Newspapers / Gardner-Webb University Student Newspaper / Dec. 1, 1953, edition 1 / Page 11
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L t T ERA RY Literature is the Essence of All History Expressions of praise and appreciation from so many concerning the Literary Section of last issue, and its offer ings have been truly gratifying and encouraging. We, the literary editors, members of the PILOT staff, and contribu tors find the true reward for all endeavor in such apprecia tive recipience. Decision has been made by the Editorial Board of the PILOT that awards will ba made at the conclusion of the school year for the best literary works published by the 1953- 54 PILOT. There will be two such awards. The Tributum Pilotum Pro Excellentia Poetica will be given for the best poem written during the year, and the Tributum Pilotum Pro Excellentia Liltera will be given for the best essay, short story, play, etc. The medals will be given according to the decision of a faculty committee. The members of which are Professors Francis B. Dedmon, and J. Y. Ham rick, Mrs. Dana Harris, and Dr. Phil Elliott. Only those works published by the PILOT will be considered for selec tion by the judges. No special consideration will be given to the works of those persons in any way affiliated with the PILOT or the Gardner-Webb Department of English, and each student has an equal opportunity for selection as re cipient of either or both of the awards. A word of thanks to Mr. Meredith Henderson, and Dr. T. C. Holland for their assistance in naming our awards. Since the last publication of the PILOT, a member of the faculty suggested that one immortally great poem with commentary be published each issue. According to this sug gestion, the following appears as feature in this issue. The Romantic Period of English Literature represented a complete revolt against the view, both of society and of literature, possessed by the classicists. The importance of personal feeling and emotion, which had been recognized during the Transition Period, was an even more marked characteristic of the romantic point of view. The classicist had sought as his ideal the general, the impersonal, the typical; the romanticist, on the other hand, strove to express his ow'n personality and to give voice to his own reactions on life, regardless of whether he followed the established rules of literature or of society. To be specific in our comparison of the Classical to the Romantic, whereas the classicist had sought to view the world objectively, the romanticist was apt to be highly subjective in his attitude toward himself and his fellows. His test of things was more often his heart than his head, his emotio :s than his reason. In short, he was likely to be an individualist. As a result romantic poetry and prose are frequently most interesting for the view they give us of the writer’s own opinions, prejudices, hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows. John Keat’s “Ode to a Nightingale” is one of the most beautiful of the Romantic odes. The almost fragrant mix ture of joy and sorrow is sweet to all the senses. We invite you to a sphere of the sublime for Keat’s immortal. First a historical comment, concerning its composition. In the spring of 1819 Keats was visiting a friend in whose garden a nightingale was building her nest. He was deeply moved by the sweetness and gladness of the nightingale’s singing. One morning, on leaving the breakfast table, he went into the garden, took his seat under a tree, and several hours later came back to the house with the “Ode to a Night ingale” written off on two half sheets of paper. The tone of sadness that pervades the poem is probably due to the re cent death from tuberculosis of Keat’s loved brother, Tom; to Keat’s own danger from the same disease; and to his hopeless love for the lady of his heart, Fanny Brawne. The poem has won universal praise because of its mel ody, its rich imagery, and its perfect combination of beauty and sadness. It is no exaggeration to say that this great poem has brought home the mystery and magic of poetic beauty to more readers than has any other in English poetry. We invite you now through the enchanted door to enchanted lands beyond. "Ode To A Nightingale" By JOHN KEATS My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains Oie minute past, a id Lsthe-wards had sunk; ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. But being too happy in thine happiness. That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees. In some melodious plot of beechen green. And shadows numbsriess, singest of summer in Full-throated ease. (John, drinking the bubbling beauty of the Nightingale’s song is swayed almost to tears. He silently wishes his song could be so sweet.) 0 for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age i i the deep-delved earth, Tasti'ig of Flora, and the country green. Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 0 for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. And purple-stained mouth; that I might drink. And leave the world unseen, and with thee Fade away into the forest dim: (The poet wishes for the cup that he might drink and as a result of the magical drafe escape with the Nightingale.) Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget, What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs. Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes. Or new love pine at them beyond tomorrow. (To oblivion, let fade the failures of being a mortal, and the sorrow of old age, impossible faithfulness, and death.) Away! Away! for I will fly to thee. Not charioted by Bacchus, and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy. (Bacchus, the God of wine, who rides in a chariot pulled by Leopards, is not necessary, as the poet will ride in the magical cart of poetry.) Though the dull brain perplexes and retards; Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne. Clustered around by all her starry Fays; (The poet is saying that the “viewless wings of poesy” have given him flight and his presenc* is now with the bird.) from verse We Grow Strong! Page 10
Gardner-Webb University Student Newspaper
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Dec. 1, 1953, edition 1
11
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