side to side;     115

'The curse is come upon me!' cried       

          The Lady of Shalott.      

PART IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,         

The pale yellow woods were waning,   

The broad stream in his banks complaining,       120

Heavily the low sky raining       

          Over tower'd Camelot;  

Down she came and found a boat        

Beneath a willow left afloat,      

And round about the prow she wrote    125

          The Lady of Shalott.      

And down the river's dim expanse—    

Like some bold seer in a trance,           

Seeing all his own mischance—

With a glassy countenance        130

          Did she look to Camelot.           

And at the closing of the day    

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;           

The broad stream bore her far away,    

          The Lady of Shalott.       135

Lying, robed in snowy white     

That loosely flew to left and right—      

The leaves upon her falling light—        

Thro' the noises of the night      

          She floated down to Camelot:     140

And as the boat-head wound along      

The willowy hills and fields among,       

They heard her singing her last song,     

          The Lady of Shalott.      

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,   145

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 

Till her blood was frozen slowly,          

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,     

          Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;        

For ere she reach'd upon the tide          150

The first house by the water-side,         

Singing in her song she died,     

          The Lady of Shalott.      

Under tower and balcony,        

By garden-wall and gallery,       155

A gleaming shape she floated by,          

Dead-pale between the houses high,     

          Silent into Camelot.        

Out upon the wharfs they came,           

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,      160

And round the prow they read her name,          

          The Lady of Shalott.      

Who is this? and what is here? 

And in the lighted palace near   

Died the sound of royal cheer;   165

And they cross'd themselves for fear,   

          All the knights at Camelot:          

But Lancelot mused a little space;         

He said, 'She has a lovely face;

God in His mercy lend her grace,          170

          The Lady of Shalott.'

“Crossing the Bar”

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,                    5

  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!                   10

And may there be no sadness of farewell,         

  When I embark;        

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place           

  The flood may bear me far,    

I hope to see my Pilot face to face                 15

  When I have crossed the bar.

“Ask Me No More”

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,

With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;

But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:

Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!

Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:

I strove against the stream and all in vain:

Let the great river take me to the main:

No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;

Ask me no more

Philosophy and Values of the Victorians

Philosophy and Values of the Victorians/ Characteristics of Victorian Literature  Values Major Ideas Literary Form/ Structure Literary Content/ Themes Literary Genres/ Styles Key Authors Earnestness Expansion of Empire Narrative over Lyric Isolation/ Alienation Dramatic Monologue Lord Tennyson Respectability Glorification of War Meter and Rhythm over Imagery Lack of communication Novel Elegy magazines The Brontes Oscar Wilde Evangelism Industrialism Objective; reflective Pessimism and despair Drama: Comedy of Manners Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning Evolution and Progress Economic Prosperity Melancholy or meditative, even in love poems Loss of faith Rigid standards of personal behavior Charles Dickens Hypocrisy? Reform Moral issues, didactic Didactic High moral tone Thomas Carlyle Protestant work ethic   Contemporary subjects     Charles Darwin Restraint   Longer over shorter forms     Matthew Arnold Utilitarianism Strong emphasis on duty   More common expressions     Dante Gabriel and Christina Rosetti     Medieval subjects and forms      Rudyard Kipling   Romantic/Victorian Contrasts   Romantic Era Victorian Era Idealism Visionary/Utopian Sober/Utilitarian View of Nature Kind/Harmonious Harsh/Cruel Focus Inward/Individual Common man Imagination Introspection Outward/Nation Middle class Reality Work Philosophy Transcendentalism Utilitarianism More Victoriana Key Metaphor Struggle or strife Key Theme Theory of evolution leads to crisis of faith Intellectual and spiritual doubt – antidote is work Growing social consciousness Reform movements – child labour, safety, hours Women – demand emancipation, enfranchisement, evolution Victorian Trinity Religion, science, morality Nationalism Britain – first great modern industrial nation Poets Feel alienated, betrayed – estranged from life and love – so isolate themselves no groups or friends

Three Characteristics of Victorian Literature

Three Characteristics of Victorian Literature

http://angelacameron.wordpress.com/2009/05/13/three-characteristics-of-victorian-literature/

During the days of Queen Victoria, poets wrote about bohemian ideas and further the imaginings of the romantic poets. According to Professors Carol Christ and Catherine Robson in “The Victorian Age”, “…Victorian poetry shares a number of characteristics…It tends to be pictorial, using detail to construct visual images that represent the emotion or situation the poem concerns.” (p. 997, par 2)  While most writers use imagery and the senses to convey scenes, the Victorian writers went further using this imagery and other common elements. The poems, through sensory images, reveal the struggle between religion and science, and sentimentality creates a journey for readers into the minds and hearts of the people of the Victorian age.

