Well here it is at long last folks!! Terribly sorry for the delay; our most humble thanks for your patience.
-Mr. Sam Weller
Publisher
The
Pickwick Portfolio
June
2015
In this issue:
- “A Comparison of the Quarter and Thoroughbred Horse” by Sam Weller
- “An Unforgettable Vacation” by Augustus Snodgrass
- “Horse Breeds” by Sam Weller
- “Summer” by Augustus Snodgrass
- “The Sea Lion and the Walrus” by Augustus Snodgrass
- Quotes to Note – compiled by Augustus Snodgrass, Sam Weller, and Samuel Pickwick
- Note-able Composers“Robert Schumann” compiled by Tracy Tupman“Igor Stravinsky” compiled by Augustus Snodgrass“Alexina Louie” compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
- Kitchen Korner“Kool-Aid Slurpies” by Nathaniel Winkle“Diana Barry’s Favorite Raspberry Cordial” by Sam Weller
- Non-Sensical Notions – compiled by Nathaniel Winkle and Sam Weller
- Story Time – “The Open Window” by Saki (H. H. Munro)
- Poet’s Corner“Shooting Star” by Nathaniel Winkle“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” by William Wordsworth“Little Orphant Annie” by James Whitcomb Riley“The Lady of Shalott” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson“Eldorado” by Edgar Allan Poe
- Ad designed by Sam Weller
EDITOR’S NOTE
This paper is part of a club
called the “Pickwick Club.” The Pickwick Portfolio, as
this paper is called, is designed for the good of the readers. Its
purpose is to serve as a paper of news, entertainment, and fun.
Please be sure to check out our two new sections, “Kitchen Korner”
and “Nonsensical Notions,” and the special article written
specifically for this month’s issue, “Summer,” written by
myself. Enjoy!
Sincerely,
Augustus Snodgrass
READ, LAUGH, ENJOY!
A COMPARISON OF THE QUARTER AND
THOROUGHBRED HORSE
by Sam Weller
The Quarter
Horse and Thoroughbred are both very famous breeds for many reasons.
Both breeds are excellent racers, and each has their own racing
association. The Quarter Horse is calm, sensible, and excellent
around children. Thoroughbreds are also good with people, though they
can be quick and touchy, due to their love of speed and will to run.
Both are good at any type of English riding, including dressage,
jumping, eventing, hunting, and more. The Quarter Horse, breed in the
U.S. and used often to aid the cowboys, is also very good at Western
sports like roping, barrel racing, and any other rodeo events, and
here the breeds differ, as the Thoroughbred, breed in England for
racing, is not skilled in any of these practises. All in all,
though, despite their similarities and differences, both are
wonderfully well-rounded, multi-purpose horses.
AN UNFORGETTABLE VACATION
by Augustus Snodgrass
Although I have been on many
vacations before, I remember the best vacation I have ever had, a
trip to a Florida beach. My dad had rented a condo consisting of two
bedrooms (one for my parents and one for us three kids), a bathroom,
a kitchen, a dining area, and a living room. It was all very nicely
decorated with the theme being that of the beach and water. The view
from our porch and windows was exceptional with palm trees framing
the beautiful waves and endless blue. Very often one would hear the
sound of a picture being taken, perhaps more so during sunset than
during the day. The structure of our living space was also very
enjoyable, as we had fun being able to peek down into the kitchen
from upstairs. Also, when the windows were open, the mild, cool
breeze would sweep through the house. Though the beach water was
rather cold, we especially enjoyed swimming in the heated pool just
outside our room. Every day, our schedule consisted basically of
getting up, eating breakfast, doing a little school, going swimming,
eating lunch, maybe doing a bit more school, going swimming, eating
supper, maybe going swimming again, and going to bed. The odd days,
we may have gone to a restaurant, but usually we stayed at our condo
and relaxed. Though our vacation did not consist of many exciting
outings, it was all very fun and enjoyable. In fact, it was the best
vacation I have ever had!
HORSE BREEDS
by Sam Weller
There are many
different types of breeds of horses, but what exactly is a breed
anyway? What makes them different? Where did they originate from?
