Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

Thomas Hardy, the son of a stonemason, was born in Dorset, England, on June 2, 1840. He trained as an architect and worked in London and Dorset for ten years. Hardy began his writing career as a novelist, publishing Desperate Remedies in 1871, and was soon successful enough to leave the field of architecture for writing. His novels Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1891) andJude the Obscure (1895), which are considered literary classics today, received negative reviews upon publication and Hardy was criticized for being too pessimistic and preoccupied with sex. He left fiction writing for poetry, and published eight collections, including Wessex Poems (1898) and Satires of Circumstance (1912).[1]

• The Poetry Foundation

• Poets.org

• The Victorian Web

• Hardy's works

Robert Browning (1812-1889)

Robert Browning was an English poet and playwright born in Camberwell, London in 1812.  He was an intelligent child who was fluent in five languages by the age of fourteen. He was also passionate about poetry and was a talented musician, composing arrangements of several songs as well as writing poetry.

In 1845 he met the far more established poet Elizabeth Barrett, they married secretly a year later and moved to Italy, during which time they both wrote extensively. However, his poems made little impact until 1861, when, after Elizabeth’s death he returned to England.  His subsequent publication The Ring and the Book, published in four volumes was a huge success, cementing his reputation as one of the foremost Victorian poets, alongside his wife.  He died at his and Elizabeth’s son’s home in Venice, Italy in 1889.[1]

• The Victorian Web

• Poets.org

• The Poetry Foundation

• His works

Introduction to the Victorian Period

In this post you can find some additional information to what we discussed in class.

For more information on the Victorian Period, access The Victorian Web.

• The Poor Law

http://www.bbc.co.uk/schools/gcsebitesize/history/shp/britishsociety/thepoorrev1.shtml

• Thomas Falkner

About him

To read his diary, click here.

• Leopoldo Brizuela

An interview

Synopsis: Inglaterra, una fábula

• Macauly Act

http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00generallinks/macaulay/txt_minute_education_1835.html

• "Lie back and think of England"

http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/close-your-eyes-and-think-of-england.html

• Realism

http://www.online-literature.com/periods/realism.php

• Symbolism

http://www.theartstory.org/movement-symbolism.htm

Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

Alfred, Lord Tennyson was Queen Victoria's poet laureate. His lasting works include "Ulysses," "The Lady of Shalott," and Idylls of the King. [1]

• Poets.org

• The Poetry Foundation

• The Victorian Web

• His works

"The Impercipient" by Thomas Hardy

The Impercipient

Thomas Hardy

THAT from this bright believing band
An outcast I should be,
That faiths by which my comrades stand
Seem fantasies to me,
And mirage-mists their Shining Land,	5
Is a drear destiny.
Why thus my soul should be consigned
To infelicity,
Why always I must feel as blind
To sights my brethren see,	10
Why joys they’ve found I cannot find,
Abides a mystery.
Since heart of mine knows not that ease
Which they know; since it be
That He who breathes All’s Well to these	15
Breathes no All’s Well to me,
My lack might move their sympathies
And Christian charity!
I am like a gazer who should mark
An inland company	20
Standing upfingered, with, “Hark! hark!
The glorious distant sea!”
And feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark
And wind-swept pine to me!”
Yet I would bear my shortcomings	25
With meet tranquillity,
But for the charge that blessed things
I’d liefer have unbe.
O, doth a bird deprived of wings
Go earth-bound wilfully!     .      .      .      .	30
Enough. As yet disquiet clings
About us. Rest shall we.

Source: http://www.bartleby.com/121/43.html

Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

Biographies:

• Poetry Foundation
• Poets.org
• The Victorian Web

To read Hardy's works, click here.

"My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning

"How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Source: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/how-do-i-love-thee-sonnet-43



To read more about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, click here and here.
To read her works, click here.

"My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning

My Last Duchess
BY ROBERT BROWNING

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech—which I have not—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretense

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173024

"Prospice" by Robert Browning

Prospice

BY ROBERT BROWNING

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,

         The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

         I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm,

         The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

         Yet the strong man must go:

For the journey is done and the summit attained,

         And the barriers fall,

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,

         The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,

         The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore,

         And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers

         The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears

         Of pain, darkness and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,

         The black minute's at end,

And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave,

         Shall dwindle, shall blend,

Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,

         Then a light, then thy breast,

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,

         And with God be the rest!

Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173029

Robert Browning (1812–1889)

Biographies:

• poets.org
• Poetry Foundation
• The Victorian Web

To read the works of Robert Browning, click here.

Introduction to the Victorian Era

I include in this post some of the things mentioned in class in the introduction to the Victorian Era.

For more information on the Victorian Era, you can acces The Victorian Web.

To read the poem "The White Man's Burden" by Rudyard Kipling, click here.

To read more about Jemmy Button and the Fuegians, click here and here.

To read more about El placer de la cautiva by Leopoldo Brizuela, click here.

To read The Virgin and the Gipsy by D. H. Lawrence, click here.

"Crossing the Bar" by Tennyson

Crossing the Bar

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Sunset and evening star,

      And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

      When I put out to sea,

   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

      Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

      Turns again home.

   Twilight and evening bell,

      And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

      When I embark;

   For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

      The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

      When I have crost the bar.

Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174588

"The Lady of Shalott"

To read the lyrics, click here.

To read the poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson, click here.

Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

Biographies:

• poets.org
• Poetry Foundation
• The Victorian Web

To read the works of Lord Alfred Tennyson, click here.