Of these themes, perhaps the most obvious is the use of sensory elements. Lord Alfred Tennyson lives up to this expected characteristic in his works. One notable example is the poem “Mariana”, in which Tennyson writes, “The doors upon their hinges creaked; / The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse / Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked.” (p. 1113, ln 62-64) This image of the creaking door, the blue fly singing in the window, and the mouse with the moldy wood paneling all work together to create a very defined image of an active, yet lonely farmhouse in which Shakespeare’s lady waits.

Although the entire poem is lengthy, “In Memoriam” contains Tennyson’s exploration of his feelings of the emerging scientific notions of his day.(p 1138-1188) In stanza fifty-five, Tennyson makes his concerns clear. He writes, “Are God and Nature then at strife, / That Nature lends such evil dreams?”(ln 5-6) Tennyson seems disheartened by the clash of religion and science, and wonders to himself why nature is offering up such strange and seemingly evil ideas through science. This idea that God and nature are at odds epitomizes the struggle.

Another of these common Victorian characteristics in poetry is sentimentality. For Tennyson, this element is readily available. In “Tears, Idle Tears” from “The Princess”, he writes that the tears “Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, / In looking on the happy autumn-fields, / And thinking of the days that are no more.” (p. 1135, ln 3-5) What reader hasn’t seen autumnal fields or some other happy landscape where childhood and innocence were spent, then looked back with longing hearts to times that will never come again?

This use of sensory stimulating terms, sentimentality, and the exposition of the struggle between God and science are typical. There are several other common themes, such as concerns over education, as well. However, to understand the thoughts of the Victorian people, one can look simply at the styles and the largest concerns of their poets.

The Victorian Era

The Victorian Era

            The Victorian era, from the coronation of Queen Victoria in 1837 until her death in 1901, was an era of several unsettling social developments that forced writers more than ever before to take positions on the immediate issues animating the rest of society. Thus, although romantic forms of expression in poetry and prose continued to dominate English literature throughout much of the century, the attention of many writers was directed, sometimes passionately, to such issues as the growth of English democracy, the education of the masses, the progress of industrial enterprise and the consequent rise of a materialistic philosophy, and the plight of the newly industrialized worker. In addition, the unsettling of religious belief by new advances in science, particularly the theory of evolution and the historical study of the Bible, drew other writers away from the immemorial subjects of literature into considerations of problems of faith and truth.

Poetry
            The three notable poets of the Victorian Age became similarly absorbed in social issues. Beginning as a poet of pure romantic escapism, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, soon moved on to problems of religious faith, social change, and political power, as in “Locksley Hall,” the elegy In Memoriam (1850), and Idylls of the King (1859-1885). All the characteristic moods of his poetry, from brooding splendor to lyrical sweetness, are expressed with smooth technical mastery. His style, as well as his peculiarly English conservatism, stands in some contrast to the intellectuality and bracing harshness of the poetry of Robert Browning. Browning's most important short poems are collected in Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1841-1846) and Men and Women (1855). Matthew Arnold, the third of these mid-Victorian poets, stands apart from them as a more subtle and balanced thinker; his literary criticism (Essays in Criticism, 1865, 1888) is the most remarkable written in Victorian times. His poetry displays a sorrowful, disillusioned pessimism over the human plight in rapidly changing times (for example, “Dover Beach,” 1867), a pessimism countered, however, by a strong sense of duty. Among a number of lesser poets, Algernon Charles Swinburne showed an escapist aestheticism in sensuous verse rich in verbal music but somewhat diffuse and pallid in its expression of emotion. The poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the poet, artist, and socialist reformer William Morris were associated with the Pre-Raphaelite movement, the adherents of which hoped to inaugurate a new period of honest craft and spiritual truth in property and painting. Despite the otherworldly or archaic character of their romantic poetry, Morris, at least, found a social purpose in his designs for household objects, which profoundly influenced contemporary taste.