Well, let’s start at the beginning. All horses are in the Equidae
family, a part of the Equus
genus, and classified into breeds under
the heading of Equus caballus,
so all horses are, in the end, related;
however, because they have lived in different parts of the world in
different climates and for different uses, they have adapted and
developed to their way of life. For instance, a horse that lived in
the desert, in a hot climate, would probably look a little different
from a horse that lived in the mountains, in a more northern climate.
The desert horse would be more adapt to heat and would have a lot of
stamina. It also would be able to go without food or water for
longer. The mountain horse would be stronger and broader, since it
has to climb up and down mountains. It would have developed a thicker
coat, because of the cooler weather. Maybe it would have bigger lungs
or a stronger respiratory system for the high altitudes, so it is
obvious horses developed differences, because of their climates.
These different breeds of horses are called natural breeds. There are
also man-made breeds. Man-made means that we have taken the different
qualities of other breeds (natural or man-made) and bred them in a
logical way in order to create new breeds. An example of this is the
Hanoverian, which was bred with Thoroughbreds and Holsteins for about
thirty years. This long time span of breeding ensured that the breed
remained pure and only had those two bloodlines. Later on, more
Thoroughbred blood was introduced, in order to make the breed lighter
and better for riding. This is just one example of a man-made breed.
There are hundreds of breeds, some natural, some man-made, but all a
part of the beautiful Equus caballus.
SUMMER
by Augustus Snodgrass
Summer is here, and it will be
here only for about three months! Summer is the time when family or
friends get together to have fellowship with one another and to enjoy
the warm and sunny weather. On weekends, your neighborhood may be
filled with cars and people, for everyone is hosting summer parties.
Many communities will have events for adults and children. Summer is
also the time when parents actually take the time to play with their
children. You might see a father playing ball with his son, or a
family having a picnic in a park together. Everyone wants to get out
and enjoy the warmth after a cold, hard winter! We must enjoy and
relish it while it is here! It will not be here long!
THE SEA LION AND THE WALRUS
Sea lions and walruses have some similarities and differences.
Both of them are mammals and members of the seal family. They also
both travel in groups to protect themselves. Although they have four
flippers which they use to walk on land, they are also both fast,
skillful swimmers. Walruses and sea lions also have enemies. Killer
whales, polar bears, and men are just a few of them. Both of these
seals are curious and sociable. Sea lions and walruses are difficult
to identify and are often mistaken for each other.While the sea lion and the walrus have many likenesses, they are different. The following are a few examples: the sea lion eats squid, small fish, and sea birds; walruses, on the other hand, eat clams, crabs, and mollusks. The walrus is very heavy, sometimes weighing up to a ton; but the sea lion is very small in comparison to its friend, for it usually only weighs between five hundred and seven hundred pounds. The sea lion has a very graceful neck; the walrus has a short, massive one with coarse whiskers and two tusks. Sea lions are often trained, but the walrus lives in the arctic regions and rarely comes ashore, making it hard to make him comfortable in zoos and circuses; sea lions are found all along coastlines and are most comfortable on land. Can you keep these two seals apart? It is easy to see that the sea lion and walrus are both different and alike.
QUOTES TO NOTE
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass,
Sam Weller, and Samuel Pickwick
“I just invent, then wait until
man comes around to needing what I’ve invented.” – R.
Buckminster Fuller
“Bravery is being the only one
who knows you’re afraid.” – Franklin P. Jones
“Quality is pride of
workmanship.” – W. Edwards Deming
“It is better to learn late than
never.” – Publilius Syrus
“I praise loudly. I blame
softly.” – Catherine the Great
“We shall never know all the
good that a simple smile can do.” – Mother Teresa
“How do you know you’re going
to do something, until you do it?” – J. D. Salinger
“Patience is the art of hoping.”
