Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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2 The Augusta Seminary Annual. He reminds us of his own Canace, for we feel when he heard the birds sing, that right anon, he wiste what they ment, Right by hir song, and knew all hir entent. We expect him to say — So was I with the song Thorow ravished, that till late and longe Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where. Rejoicing mth a happy, childish joy, he does not stop to analyze his feelings or muse upon the influences of Xature ; he gives only the direct impression made upon the eye and ear ; he knows noth- ing of the burthen of the mystery Of all this unintelligible world. To him the cuckoo was a bird making glad the spring-tiuie, not an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery. It told to him no tale of visionary hours ; to him the daisy brought a smile, not thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. All about him is the freshness of a dream, all around him trail the clouds of glory ; the shades of the prison-house have not yet begun to close upon the growing boy; he simply revels in the sunshine while he sings a song as joyous and unpre- meditated as- that of the birds themselves. Chaucer belongs to the spring, to the Maytime of English poetry, but we tiirn the leaves of history and our eyes rest upon another who has learned to look on Xature not as in the hour of thought- less youth, upon one to whose ears comes oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. It is in Wordsworth that we find the maturity of the love whose childhood we have seen in Chaucer. Wordsworth does not paint Mature, but arrests and interprets its impressions. He is not, says Hutton, specifically the poet of Nature, nor the poet of Man, nor the poet of Truth, nor the poet of Religion ; he is the poet of all separate, living emanations

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THE AUGUSTA Seminary Annual. Vol. III. Staunton, Va., May, 1893. No. 1. The Love of Nature in English Poetry : Its Beginning in Chaucee, Its Culmination in Wordsworth. IN Chaucer we find the childhood of the love of Xature — a love which, becoming then for the first time a distinct element in English poetry, grew and strengthened with the growth of the nation. It was almost lost sight of, it is true, in Shakespeare ' s time, when man and his passions became the all-absorbing theme ; and, in Queen Anne ' s age, when striving after artistic form, the poets abandoned every higher aim. But still living and develop- ing, though little noticed, this love of ISTature existed, and in Wordsworth we find its serene and perfect maturity. There is a frankness and a freshness in Chaucer not found else- where. He takes a true dehght in the new green of the leaves and the return of the birds. Whan that the month of May Is comen, and that I here the foules singe, And that the floures ginnen for to springe, Farwel my book, and my devocioun, he says, and, as we follow him through the woods and meadows and see his light-hearted, wholly unconscious joy, we need not to have him tell us : As for mine entent, The birddes song was more convenient, And more pleasaunt to me by many fold, Than meat or drinke, or any other thing.

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The Augusta Seminary Annual. 3. from Nature, or from JVIan, or from God. Hence, when we study AVordsworth we must turn with him to Those obstinate questionings of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized. High instincts before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised. He nev6r humanized, as did Cliaucer, the spirits of natural ob- jects ; no fairy bands pass before him in tlie forest, some wearing the badge of the flower, others of the leaf ; no nymphs ai-e in his rivers, no dryads in his trees. It is true His daily teachers had been woods and rills. The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills; But, having felt the deep emotions caused by these outward things, he studies out their meaning, and there comes a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : A motion and a spirit. If we wish to follow him we must learn to look on Natm ' e with that inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude, for in him was fulfilled the prophesy he made of his sister, his wild ecstacies were matured into a sober pleasm-e, his mind was a mansion for all lovely forms, his memory had become a dwelling-place for all sweet sounds and harmonies. Elizabeth T. Xewman.