painter, the harmony is inimitably perfect. It is natural to suppose every part of the Universe equally perfect; and it is a glorious and elevating thought, that the stars of heaven are moving on continually to music; and that the sounds we daily listen to are but parts of a melody that reaches to the very center of God's illimitable spheres. II. Pastoral Poetry Pastoral poetry (from the Latin word pastor, a shepherd) is that form of poetry dealing with shepherd or rustic life. Some of the writers of pastoral poetry were Theocritus among the Greeks, and Virgil among the Latins. THE SOLITARY REAPER William Wordsworth. Behold her, single in the field, No nightingale did ever chaunt A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard Will no one tell me what she sings?— For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang And o'er the sickle bending:- III. Descriptive Poetry Poetic literature is the record of human experience in rhythmic form. Descriptive poetry is that form of poetry which describes scenes or objects. It is ideal word painting. The descriptive poem should be rendered directly to the audience. THE CLOSING SCENE T. Buchanan Read. Within the sober realms of the leafless trees, The gray barns looking from their hazy hills, All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, As in a dream the distant woodman hewed His winter log, with many a muffled blow. The embattled forests, erewhile armed with gold, On sombre wings the vulture tried his flight; The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint; And like a star slow drowning in the light, The village church vane seemed to pale and faint. The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew Crew twice and all was stiller than before; Silent, till some replying warder blew His alien horn, and then was heard no more. Where erst the hay within the elm's tall crest, By every light wind like a censer swung. Where sung the noisy martins of the eaves, An early harvest and a plenteous year. Where every bird that walked the vernal feast To warn the reaper of the rosy East; All now was sunless, empty and forlorn. Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail; And croaked the crow through all the dreary gloom; Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale, Made echo in the distant cottage loom. There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers, The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night, The thistle-down, the only ghost of flower, Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out of sight. Amid this-in this most dreary air, And where the woodbine shed upon the porch Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there, Firing the floor with its inverted torch; Amid all this-the centre of the scene, The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread, She had known sorrow-he had walked with her, Of his thick mantle trailing in the dust. While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that drew Long, but not loud, the dropping wheel went on, Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. At last the thread was snapped-her head was bowed, While Death and Winter closed the Autumn scene. THE PILGRIM FATHERS Felicia Dorothea Hemans. The breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rockbound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky, their giant branches tossed, And the heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted came,Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings of fame: Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang to the anthems of the free! The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared;-this was their welcome home. There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band; Why had they come to wither there, away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high; and the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-They sought a faith's pure shrine! Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found,-freedom to worship God! |