– Luc de Clapiers
“It takes two flints to make a
fire.” – Louisa May Alcott
“One should never forbid what
one lacks the power to prevent.” – Napoleon Bonaparte
“A man of personality can
formulate ideals, but only a man of character can achieve them.” –
Herbert Read
“The first wealth is health.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
“If you don’t know where you
are going, you might wind up someplace else.” – Yogi Berra
“Every moment is a golden one
for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.” – Henry
Miller
“The more liberty you give away
the more you will have.” – Robert Green Ingersoll
“Don't cry
because it's over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Suess
“Be yourself;
everyone else is already taken.” – Oscar Wilde
“You know
you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally
better than your dreams.” – Dr. Suess
“A room
without books is like a body without a soul.” – Marcus Tullius
Cicero
“No one can
make you feel inferior without your consent.” – Eleanor
Roosevelt, This is My Story
“The best and most beautiful
things in the world can’t be seen or even touched. They must be
felt with the heart.” – Helen Keller
NOTE-ABLE COMPOSERS
ROBERT
SCHUMANN
compiled by
Tracy Tupman
Robert Schumann
was a brilliant composer of colourful, descriptive music, but did you
know that he was also a writer?
Robert Schumann
was born in Germany on June 8, 1810, to a man who was a bookseller,
publisher and novelist, and to a very passionate mother. While he
began to compose by age of seven, Robert eagerly ate up books and
expanded his literary knowledge as enthusiastically as he studied and
composed music. At age fourteen, he wrote an essay on the aesthetics
(enjoyment) of music and contributed to one of his father’s books.
Of course, we
cannot forget about his love of music. Although he consistently
broke principal rules of musical composition, he created music
considered admirable for his age. Best of all, he could capture
people’s emotions and characters in his music. In fact, The
Universal Journal of Music 1850
supplement mentioned that “…Schumann, as a child,
possessed rare taste and talent for portraying feelings and
characteristic traits in melody,—ay, he could sketch the different
dispositions of his intimate friends by certain figures and passages
on the piano so exactly and comically that everyone burst into loud
laughter at the similitude of the portrait.” His
father, while knowing more of literature than of music, encouraged
Schumann’s musical aspirations, but when he died when Schumann was
sixteen, he left no one willing to continue supporting Schumann’s
music; so for several years, Schumann studied law, but by age twenty
he realized that music was his true passion and returned to studying
under former teacher Friedrich Wieck. Wieck assured Schumann
that after only a few years of study with him, he would be a
successful concert pianist.
Alas, Schumann never achieved
virtuosity he longed for. His hopes of becoming a concert pianist
were dashed when his hand became permanently injured – an injury
which may have come from using a certain mechanism to try and isolate
and strengthen his fingers. Fortunately for us who are living today,
this forced him to focus entirely on composing. In the several years
following his injury, he wrote many his best works: lovely small
songs (Lieder) and piano music. But over the course of his lifetime,
he wrote in almost every genre known to his era, including one opera,
orchestral music, choral songs, and chamber works. Some of his
best-known works include his Piano Quintet in Eb
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqHdZSAa3C8), Träumerei in F major
(possibly the most famous piano work ever written)
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHlfNYY1YIY) and his orchestral work
– of which the overture is the most played portion – the music he
set the poem “Manfred” by Bryon to
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QT0xlnSwkQ). He wrote music to
many poems, and often created his music to mirror a specific story or
a particular, well-known character. In addition, Schumann began a
sort of magazine in which both past and present music was discussed,
the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, and
he became as well-known for being a music critic as for music.
He married his teacher’s
daughter Clara Wieck against her
father’s will in 1840. While Friedrich Wieck was furious at first,
he eventually reconciled himself with the young couple, eager to meet
his grandchildren. Unlike Schubert, Clara was a very successful
concert pianist, who, in spite of her lovely, delicate appearance,
managed to juggle several children, concert tours, and household
duties.
Sadly, Schumann struggled with a
mental illness and spent the last two years of his life in asylum at
his own request, after a suicide attempt. The one bright side of his
mental troubles was that during the manic periods, he was incredibly
focused and productive in his composing, bringing forth a bountiful
harvest of music that made up the more desert-like periods of
depression.
Even though Schumann’s work was
not perfect, and his abilities, at times, fell short of his
ambitions, he brought a remarkable enthusiasm and a rare poetic
genius to everything he attempted. As a critic he was remarkably
astute in some judgments, wildly off the mark in others, and in all
cases generous. He never became a great pianist and at times was not
even a very good composer, but his entire being was music, informed
by dream and fantasy. He was music’s quintessential Romantic,
always passionately ardent, always striving for the ideal, and even
today, through his music, his dream of music bringing poetry and
story to life, lives on.
