How sweet thy scenes on every hand! How fair thy covering skies! But not for this, oh, not for these, I love thy fields to roam,Thou hast a dearer spell to me,— Thou art my native home! The rivers roll their liquid wealth, Thy hills and valleys bloom with health, But, not for thy proud ocean streams, I've stood beneath Italia's clime, And thou hast prouder glories, too, Peace sheds o'er thee her genial dew, These, these endear thee to my heart,My own, loved native home! And "heaven's best gift to man" is thine,- Like sylvan flowers, they sweetly shine,— Land of the South-imperial land!— But should it come, there's one will die, O Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman Walt Whitman was born in Long Island, May 31, 1819. He was a journalist and publisher in New York for some years, during which time he wrote a number of poems. He did not attain financial success, however, and died in extreme poverty in 1892. This poem was written upon the occasion of the death of Abraham Lincoln, April 14, 1865, just as his great task of piloting the Ship of State through the storms of the rebellion seemed to be finished. It is full of the emotion of deepest grief and would best be read from manuscript. Read it with all the genuine emotional power you have, but be careful not to fall into melodrama or bathos. A certain subdued and tense tone is appropriate at places. The time is slow, the pitch predominately low. O CAPTAIN! My Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; 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! Oh, the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, 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; Here Captain! dear father! It is some dream that on the deck My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will: This ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship, comes in with object won: Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. Recessional Rudyard Kipling Rudyard Kipling was born at Bombay, India, in 1865. He was sent to England to receive his education, but later returned to India and engaged in journalism. In 1880 he became an editor of the Civil and Military Gazette, making his contributions both in prose and verse. Later these were published in book form under the title of "Departmental Ditties," "Plain Tales from the Hills," and "Soldiers Three." For some time he made his home in the United States, but has since lived in England. Besides his many books of poetry and short stories, for which he is most famous, he has written a number of novels, among which may be mentioned, "Kim," and "The Light That Failed." The occasion of this poem was the celebration in England of the sixtieth anniversary of Queen Victoria's reign, known as the "Diamond Jubilee." Representatives from all parts of the British Empire assembled at London in 1897 to do honor to the occasion. David Starr Jordan calls this poem "the noblest hymn of the century." As a general rule-exceptions being found in stanzas 2 and 3-the rising inflection should be maintained in each stanza until the prayer, or the direct invocation, is reached in the last two lines. The falling inflection should be used on "yet" (for the purpose of emphasis), also on "forget" in each instance. Try the effect of placing very strong emphasis on the first "forget," and then making the clause that follows an echo of the first, with less pronounced emphasis on any one word. Note that special emphasis is required on "Thee," in stanzas 4 and 5. The "reeking tube and iron shard" (line 2, stanza 5) refer to cannon and battleships, the latter being much in evidence upon the occasion which inspired this poem. GOD of our fathers, known of old- The tumult and the shouting dies- |