Saturday, January 21, 2023

LOCHINVAR AND THE LADY OF SHALOTT -- A ROMANCE

Please scroll to the bottom of this post to see how it all turns out!

1. Lochinvar BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,

He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall,

Among bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:

Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

“I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;—

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide—

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

The bride kiss’d the goblet: the knight took it up,

He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—

“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “’twere better by far

To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

###

2. The Lady of Shalott (1832) by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

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

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,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'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,

And flam'd 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,

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

As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

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 from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

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 from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower 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;

'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,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

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,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

The Lady of Shalott.'

3. Lochinvar and the Lady of Shalott by Joan Levin

Oh young Lochinvar was galloping east,

Having quietly departed his own wedding feast,

It seems his fair Ellen had told him to scram,

She’d decided Sir Lancelot would be her man.

But off in the distance young Lochinvar’s eyes,

Fell upon a fair lady, how sad were her cries!

He slowed his brave horse to a leisurely trot,

Until he had reached her: the Lady of Shalott!

“Why are you weeping?” was Lochinvar’s query,

“I’ve been dumped!” said the lady, her eyes sad and teary.

“But now I am happy, no longer afraid,

“Because it appears you have come to my aid!”

Lord Lochinvar held out his hand, which she took,

And jumped onto his horse, with no backward look.

And what of fair Ellen, Lord Lochinvar’s ex?

She rode off with Sir Lancelot and had lots of good times!

Joan Levin, 2022

###

Friday, January 20, 2023

Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Ulysses

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

It little profits that an idle king,

By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink

Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd

Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades

Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart

Much have I seen and known; cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, governments,

Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;

And drunk delight of battle with my peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and forever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,

To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—

Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil

This labour, by slow prudence to make mild

A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees

Subdue them to the useful and the good.

Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere

Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my household gods,

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:

There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;

Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

###

Wednesday, January 11, 2023

John Milton, On His Blindness, Examined

https://www.owleyes.org/text/on-his-blindness/read/text-poem#root-418824-1

On His Blindness by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide,

"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts: who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait.”

In this context, “light” is a metaphor for both the speaker’s life span and his sight. Since this poem is called “On His Blindness” and we know that Milton went blind in 1652, “light” can be read throughout the poem as a conceit for sight.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

“Spent” can either mean “passed,” as in, "when I consider how I have spent my days," or it can mean “gone,” as in, "when I consider that my sight is gone."

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

“Ere” is an adverb that means “before.” The speaker expresses disbelief that he has lost his sight before even half of his life has yet to be lived.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

In line 6, the speaker suggests that his “one talent’ is to present “my true account.” This signals to the reader that the speaker’s talent is writing, an activity that would have been nearly impossible to do in Early Modern England without sight. Because Milton himself went blind in 1652, this poem is conventionally read as autobiographical.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

The speaker’s reference to his “one talent” suggests a third metaphorical meaning of light. Light is a classic motif for knowledge—intellectual illumination. For the writer, light represents inspiration. When the speaker claims that his “light is spent,” one can say that he is lamenting a case of “writer’s block.”

— Zachary, Owl Eyes Editor

This is one of the few lines in the sonnet in which Milton breaks from perfect iambic meter. The first four words are intended to be read with stress on "Lodg'd" and then on "use" in "useless." This emphasis is appropriate since the words are intended to sound like a cry of anguish in an otherwise uniformly tranquil and metrically regular poem betokening Milton's "Patience" and his conviction, as expressed in the beautiful concluding line, that "They also serve who only stand and wait."

— William Delaney

This is the only line in the poem that breaks iambic pentameter. “Lodg’d” is stressed instead of “with,” forming a trochee. This deviation from the poem’s meter underscores the meaning of the line. His “one talent,” writing, becomes “useless” when it resides in him.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Notice that enjambment, the continuation of a sentence beyond the end of a line, disrupts the meaning of this sentence as a whole. In this part of the sentence, the speaker means that he is bent in service of God, like a servant who is bowing. However, because this line ends with “bent” it seems at first that his soul is “bent” or crooked, meaning it is in some way immoral or wicked. The division of this sentence, and the divergent meanings implicit within this division, demonstrates the underlying uncertainty throughout this poem. The speaker wonders if he will be able to serve God if he cannot exercise his talents and what will become of his soul if he cannot serve God.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Milton adopts a Petrarchan rhyme scheme in order to write this sonnet. The first two quatrains follow an ABBA rhyming pattern, and the sestet uses two tercets of CDE. Following the traditional form of a sonnet, the octet presents a problem that the sestet then resolves.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Milton's sonnet concerns the universal desire to discover and develop one's talents. The poem suggests that each of us is given one or several gifts which we are obliged to identify, utilize, and develop throughout our lives or else experience disappointment, failure and frustration. The Bhagavad-Gita says something similar and invokes Milton's idea of a "maker" to be served:

In the beginning

The Lord of beings

Created all men,

To each his duty.

'Do this,' He said,

'And you shall prosper.'

