There's a fir-wood here, and a dog-rose

there, And a note of the mating dove; And a glimpse, maybe, of the warm blue

sea, And the warm white clouds above; And warm to your breast in a tenderer nest

Your sweetheart's little glove. There's not much better to win, my lad,

There's not much better to win! You have lived, you have loved, you have

fought, you have proved The worth of folly and sin; So now come out of the city's rout,

Come out of the dust and the din.
Come out-a bundle and stick is all

You'll need to carry along,
If your heart can carry a kindly word,

And your lips can carry a song;
You may leave the lave to the keep o' the

grave, If your lips can carry a song! Come, choose your road and away, my lad,

Come, choose your road and away! We'll out of the town by the road's bright

crown, As it dips to the sapphire day! All roads may meet at the world's end,

But, hey for the heart of the May! Come, choose your road and away, dear lad,

Come, choose your road and away.

God sends his teachers unto every age,
To every clime, and every race of men,
With revelations fitted to their growth
And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of

Into the selfish rule of one sole race;
Therefore each form of worship that hath

swayed The life of man, and given it to grasp The master-key of knowledge, reverence, Enfolds some germs of goodness and of

right; Else never had the eager soul, which

loathes The slothful down of pampered ignorance, Found in it even a moment's fitful rest.






There is an instinct in the human heart Which makes that all the fables it hath

coined, To justify the reign of its belief And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful

hands, Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. For, as in Nature naught is made in vain, 20 But all things have within their hull of


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A wisdom and a meaning which may speak
Of spiritual secrets to the ear
Of spirit; so, in whatsoe'er the heart
Hath fashioned for a solace to itself,
To make its inspirations suit its creed,
And from the niggard hands of falsehood

wring Its needful food of truth, there ever is A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light

30 And earnest parables of inward lore. Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, As full of gracious youth and beauty still As the immortal freshness of that grace Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 35 But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak,

63. lave, rest.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS 1. What is there about a spring day that gives you an impulse to follow a road out to the sunshine and the air? Do you like this comparison of the choosing of a life work with the choosing of a road in springtime?

2. What is 'suggested by the fact that the road "rolls through the heart of May”? What is meant by “the year's green fire"? What details does the poet bring in to show how wholly delightful the road is? Explain line 36.

3. What effect has the repetition in the last stanza of the first lines of the poem? Notice the use of color words, such as "sapphire day," "warm blue sea," "long white road"; find others.

4. Do you enjoy a poem that has a hidden meaning underneath the surface? Name some other poem you have read that is similar in this respect.

18. hazel twig, a reference to the belief that a hazel branch carried in the hand will indicate, by a downward twitch, the presence of water underground. hull of use, rough outside which covers and protects the important part. 85. Attic, here, Grecian; Attica was a division of ancient Greece.

75 And not a sound came to his straining ears But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, And far away upon an emerald slope The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe.




A youth named Rhæcus, wandering in

the wood, Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, He propped its gray trunk with admiring

care, And with a thoughtless footstep loitered

on. But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind That murmured "Rhæcus!" 'Twas as if

the leaves, Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured

it, And, while he paused bewildered, yet again It murmured "Rhæcus!" softer than a

breeze. He started, and beheld with dizzy eyes What seemed the substance of a happy

dream Stand there before him, spreading a warm

glow Within the green glooms of the shadowy

oak. It seemed a woman's shape, yet far too fair To be a woman, and with eyes too meek For any that were wont to mate with gods. All naked like a goddess stood she there, And like a goddess all too beautiful To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. “Rhæcus, I am the Dryad of this tree,” 56 Thus she began, dropping her low-toned

words Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew, And with it I am doomed to live and die; The rain and sunshine are my caterers, Nor have I other bliss than simple life; Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can

give, And with a thankful joy it shall be thine."

Now, in those days of simpleness and faith,

80 Men did not think that happy things were

dreams Because they overstepped the narrow

bourne Of likelihood, but reverently deemed Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful To be the guerdon of a daring heart. So Rhæcus made no doubt that he was

blest, And all along unto the city's gate Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he

walked, The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its

wont, And he could scarce believe he had not

wings, Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his

veins Instead of blood, so light he felt and








Young Rhæcus had a faithful heart

enough, But one that in the present dwelt too much, And, taking with blithe welcome whatso

e'er Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in

that, Like the contented peasant of a vale, Deemed it the world, and never looked be

yond. So, haply meeting in the afternoon Some comrades who were playing at the

dice, He joined them and forgot all else beside.


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Answered: “What is there that can satisfy The endless craving of the soul but love? Give me thy love, or but the hope of that Which must be evermore my spirit's goal.” After a little pause she said again, 70 But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, "I give it, Rhæcus, though a perilous gift; An hour before the sunset meet me here. And straightway there was nothing he

could see

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As if to light. And Rhæcus laughed and And he who scorns the least of Nature's said,

works Feeling how red and flushed he was with Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. loss,

Farewell! for thou canst never see me “By Venus! does he take me for a rose?”

more.” And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand.