Note:
Sources - Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Schumann,
and Npr music:
http://www.npr.org/2011/07/18/127038609/the-life-and-music-of-robert-schumann
(There are sections where I may have quoted exact phrases,
particularly in the final paragraph, where I quoted most of the last
paragraph from the npr music article.)
IGOR STRAVINSKY
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
Happy Birthday, Igor Stravinsky!
Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky
(June 17, 1882 – April 6, 1971) was a Russian (and later,
a naturalized French and American) composer, pianist and conductor.
He is widely considered to be one of the most important and
influential composers of the 20th century.
Stravinsky's compositional career
was notable for its stylistic diversity. He first achieved
international fame with three ballets commissioned by the impresario
Sergei Diaghilev and first performed in Paris by Diaghilev's Ballets
Russes: The Firebird (1910), Petrushka (1911) and The
Rite of Spring (1913). The last of these transformed the way in
which subsequent composers thought about rhythmic structure and was
largely responsible for Stravinsky's enduring reputation as a musical
revolutionary who pushed the boundaries of musical design. His
"Russian phase" was followed in the 1920s by a period in
which he turned to neoclassical music. The works from this period
tended to make use of traditional musical forms (concerto grosso,
fugue and symphony). They often paid tribute to the music of earlier
masters, such as J.S. Bach and Tchaikovsky. In the 1950s, Stravinsky
adopted serial
- 8 -
procedures. His compositions of
this period shared traits with examples of his earlier output:
rhythmic energy, the construction of extended melodic ideas out of a
few two- or three-note cells and clarity of form, of instrumentation
and of utterance.
Perhaps one of his most famous
pieces of music, Le sacre du pritemps “Scenes of Pagan
Russia” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-1oY5PfcSg), was written
when Stravinsky was thirty-one years old. Another very famous piece
of music composed by Stravinsky, Petrushka
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfUgAv2Yew4), was written when he
was twenty-nine years old.
ALEXINA LOUIE
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
Happy
Birthday, Alexina Louie!
Alexina Louie (born July 30, 1949)
is a Canadian composer. She is of Chinese descent who has written
many pieces for orchestra, as well as pieces for solo piano.
Perhaps one of her most famous
pieces of music, “Distant Memories”
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KK7nijcSj5k), was written when Louie
was thirty-three years old.
Note: Igor Stravinsky and Alexina Louie biographies
from Wikipedia
KITCHEN KORNER
KOOL-AID SLURPIES
by Nathaniel Winkle
You will need measuring cups, a
blender, white sugar, a packet of Kool Aid (any flavor you choose),
at least a dozen ice cubes, and water. Once you have everything
together, you can start! Get your measuring cups, take the one that
has “1 ½” written on it, fill it up with white sugar, and then
dump it into the blender. Next, open your Kool Aid packet and pour
the powder into the blender as well. Fill up the 1 cup three times
with water (for a total of three cups of water), and add that to the
mixture in the blender; then add the ice cubes, and plug in the
blender (be sure to put the lid on), press down the lid with
one hand, and with your other hand press the "Crush ice"
button. When you're satisfied, press the "Mix" button until
well stirred. Serve quickly (while still cold).
Note: From Mennonite Kitchen
Cookbook
DIANA BARRY’S
FAVORITE RASPBERRY CORDIAL
by Sam Weller
- 2 packages frozen, unsweetened
raspberries (600 g)
- 1 ¼ cups sugar (300 mL)
- 4 cups boiling water (1 L)
- 3 lemons
- Large saucepan
- Measuring cups
- Wooden spoon
- Potato masher
- Wire strainer
- Put the unthawed raspberries into the
saucepan, and add the sugar.
- Cook over medium heat, stirring once in a
while, for twenty to twenty-five minutes, until all the sugar has
dissolved.
- With the potato masher, mash the
raspberries and syrup thoroughly.
- Pour the mixture through the strainer,
making sure you extract all the juice. Discard the pulp.
- Squeeze two of the lemons, and strain the
juice. Add it to the raspberry juice.
- Boil four cups of water, and add it to
the raspberry juice.
- Let the raspberry cordial cool; then
chill it in the refrigerator.
- When the cordial is ready to serve, float
a thin slice of lemon in each glass.