The problem for many of us is to discover our talent—or talents. This process may involve a lot of trial and error. But it is obviously a matter of the utmost importance. Milton was neither the first nor last person to consider the great importance of putting one's gifts to work. Many thinkers of the past have their their attentions to this topic:

Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness.

—Thomas Carlyle (1798–1881)

A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1802–1883)

— William Delaney

“He” in this context refers to God. The speaker offers the question in the following line with this caveat that if he is chided for his question, he will recant the question. This reveals the speaker’s anxious and apologetic tone.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

The first six lines of the poem lead up to this question: “Does God demand that you work if you have lost your sight?” The first six lines of the poem can be seen as the speaker’s extreme uncertainty over whether or not to ask this question. Questioning God’s will was a form of blasphemy that demonstrated one’s lack of faith. Though this speaker does not directly question God’s decision to take away his sight, he does reveal his frustration when he questions what he can do now that he has lost it.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

In this line, Milton's speaker asks the question, not God. The long and complex sentence beginning with "When I consider how my light is spent" leads the poet to fondly, or foolishly, ask: "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" After this question, the first sentence of the sonnet ends with a full stop. All the rest of the sonnet is supposedly spoken by an invisible spirit or angel he calls "Patience." Milton's conclusion suggests that he has made appropriate use of his "one talent" and that God will not scold or "chide" him for wasting it.

— William Delaney

“Light denied” in this context means blindness. Notice that there is an undercurrent of blame in this metaphor. “Denied” suggests that someone took his sight. This reveals both the speaker’s anger over losing his sight and his inability to express this anger at God.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

“Fondly” in this time meant foolishly. The speaker immediately apologizes for the question that he has posed by calling himself foolish. In a way, this shows the speaker recant his question.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Notice that Patience begins speaking at the volta, or thematic turn. This turn marks a change in the speaker’s mentality. He stops despairing about his lost sight and begins to believe that there is divine purpose in what seems like an unfortunate event.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Note that the speaker's response to his personal loss is a stance of yielding. The word "murmur"—which describes how "Patience" communicates to the speaker—is appropriate to the overall tone of the sonnet. He is resigned to accept whichever fate God imposes upon him. This is also indicated two lines later in the words "mild yoke." When Milton concludes with the words, "They also serve who only stand and wait," he seems to be suggesting that he can serve God by serving as an example of patience, faith, and humility.

— William Delaney

Notice that the rest of the poem is spoken by “Patience.” Patience is a personified entity that embodies “patience,” the capacity to calmly endure pain, affliction, and inconvenience. The personification of human characteristics is a form of allegory that marks this character as the person who will reveal the moral of the poem.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

This line draws from the Calvinist belief in predestination. Unlike Catholic doctrine, which claimed one could repent in order to save their soul, Calvinists believed that works on earth had no bearing on one’s salvation. People were predestined for either damnation or salvation at the time of their birth. God therefore did not need “man’s works” because only belief revealed one’s internal piety.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

“Mild yoke” is an allusion to the Bible: “My yoke is easy, my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). In the law of the Old Testament, Jewish people were required to follow over 600 strict religious laws. Jesus used this metaphor to relieve them of the burden of these laws. He claimed that there were only two laws man needed to follow: love God, love each other. Thus the “yoke” and “burden” of Jesus was both forgiving and “light.” To “bear his mild yoke” means to follow Jesus’s two commandments to love God and love each other.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

A “yoke” is a heavy wooden bar attached to the heads of two oxen, horses, or mules so that they can pull a cart or plow. It is designed to limit the animals’ mobility so that they walk together in the direction in which the farmer wants them to go. A yoke is extremely heavy and implies a great burden or difficult task.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Patience reminds the speaker that God is like a king and has many servants across the world to do his bidding. Some ride over land and ocean carrying out His will, but others simply need to serve him by waiting. Patience relieves the speaker’s anxiety by telling him that it is acceptable to wait for divine inspiration to tell him what God wants him to do.

— Caitlin, Owl Eyes Staff

Saturday, January 7, 2023

REPRESENTATIVE HAKEEM JEFFRIES A-Z SPEECH

"House Democrats,” he said, “will always put American values over autocracy, benevolence over bigotry, the Constitution over the cult, democracy over demagogues, economic opportunity over extremism, freedom over fascism, governing over gaslighting, hopefulness over hatred, inclusion over isolation, justice over judicial overreach, knowledge over kangaroo courts, liberty over limitation, maturity over Mar-a-Lago, normalcy over negativity, opportunity over obstruction, people over politics, quality of life issues over QAnon, reason over racism, substance over slander, triumph over tyranny, understanding over ugliness, voting rights over voter suppression, working families over the well-connected, xenial over xenophobia, ‘yes, we can’ over ‘you can do it,’ and zealous representation over zero-sum confrontation.”

12:38 A.M, Saturday, January 7, 2023 Rep. Hakeem Jeffries, D-New York, Minority Leader, 8th District, Brooklyn Queens.