XLIII. THE LEVELER. BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (1787-1874) wrote under the name of "Barry Cornwall." He was a native of London and a schoolfellow of Byron. He attempted a simpler and more natural style of expression than his great cotemporary; and his pathetic, tender sketches became very popular. His "English Songs" are among his best works. They are pleasing to the ear, and have a true lyrical spirit. The king he reigns on a throne of gold, And the spinner is bound to his weary thread, And the debtor lies down with an aching head. So the stream flows! Yet there is a fellow whom nobody knows, Who maketh all free On land and sea, And forceth the rich like the poor to flee. The lady lies down in her warm white lawn, And the bishop smiles, as on high he sits, Looks out for the summer of life, and dies! So the stream flows! 66 Yet there is a fellow whom nobody knows, Who maketh all free On land and sea, And forceth the rich like the poor to flee. BARRY CORNWALL. 1. Reigns, baron, debtor, aching, needle, lawn. 2. Who is this "leveler"? What is meant by "right divine" fenced round"? "pearléd pride"? XLIV. AUTUMN AT CONCORD. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (1804-1864), one of the most celebrated of American novelists, was born in Salem, Mass., and graduated at Bowdoin College, Maine, a fellow-student with Longfellow. He wrote for publication when very young, but gained little notice until he published "The Scarlet Letter," a study of the conflicting emotions of the human heart as influenced by painful circumstances. His works are generally metaphysical in their tendency, but "he was a careful, exact, reliable author, as true to humanity as Dickens." His other representative works are "The House of the Seven Gables," ""Mosses from an Old Manse," "Twice-Told Tales," and "The Marble Faun;" but some of his best passages occur in less known books. The following extract is taken from his "Note Books." NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. Alas for the summer! The grass is still verdant on the hills and in the valleys; the foliage of the trees is as dense as ever, and as green ; the flowers are abundant along the margin of the river, and in the hedgerows, and deep among the woods; the days, too, are as fervid as they were a month ago; and yet, in every breath of wind and in every beam of sunshine, there is an autumnal influence. I know not how to describe it. Methinks there is a sort of coolness amid all the heat, and a mildness in the brightest of the sunshine. A breeze cannot stir without thrilling me with the breath of autumn; and I behold its pensive glory in the far, golden gleams among the huge shadows of the trees. The flowers, even the brightest of them, the golden-rod and the gorgeous cardinals-the most glorious flowers of the year-have this gentle sadness amid their pomp. Pensive autumn is expressed in the glow of every one of them. I have felt this influence earlier in some years than in others. Sometimes autumn may be perceived even in the early days of July. There is no other feeling like that caused by this faint, doubtful, yet real perception, or rather prophecy, of the year's decay, so deliciously sweet and sad at the same time. I scarcely remember a scene of more complete and lovely seclusion than the passage of the river [North Branch] through this wood. Even an Indian canoe, in olden times, could not have floated onward in deeper solitude than my boat. I have never elsewhere had such an opportunity to observe how much more beautiful reflection is than what we call reality. The sky and the clustering foliage on either hand, and the effect of sunlight as it found its way through the shade, giving lightsome hues in contrast with the quiet depth of the prevailing tints—all these seemed unsurpassably beautiful when beheld in upper air. But on gazing downward, there they were, the same even to the minutest particular, yet arrayed in ideal beauty, which satisfied the spirit incomparably more than the actual scene. I am half convinced that the reflection is indeed the reality, the real thing which Nature imperfectly images to our grosser sense. At any rate the disembodied shadow is nearest to the soul. There were many tokens of autumn in this beautiful picture. Two or three of the trees were actually dressed in their coats of many colors—the real scarlet and gold which they wear before they put on mourning. There is a pervading blessing diffused over all the world. I look out of the window, and think: "O perfect day! O beautiful world! O good God!" And such a day is the promise of a blissful eternity. Our Creator would never have made such weather, and given us the deep heart to enjoy it, above and beyond all thought, if he had not meant us to be immortal. It opens the gates of heaven, and gives us glimpses far inward. 1. Verdant, margin, gorgeous, perception, disembodied, pervading, diffused, foliage, prophecy, eternity. 2. Where is Concord? What river is meant? Compare this description with any other (Keats's, Shelley's, Southey's, Reed's). Write your own ideas and description of autumn. XLV. POEMS FROM POPE. ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744) was born in London. He left school at thirteen and studied literature by himself. Deformity and disease made him irritable, overbearing, and too sensitive to be a pleasant companion. At twelve he wrote verses. 66 As yet a child, and all unknown to fame, I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." He became popular as soon as his first work, the " Pastorals," appeared, and his "Essay on Criticism," "The Rape of the Lock," the most brilliant mock-heroic poem ever written, "The Dunciad," and Eloisa to Abelard," in which he displayed great delicacy of sentiment and beauty of imagery, as well as an exquisite melody of versification, ALEXANDER POPE. added greatly to his fame as a poet. The "fatal facility" of his rhyme made his translations of little value as translations, however beautiful they might be as poems. I. THE FUTURE. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? |