Mary Shelley (1798-1851), FRANKENSTEIN (1818)

Chapter 9 (motherly and omnipotent nature)

I performed the first part of my journey on horseback I afterwards hired a mule, as the more sure footed, and
least liable to receive injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine: it was about the middle of the
month of August, nearly two months after the death of Justine; that miserable epoch from which I dated all
my woe. The weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in the ravine of Arve. The
immense mountains and precipices that overhung me on every side--the sound of the river raging among the
rocks, and the dashing of the waterfalls around, spoke of a power mighty as Omnipotence--and I ceased to
fear, or to bend before any being less almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here
displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and
astonishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains; the impetuous Arve, and
cottages every here and there peeping forth from among the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it
was augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining pyramids and domes
towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of another race of beings. I passed the bridge
of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain
that overhangs it. Soon after I entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and sublime,
but not so beautiful and picturesque, as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. The high and snowy
mountains were its immediate boundaries; but I saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense
glaciers approached the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche, and marked the smoke of
its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding
_aiguilles, and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley. A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came
across me during this journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and recognised,
reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the light-hearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds
whispered in soothing accents, and maternal nature bade me weep no more.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834)
The rime of the ancient mariner (1798)
PART I
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,

'There was a ship,' quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
 He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:

He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,

Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,

Till over the mast at noon—'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,

Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,

Yet he cannot choose but hear;
 And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,

As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts

Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
 We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;

The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,

It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

'God save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

1) Human dream which allows

Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow
the poet to relate
supernatural to familiar I shot the ALBATROSS.
experience
2) Allegory of the life of the
soul= crime, punishment,
redemption
3) metaphor man’s original sin
4) poetic journey of Rom. – the
mariner= poet, guilt= origin of
poetry> regret for a state of
lost innocence because of
ind. revoution

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850)

Daffodils, or- I wandered as lonely as a cloud (1804-1807)
Tone shifts from…, experience of a walk, memory of simple event, quintessential romantic poem (memory, nature,
emotion)

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

O Captain, my captain! (1865)
(3 stanzas, 2 quatrains each)

O Captain! My captain! Excitement>

realization= contrast
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, excitement vs shock
through bells and
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, cheering
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Devotion- “father”
Here Captain! dear father!
He hopes it’s just a
This arm beneath your head! dream

It is some dream that on the deck,

 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, Fully understands that

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, the captain has died

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
recognizes that the ship
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; is safe and sound, war
over, they have won
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
encourages others to
But I with mournful tread, ring out the bells but he
will mourn the cap
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Joseph Rudyard Kipling
The White Man’s Burden
Take up the White Man's burden
send forth the best ye breed
go bind your sons to exile
to serve your captives' need;
to wait in heavy harness,
on fluttered folk and wild
your new-caught, sullen peoples,
half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden

in patience to abide,
to veil the threat of terror
and check the show of pride;
by open speech and simple,
an hundred times made plain
to seek another's profit,
and work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden

the savage wars of peace
fill full the mouth of Famine
 and bid the sickness cease;
and when your goal is nearest
the end for others sought,
watch sloth and heathen Folly
bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden

no tawdry rule of kings,
but toil of serf and sweeper
the tale of common things.
the ports ye shall not enter,
the roads ye shall not tread,
go mark them with your living,
and mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden

and reap his old reward:
the blame of those ye better,
the hate of those ye guard
the cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:
"Why brought he us from bondage,
our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden

ye dare not stoop to less
nor call too loud on Freedom
to cloke your weariness;
by all ye cry or whisper,
by all ye leave or do,
the silent, sullen peoples
shall weigh your gods and you.
 Take up the White Man's burden
have done with childish days
the lightly proferred laurel,
the easy, ungrudged praise.
comes now, to search your manhood
through all the thankless years
cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
the judgment of your peers!

6 stanzas, quatrains Themes= death,

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
immortality, eternity;
Because I could not stop for Death cyclical nature of life and
death (wheels, children in
Because I could not stop for Death – circle)

He kindly stopped for me – Symbols= carriage

(journey life-death),
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – children (childhood), fields
(adulthood), setting sun
And Immortality. (end of life)

Tone= calm and

measured> sinister >
We slowly drove – He knew no haste return to peace

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility – (gentleman nature)

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
4th stanza- shift of tone>
atmosphere changes- cold,
shivers, uncomfortable

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –
5fth stanza
Disappointment for her
new house for the afterlife
 The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet 6th stanza >nostalgic tone,
centuries passed since
Feels shorter than the Day death, but seems
yesterday that death
I first surmised the Horses' Heads promised eternity but
abandoned her in the dark
Were toward Eternity –

Nick Meets Gatsby (Chapter III)

I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man of about my age and a rowdy little girl,
who gave way upon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. I was enjoying myself now. I had
taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant,
elemental, and profound. At a lull in the entertainment the man looked at me and smiled. “Your face is
familiar,” he said, politely. “Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” “Why, yes. I was in the
Ninth Machine-gun Battalion.” “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen
you somewhere before.” We talked for a moment about some wet, gray little villages in France. Evidently he
lived in this vicinity, for he told me that he had just bought a hydroplane, and was going to try it out in the
morning. “Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.” “What time?” “Any time
that suits you best.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled.
“Having a gay time now?” she inquired. “Much better.” I turned again to my new acquaintance. “This is an
unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there ——” I waved my hand at the invisible
hedge in the distance, “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” For a moment he
looked at me as if he failed to understand. “I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly. “What!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I beg
your pardon.” “I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.” He smiled
understandingly — much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal
reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced — or seemed to face — the
whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor.
It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in
yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.
Precisely at that point it vanished — and I was looking at an elegant young rough-neck, a year or two over
thirty, whose elaborate formality of speech just missed being absurd. Some time before he introduced
himself I’d got a strong impression that he was picking his words with care. Almost at the moment when Mr.
Gatsby identified himself, a butler hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him on
the wire. He excused himself with a small bow that included each of us in turn. “If you want anything just
ask for it, old sport,” he urged me. “Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.” When he was gone I turned
immediately to Jordan — constrained to assure her of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be
a florid and corpulent person in his middle years. “Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?” “He’s just a
man named Gatsby.” “Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?” “Now YOU’RE started on the
subject,” she answered with a wan smile. “Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man.” A dim background
started to take shape behind him, but at her next remark it faded away. “However, I don’t believe it.” “Why
not?” “I don’t know,” she insisted, “I just don’t think he went there.” Something in her tone reminded me of
the other girl’s “I think he killed a man,” and had the effect of stimulating my curiosity.