Ward's Poets, Vol. II
Some notes from the second volume in the Victorian anthology of poetry I found.
This anthology is as interesting for what it doesn't include as for what it does. The first volume ended with John Donne, but included neither "The Flea" nor the "We kill ourselves to propagate our kind" one. Similarly, the second volume had an extensive selection of Andrew Marvell, but didn't include "To His Coy Mistress". What gives? The Victorian editor's preface to Marvell's selection does mention that "about twenty-five new poems have been discovered" since his death. Perhaps it hadn't yet become a classic by 1881?
I did have some moments of literary tourism -- specifically, Thomas Wolfe moments. I came across the ode to Shakespeare by Ben Jonson which he quotes ("My SHAKESPEARE, rise!") in Look Homeward, Angel. And of course Milton's "Lycidas" from which that very title comes from ("Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth: / And, O ye dolphins, waft the helpless youth").
And speaking of Milton, in his "L'Allegro", I came across the lines "Come, and trip it as ye go, / On the light fantastick toe." I'd always meant to find out where that odd phrase ("tripping the light fantastic" or "fandango") came from. Wikipedia naturally has a great entry on this, and finds a kind of antecedent to the phrase in The Tempest.
The single most striking discovery, though, was in a lullaby of Thomas Dekker:
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Being a card-carrying Beatles fan, that made me sit up and take notice. Wikipedia again has the straight dope, and includes this fascinating tidbit:
McCartney saw sheet music for Dekker's lullaby at his father's home in Liverpool, left on a piano by his stepsister Ruth McCartney. Unable to read music, he created his own melody and arrangement.
How awesome is that.
The book ended a healthy selection from John Dryden, which of course took me back to my days with Dr. Stumpf which were -- egads! -- a decade ago.
Only one poem in particular from this volume I feel like quoting. As a nonbeliever, I find this poem doubly tragic...
"The Burial of an Infant" by Henry Vaughan
Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life
Did only look about, and fall
Wearied out in a harmless strife
Of tears, and milk, the food of all;
Sweetly didst thou expire: thy soul
Flew home unstain'd by his new kin;
For ere thou knew'st how to be foul,
Death wean'd thee from the world, and sin.
Softly rest all thy virgin-crumbs
Lapt in the sweets of thy young breath,
Expecting till thy Saviour comes
To dress them, and unswaddle death!
This anthology is as interesting for what it doesn't include as for what it does. The first volume ended with John Donne, but included neither "The Flea" nor the "We kill ourselves to propagate our kind" one. Similarly, the second volume had an extensive selection of Andrew Marvell, but didn't include "To His Coy Mistress". What gives? The Victorian editor's preface to Marvell's selection does mention that "about twenty-five new poems have been discovered" since his death. Perhaps it hadn't yet become a classic by 1881?
I did have some moments of literary tourism -- specifically, Thomas Wolfe moments. I came across the ode to Shakespeare by Ben Jonson which he quotes ("My SHAKESPEARE, rise!") in Look Homeward, Angel. And of course Milton's "Lycidas" from which that very title comes from ("Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth: / And, O ye dolphins, waft the helpless youth").
And speaking of Milton, in his "L'Allegro", I came across the lines "Come, and trip it as ye go, / On the light fantastick toe." I'd always meant to find out where that odd phrase ("tripping the light fantastic" or "fandango") came from. Wikipedia naturally has a great entry on this, and finds a kind of antecedent to the phrase in The Tempest.
The single most striking discovery, though, was in a lullaby of Thomas Dekker:
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Being a card-carrying Beatles fan, that made me sit up and take notice. Wikipedia again has the straight dope, and includes this fascinating tidbit:
McCartney saw sheet music for Dekker's lullaby at his father's home in Liverpool, left on a piano by his stepsister Ruth McCartney. Unable to read music, he created his own melody and arrangement.
How awesome is that.
The book ended a healthy selection from John Dryden, which of course took me back to my days with Dr. Stumpf which were -- egads! -- a decade ago.
Only one poem in particular from this volume I feel like quoting. As a nonbeliever, I find this poem doubly tragic...
"The Burial of an Infant" by Henry Vaughan
Blest infant bud, whose blossom-life
Did only look about, and fall
Wearied out in a harmless strife
Of tears, and milk, the food of all;
Sweetly didst thou expire: thy soul
Flew home unstain'd by his new kin;
For ere thou knew'st how to be foul,
Death wean'd thee from the world, and sin.
Softly rest all thy virgin-crumbs
Lapt in the sweets of thy young breath,
Expecting till thy Saviour comes
To dress them, and unswaddle death!