NON-SENSICAL NOTIONS
compiled by Nathaniel Winkle,
Ph.D. in Whimsicality, and Sam Weller, Ph.D. in Puns
JOKES
Q:
Why do bees hum?
A: They don't know the words!
Q:
Why did the boy throw a bucket of water out the window?
A: He wanted to see the
waterfall.
Q:
What did 0 say to 8?
A: "Nice belt!"
PUNS
Did you hear
about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He's all right now.
I wondered why
the baseball was getting bigger. Then it hit me.
I'm reading a
book about anti-gravity. It's impossible to put down.
I'd tell you a
chemistry joke, but I know I wouldn't get a reaction.
I used to be a
banker, but I lost interest.
Did you hear
about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda? He was
lucky it was a soft drink.
I don't trust
these stairs, because they're always up to something.
Have you ever
tried to eat a clock? It's very time consuming.
RIDDLES
Q:
What kind of coat is always wet when you put it on?
A: A coat of paint
Q:
Where is the ocean the deepest?
A: On the bottom
Q:
Why can't someone in Maine be buried in Florida?
A: Because he's still living!
TIPS
- Use a muffin tin to serve condiments at a BBQ.
- Clean out an old sunscreen or lotion bottle to hold money, phone and other items safe and discreet at beaches.
- Need a way to keep your cookbook open and in plain view? If it’s not too small or thick, you can clip it on to a pants hanger or hang it on a cupboard door knob.
- Clean out an old Chap Stick or lipstick, roll up your emergency money, and stick it in.
Note: Some puns
taken from the website Pun of the Day: http://www.punoftheday.com/.
STORY TIME
THE OPEN WINDOW
by Saki (H. H. Munro)
“My aunt will be down
presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very self-possessed young lady of
fifteen; “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”
Framton Nuttel endeavored to say
the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the
moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come.
Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a
succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the
nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.
“I know how it will be,” his
sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural
retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a
living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I
shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know
there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.”
Framton wondered whether Mrs.
Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of
introduction came into the nice division.
“Do you know many of the people
round here?” asked the niece, when she judged that they had had
sufficient silent communion.
“Hardly a soul,” said
Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know,
some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some
of the people here.”
He made the last statement in a
tone of distinct regret.
“Then you know practically
nothing about my aunt?” pursued the self-possessed young lady.
“Only her name and address,”
admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in
the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the
room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.
“Her great tragedy happened
just three years ago,” said the child; “that would be since your
sister’s time.”
“Her tragedy?” asked Framton;
somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.
“You may wonder why we keep
that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece,
indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.
“It is quite warm for the time
of the year,” said Framton; “but has that window got anything to
do with the tragedy?”
“Out through that window, three
years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off
for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor
to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed
in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer,
you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly
without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the
dreadful part of it.” Here the child's voice lost its
self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt
always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little
brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window
just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every
evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me
how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over
his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do
you bound?’ as he always did to tease her, because she said it got
on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like
this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in
through that window--”
She broke off with a little
shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the
room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her
appearance.
“I hope Vera has been amusing
you?” she said.
“She has been very
interesting,” said Framton.
“I hope you don't mind the open
window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers
will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this
way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll
make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't
it?”
She rattled on cheerfully about
the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck
in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a
desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on
to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was
giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were
constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond.
It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid
his visit on this tragic anniversary.
“The doctors agree in ordering
me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of
anything in the nature of violent physical exercise,” announced
Framton, who labored under the tolerably widespread delusion that
total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least
detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. “On
the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he
continued.
“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in
a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she
suddenly brightened into alert attention--but not to what Framton
was saying.
“Here they are at last!” she
cried. “Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were
muddy up to the eyes!”
Framton shivered slightly and
turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic
comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window
with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear
Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three
figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all
carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally
burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown
spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the
house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I
said, Bertie, why do you bound?”
Framton grabbed wildly at his
stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate
were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming
along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent
collision.
“Here we are, my dear,” said
the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window,
“fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out
as we came up?”
“A most extraordinary man, a
Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his
illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when
you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”
“I expect it was the spaniel,”
said the niece calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was
once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by
a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug
grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just
above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”
Romance at short notice was her
specialty.
