New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1905-12-07
FORLORN.

C1GLCnN.
Some Specimens of Despair and
DesoIatjon in Poetry.
J. E. a. in The Academy
It would be very interesting to inquire what
is the most poignant and distressing situation
that has ever been pictured in poetry. We know
that the most haunting lines, those which stnB
themselves IN ones mind at moments Of acute
feeling, have come from some memory of utter
distress. The great poets are fruitful In such
situations. One thinks first perhaps of An
dromache dragged away after the death OF
Hector to be the thral of some strange lord, but
1t seems to me that the makers Of the old bal
laos were more successful than any others in
attaining the vividness which imprir IS things
like that on the memory. One or two situa-
lions appear to have been particularly favored
by them, and perhaps it is not strange that in
the majority of cases it should be one of the
weaker sex who is reduced to a state Of utter
despair and desolation. One thinks Of the
heart-cry of the woman in the Queens Maries."
Q little did my mither think,
The day she Graded me
Of the the d aaq5 Was Was to to das m
Here the distress of woman absolutely forlorn
IS pictured in a single stanza and it would be
easy 70 multiply examples or the same KIND
pathetic of the ballads Of which it is only neces
sary to quote the piuful last verse:
But had visit, before I k!st
That a love had had been sac i'll to win in sod
And pinn'd IT wi a siller pin.
And, Q! if my young babe were born
And set upon the nurses knee,
And | myself were dead and game
It reminds US in a curious manner of the triolet
by Mr.. Robert Bridges who, perhaps. when
he wrote it had some memory Of the old ballad
running through his mind:
When VII irst We net We did not guess
That Love would prove s So h2Fd aas master;
VI more IMAM common liisIluilnesS
Wben first we met We did not 9i.g Guess
r'his frretrievable disaster
- When first we met?-We did not guess
That love would prove SO hard q master.
The suffering here is different in kind from
that which is pictured in such a poem as The
Braes o. Yarr0w'' It is scarcely necessary to
recount the incidents narrated in that unforget-
table poem, which is equally fine whether the
completion was the work of Sir Walter Scott
or not. It Is said that he wrote the first four
iines If So he was most successful in catching
the spirit Of the old ballad:
Late at sen sen d dr5 Ing the hs wine
They sat az a combat them between,
TO fight it in the dawing.
The climax of distress is reached when the
"winsone marrow finds the body of her knight:
she kiss'd his cheek. she hain,'d his hair,
She search,d his wounds all thorough
on the dowie houms Of YarrOw.
Now baud your tongue, my daughter deaTl
I'll wed We to a better lord,
Than him We lost on Yarrow.
20 baud your tongue, my father dearI
Ye mind me but of sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom
Than lies cropp'd on Yarow.
Very much the same position is reached in the
we find complete tragedy expressed within the
space of round score of lines. Wen known
though 1t IS, I should like to duotG the whole
of it; but space fOrbids The point 70 which
attention IS directed at the present moment lies
In the last stanza:
Since that my lovely knight IS slain;
iii chain my heart for ever MAR
In the 'Twa Corbies' we get the stern reality
without the softening effect of wOman's tears:
As was walking. all alane 49,
Where sail we gang and dine to-day?"
IN behint yon aud fail dyke.
And naebody kens that he lies there.
But his hawk, his hound and lady fair.
..TIis hound is to the hunting game.
His hawk to fetch the wild fowl haTne
So we may max our dinner sweet.
yen Sit On his E5its ,I hagsf ni5,a Cen
Wen theek our nest when it grows bare.
''AIony a one for him makes name,
But name sail ken where he is game;
Th S5 Wind 5h5 E sail bI a.1a for everInafr
The charm of the ballads lies very much IN
the fact that they deal with those simple eIe-
mentary grtefs and joys that mean so much 10
the people who are civilized as they did TO those
who rude and primitive. l often nave
thought, because the line frequently comes
back to my memory, that the very simple ending
of Chevy Chase is Of the most pathetic
in literature. And this was the end of their
hunting" But perhaps that may be because OF
the wide application which can be made OF TINS
phrase. How often and in what different cir
cum stances is one able to say: And THIS was
the end of their hunting" IF I were IN a ser
monizing mood. but
There is another very simple old ballad that
has always seemed to me most affecting, but
it was one Of those chanted TO me by an old
woman who could neither read nor write. and
who had obtained a knowledge of ballads exclu-
svely from tradition. The one 1 refer to is
Lord Randall:
o Nfera haze ye been. my handsome young mani
81 haze been 10 the wildwood; mother make my
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain valid lie
dOun'
where gat ye your dinner Lord Randall. my son:
Where gat ye your dinner. sIny handsome young
81 ained with my true love; mother. make my bed
For T I'm weary VT hunting, and fam wald lie
DOM.
What cat ye to your dinner. Lord Randall, my |
what sq cat ye to your dinner, my handsome young
81 cat m ees boird in broo; mother, make my bed
For I'm I'm weary WI hunting and fain waid lie |
dOUn.