Then Rhæcus beat his breast, and But still the bee came back, and thrice groaned aloud, again

And cried, “Be pitiful! forgive me yet Rhæcus did beat him off with growing This once, and I shall never need it more!” wrath.

“Alas!” the voice returned, “'tis thou art Then through the window flew the

blind, wounded bee,

Not I unmerciful; I can forgive, And Rhæcus, tracking him with angry But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; eyes,

Only the soul hath power o'er itself.” Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 115 With that again there murmured “NeverAgainst the red disk of the setting sun

more!" And instantly the blood sank from his And Rhæcus after heard no other sound heart,

Except the rattling of the oak's crisp As if its very walls had caved away.


150 Without a word he turned, and, rushing Like the long surf upon a distant shore, forth,

Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. Ran madly through the city and the gate, The night had gathered round him; o'er And o'er the plain, which now the wood's

the plain long shade,

The city sparkled with its thousand lights, By the low sun thrown forward broad and And sounds of revel fell upon his ear dim,

Harshly and like a curse; above, the sky, Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. With all its bright sublimity of stars,

Deepened, and on his forehead smote the

breeze; Quite spent and out of breath he reached

Beauty was all around him and delight, the tree,

But from that eve he was alone on earth. And, listening fearfully, he heard once

138-9. Compare with “The Ancient Mariner," stanza more The low voice murmur“Rhæcus!" close at hand;

NOTES AND QUESTIONS Whereat he looked around him, but could

1. Judging from the first line of the poem, see Naught but the deepening glooms beneath

what is the nature of the story following the

introduction? Why is ignorance represented as the oak.

resting upon “slothful down"? What does the Then sighed the voice: “Oh, Rhæcus!

poet say of each form of worship adopted by nevermore

men? How much of truth does he say is shown Shalt thou behold me or by day or night, 130 to the minds of all races? Me, who would fain have blessed thee with 2. What poems have you studied in which a love

something in Nature brings home a great truth More ripe and bounteous than ever yet -in which trees or flowers direct the thoughts Filled up with nectar any mortal heart;

to higher things? But thou didst scorn my humble messenger,

3. What does the first act of Rhæcus tell And sent'st him back to me with bruiséd

you as to the kind of young man he was?

Describe what he saw as he turned to answer wings.

the voice. Why was his wish a natural one? We spirits only show to gentle eyes, Read aloud the lines that tell of Rhæcus's We ever ask an undivided love,

great happiness.

4. What does the striking of the bee tell Thessaly, one of the divisions of ancient Greece. you about Rhæcus? How is his apparent for.






getfulness explained? Read aloud the Dryad's reproach. What meaning do you see for others besides Rhæcus in the lines "And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all”?

5. Read the description given each time the Dryad disappeared. Does the poet make you feel sorry for Rhæcus? Does he make you feel that Rhæcus's punishment was deserved? Why could he not be given another chance?



Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods


Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him; The thorn-tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came.




Make thee to shudder and grow sick at

heartGo forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all

around Earth and her waters, and the depths of

airComes a still voice

Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many

tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee,

shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering

up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod which the rude

swain Turns with his share and treads upon. The

oak Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy

mold. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou

wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie

down With patriarchs of the infant world—with

kings, The powerful of the earth—the wise, the

good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the

vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty; and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured

round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy wasteAre but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden

sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that


Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him

last, From under the trees they drew Him last, 'Twas on a tree they slew him-last, When out of the woods He came.





WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she

speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 5 Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When

thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow




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Like one who wraps the drapery of his

couch About him, and lies down to pleasant



The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the

wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no

sound Save his own dashings—yet the dead are

there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them

down In their last sleep—the dead reign there

alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou with

draw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that

breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will

laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 1. Name some of the “visible forms" of Nature. What does Bryant say Nature does for those who love her? What does he mean?

2. What is meant by “the last bitter hour,” line 9? To what does the poet advise us to listen when the thought of death seems terrible? Who will be able to hear this still voice?

3. In the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes we read, “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God Who gave it.” Read lines from “Thanatopsis" which show that the poet was thinking of the first part of this quotation. What lines tell of those lying in that "mighty sepulcher"?.

4. To make us understand that death is everywhere, the poet says that the earth is a tomb; what things are the decorations of this tomb? What comparison does the poet make between the number of the living and the number of the dead? Why does he mention the Barcan wilderness and the region of the Oregon River as having their dead?

5. In what lines does the call to action come? To what kind of life does the poet urge us? Why? What kind of action will make such a life?

Class Reading. Bring to class and read “Crossing the Bar," Tennyson; “Requiem," Stevenson.

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(A Song from As You Like It)

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 5

Here shall he see

No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i' the sun,

10 Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see
No enemy

15 But winter and rough weather.


88 Ore

81. Barcan, along the river Barca in Africa. son, the river now called the Columbia

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