POET’S CORNER
SHOOTING STAR
by Nathaniel Winkle
I
wished upon a shooting star,
for
my brother a mute guitar,
for
my Mom some nice perfume,
for
myself my very own room,
for
my sister to just shut up,
and
for my dad to say yes to a pup.
I
wished for a trip to Disneyland
(without
my siblings, you understand)
I
wished to win the lottery
(but
I’m under 18...bye-bye shopping spree!).
I
wished for a mega ice cream cone
and
my very own telephone.
I
do wonder: did I overdo?
Only
one wish can come true!
What?
The first one little star?
All I am getting is a mute
guitar?!!!!!
INVICTUS
by William
Ernest Henley
Out
of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I
thank whatever gods may be
For
my unconquerable soul.
In
the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under
the ludgeoning of chance
My
head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond
this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And
yet the menace of the years
Finds
and shall find me unafraid
It
matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I
am the master of my fate,
I
am the captain of my soul.
*Note: We do not agree with the
humanistic views of this poem but believe that, with Christ as the
Captain of our soul, the strength this poem talks about can be
attained.*
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD
by William Wordsworth
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.
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
by James Whitcomb Riley
Little
Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’
wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’
shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’
make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’
all us other children, when the supper-things is done,
We
set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’
to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’
the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
Ef
you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
Wunst
they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,--
An’
when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His
Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’
when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An’
they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’
seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But
all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:--
An’
the Gobble-uns ’ll git you
Ef
you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An’
one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’
make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’
wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She
mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’
thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They
wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’
they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what
she’s about!
An’
the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef
you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
An’
little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’
the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’
you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’
the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You
better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’
churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’
he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er
the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef
you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
THE LADY OF SHALOTT
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;
And
up and down the people go,
Gazing
where the lilies blow
Round
an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows
whiten, aspens quiver,
Little
breezes dusk and shiver
Thro’
the wave that runs for 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
By
the margin, willow veil’d,
Slide
the heavy barges trail’d
By
slow horses; and unhail’d
The
shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But
who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or
at the casement seen her stand?
Or
is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only
reapers, reaping early
In
among the bearded barley,
Hear
a song that echoes cheerly
From
the river winding clearly,
Down to tower’d Camelot:
And
by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling
sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening,
whispers “ ‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott
PART II
There
she weaves by night and day
A
magic web with colours gay.
She
has heard a whisper say,
A
curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She
knows not what the curse may be,
And
so she weaveth steadily,
And
little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And
moving thro’ a mirror clear
That
hangs before her all the year,
Shadows
of the world appear.
There
she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There
the river eddy whirls,
And
there 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, went to 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
flamed 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 to 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 to Camelot.
As
often thro’ the purple night,
Below
the starry clusters bright,
Some
bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still 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 to Camelot.
From
the bank and from the river
He
flash’d into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra
lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot
She
left the web, she left the loom,
She
made three paces thro’ the room,
She
saw the water-lily 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;
Down
she came and found a boat
Beneath
a willow left afloat,
And
round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And
down the river’s dim expanse
Like
some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing
all his own mischance—
With
a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And
at the closing of the day
She
loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The
broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying,
robed in snowy white
That
loosely flew to left and right—
The
leaves upon her falling light—
Thro’
the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And
as the boat-head wound along
The
willowy hills and fields among,
They
heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard
a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted
loudly, chanted lowly,
Till
her blood was frozen slowly,
And
her eyes were darken’d wholly,
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
gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale
between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out
upon the wharfs they came,
Knight
and burgher, lord and dame,
And
round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who
is this? and what is here?
And
in the lighted palace near
Died
the sound of royal cheer;
And
they cross’d themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But
Lancelot mused a little space;
He
said, “She has a lovely face;
God
in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”
ELDORADO
by Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily
bedight,
A
gallant knight,
In
sunshine and in shadow,
Had
journeyed long,
Singing
a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But
he grew old—
This
knight so bold—
And
o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell
as he found
No
spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And,
as his strength
Failed
him at length,
He
met a pilgrim shadow—
‘Shadow,’
said he,
‘Where
can it be—
This land of Eldorado?’
‘Over
the Mountains
Of
the Moon,
Down
the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride,
boldly ride,’
The
shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’
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