Chapter 24

READING POETRY

Nothing so brings out the music and the structural beauty of poetry as reading it aloud, and many who have cared nothing for verse in any of its forms learn to love it when they hear it read frequently by a sympathetic voice. Children love the nursery rhymes largely because they have heard them and have caught the sound and rhythm more than the meaning. It is the lively music more than the whimsical meaning that has made the rhymes popular. When the time comes that children begin to lose their interest and consider poetry beneath them, their flagging attention often may be aroused and new interest created by simply reading new selections aloud to them and talking with them about the meaning and beauties of the poems.

On page 410 of Volume One is Longfellow's exquisite poem, _The Reaper and the Flowers_. We can imagine a little family group reading this some quiet evening when the lamp throws shadows into the corners and the bed-time hour draws near. No one could call the children in on a fine summer day, and, when fresh from their play, the blood is bounding through their veins, expect them to be touched by delicate sentiment, or to appreciate musical numbers. Literature has something for every hour, every mood, every circumstance. It may be that there is one little vacant chair in this family circle, or that from some neighbor's family a child has gone. Fear clutches at the youthful hearts and Grief shudders behind each chair. Even the warm bed in the dark room is a dread, for we have so surrounded death with mystery and terror that even the young are aghast when it is mentioned. But our best-loved poet has a cheering message for every one, and into this little group the parent brings it. In soft and sympathetic voice he reads aloud, giving the slow and gentle music of the lines time to steal into the youthful hearts.

As he reads, he pauses now and then to speak to his little audience, watching ever not to be sharp in his questionings or anything but kindly in his comments. Something like the following might be the way he brings out the meaning:

"'There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.'

"A _Reaper_--a man walking in the grain, cutting it as he goes. Not with a machine such as we see on the farm nowadays, but with a short curved blade which the poet calls a sickle. It is a _keen_ blade the sickle has, and with every stroke ripened grain and all the little flowers that have grown up among it fall to the ground. But the poet means more. He thinks that the Reaper is Death, that the _bearded grain_ is the men and women who have lived to a ripe old age and who are ready to die, ready for the rewards of a long and well-spent life. But alas, the _flowers_ fall with the ripened grain: sometimes little children must die, although dearly would we like to keep them with us.

"Then the Reaper speaks: 'Shall I have nothing fair and beautiful, must I have nothing but dry and bearded grain? I love these beautiful flowers; their fragrance is dear to me. Yet I will give them back again; some time you may see them again.'

"So Death looked at the little children with tears filling his kindly eyes. As they faded and drooped he kissed them gently and took them softly and sorrowfully into his arms. He was gathering these lovely innocents to take them to his Lord, where in Paradise they might be happy evermore, without any of the privations and sufferings that come to every one who grows up.

"As he wept, not for the little children, but for all who stay behind, he continued to speak smilingly through his tears to the sorrowing ones on earth:

"'Christ needs these dear ones, these flowerets gay: to him they are tokens dear of the earth where once he played and sang on the hills of Judea. Can you not trust them to him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the Kingdom of God?" Have no fear; I am but moving them into the bright heavenly mansions, where they shall rest safely in the bosoms of the saints and angels.'

"And the mother, who loved them so, gave up her darling ones, for she saw, even through her tears, how happy they must be in their new home.

"'O not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day;'

it was a young and beautiful Angel, not the hideous Death in black robes and hood scarce hiding his bony head, that

"'visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.'

"Does Death seem so terrible now? Although we must always see the vacant chair and know that a loved one has gone forever, can we not realize that it is we who suffer, and not the one who has been taken from among us? Is it not selfish to grieve?"

Shall we fear Death any more? When the parent has read the poem once more from beginning to end in silence, except as the soft words fall from his lips, will not the hearers feel inspired to be better and nobler boys and girls, men and women? Will darkness have more fear for them? Will they not then go to their rooms and lie down peacefully to sleep?

There are other poems for other hours. Some day when you wish a bit of fun with your children you will find humorous poems in many of the books. One is in Volume IV, on page 57. Nearly every stanza contains a "joke": a pun, if you please, usually. Perhaps you and your children will find them all easily, and perhaps you will not. In the last stanza is the "joke" proper, the thing for which the rhymes were written. It is an old joke, surely enough, and you have seen others like it; but it is funny still and perhaps a little caustic. Not all men whom the world calls good are good beneath the surface. Perhaps you know of cases in which "the Dog it was that died."

Another humorous poem to use in this connection is _Echo_ (Volume III, page 286).

Between the two extremes mentioned above are selections for all moods and all kinds of people. The things to be remembered in reading with children are, that poetry must be understood to be appreciated; that it must be heard until the mind is trained to receive it through the eye instead of the ear; that it appeals to the feelings more than to the will; that it must be interpreted by the light of experience, and hence must be adapted to the age of the reader. A person would not read _The Reaper and the Flowers_ at a dancing party, nor _The Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog_ before a funeral.

Below are a few studies more complete and of different types.

_The Brown Thrush_

(Volume I, page 147)

We find great charm in this short lyric, for its form is unusual, its music joyous and its sentiment fine. Three lines of four feet each, a line of three feet, two lines of two feet each, and one line of three feet make up each stanza. The accent in each foot is on the last syllable, but some of the feet are only two syllables long. It's a merry meter. It scarcely can be read without stirring a rollicking melody in the ears of the listener. That's the art in the poem. The sentiment is as fine as the music. "The world's running over with joy! I'm as happy as happy can be." If the little brown thrush keeps singing that song the heart of everyone who hears it will overflow with joy. But it would be easy, very easy indeed, to stop the joyous song of the thrush by meddling with the five pretty eggs, and when the thrush changed his happy song to harsh notes of fear and reproach, the light of joy would fade from our day as quickly as from his.

_The Child's World_

(Volume II, page 66)

The unique measures of this brief poem make a melodious whole that every child will appreciate. Unless some care is taken in reading it aloud, however, much of its beauty will be lost. This is particularly true of the first stanza, from the first and last lines of which a syllable has been omitted. The absence of these syllables must be indicated by pauses or by giving more time to the word "great" in the first line, and to the word "world" in the last line. The idea may be indicated by supposing that the word "O" has been omitted from the beginning of the first and last line. The first line of the last couplet is peculiar in that every one of the four feet contains three syllables with the accent on the last. All the other lines consist each of four feet of either two or three syllables. Technically the poem is anapestic tetrameter much varied by the introduction of iambic feet. (See the studies in meter,