The Victorian Novel
            The novel gradually became the dominant form in literature during the Victorian Age. A fairly constant accompaniment of this development was the yielding of romanticism to literary realism, the accurate observation of individual problems and social relationships. The close observation of a restricted social milieu in the novels of Jane Austen early in the century (Pride and Prejudice, 1813; Emma, 1816) had been a harbinger of what was to come. The romantic historical novels of Sir Walter Scott, about the same time (Ivanhoe, 1819), typified, however, the spirit against which the realists later were to react. It was only in the Victorian novelists Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray that the new spirit of realism came to the fore. Dickens's novels of contemporary life (Oliver Twist, 1838; David Copperfield, 1849-1850; Great Expectations, 1861; Our Mutual Friend, 1865) exhibit an astonishing ability to create living characters; his graphic exposures of social evils and his powers of caricature and humor have won him a vast readership. Thackeray, on the other hand, indulged less in the sentimentality sometimes found in Dickens's works. He was also capable of greater subtlety of characterization, as his Vanity Fair (1847-1848) shows. Nevertheless, the restriction of concern in Thackeray's novels to middle- and upper-class life, and his lesser creative power, render him second to Dickens in many readers' minds.

            Other important figures in the mainstream of the Victorian novel were notable for a variety of reasons. Anthony Trollope was distinguished for his gently ironic surveys of English ecclesiastical and political circles; Emily Brontë, for her penetrating study of passionate character; George Eliot, for her responsible idealism; George Meredith, for a sophisticated, detached, and ironical view of human nature; and Thomas Hardy, for a profoundly pessimistic sense of human subjection to fate and circumstance.

            A second and younger group of novelists, many of whom continued their important work into the 20th century, displayed two new tendencies. Robert Louis Stevenson, Rudyard Kipling, and Joseph tried in various ways to restore the spirit of romance to the novel, in part by a choice of exotic locale, in part by articulating their themes through plots of adventure and action. Kipling attained fame also for his verse and for his mastery of the single, concentrated effect in the short story. Another tendency, in a sense an intensification of realism, was common to Arnold Bennett, John Galsworthy, and H. G. Wells. These novelists attempted to represent the life of their time with great accuracy and in a critical, partly propagandistic spirit. Wells's novels, for example, often seem to be sociological investigations of the ills of modern civilization rather than self-contained stories.

British Lit Class Notes -- March 13

Greetings!

Happy Pi Day!  Besides eating a nice piece of pie, you could learn a song or rap for the day! 

We began the class with a bit of a “Show and Tell.”  I had brought a bag of some well-known pieces of British literature and talked a bit about them.  All of the students have done some thinking about the independent reading project and a couple took home some books to look over. 

We discussed yesterday the selections from the Romantic poets.  We began by listing some of the broad themes and topics that they encountered as they read the poetry.  The Romantic period of literature covered the late 1700’s into the early 1800’s.  The poetry of that time leaned heavily upon nature, its images, and its lessons for inspiration.  This use of nature had an almost spiritual aspect in that it was not only worshiped, but spoke of a greater, creative power.  Another hallmark of Romantic period literature is a movement away from reason and towards emotions, passions, and intuition.  This literary period is also characterized by the importance of the individual over the greater society and along with the value of the immediate experience.  Thus we have poems written about a poet’s personal interaction with a place (“Tintern Abbey”) or an idea (“Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”) or an over-sized, bas-relief vase (“Ode on a Grecian Urn”).  (These are the poems we took some time to “unpack.”)

The students received a brief article about Victorian poetry, a chart comparing Romantic and Victorian poetry, and a packet of selections by Lord Tennyson, Robert Browning, Emily Bronte, Matthew Arnold, Dante Rossetti, Christina Rossetti, Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll, and Gerard Manley Hopkins.  I’ve asked them to read all of the poetry, but to pick one about which they should become an “expert.”  For added insights, they can google the title of the poem and “analysis” and find some commentaries that might be helpful.

Assignments for Next Week:

-- Read ALL of the poetry in the Victorian Poets packet

-- Choose one poem and become an “expert” on it

-- Make your final decision about the independent reading selection

Have a great week!  Enjoy this incredible weather.

Mrs. Prichard 

Romantic Period Poetry Selections -- John Keats

John Keats  (1795-1821)

“Ode on a Grecian Urn”

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,

Sylvan historian, who canst thus express

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:

What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape

Of deities or mortals, or of both,

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?

What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed

Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;

And, happy melodist, unwearied,

For ever piping songs for ever new;

More happy love! more happy, happy love!

For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,

For ever panting, and for ever young;

All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,

A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

To what green altar, O mysterious priest,

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?

What little town by river or sea shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?

And, little town, thy streets for evermore

Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede

Of marble men and maidens overwrought,

With forest branches and the trodden weed;

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought

As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

“Ode to a Nightingale”

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,--

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs,

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?