=Biography.= Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) was poet laureate of England, succeeding Wordsworth. This means that he was appointed to write poems about matters of national interest, such as his ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington; and that he also expressed something of the national spirit of England, as in his poems about King Arthur (_The Idylls of the King_) and in many poems about his native land. He was born in Lincolnshire and studied at Trinity College, Cambridge. He lived a quiet life and devoted himself to poetry, in which he excelled in beauty of expression and choice of words. You will learn to know him as a teller of tales in verse, these tales being both modern ballads and romances about King Arthur; as a writer of many lovely song-poems or lyrics; and as a poet of religious faith. =Note.= The song-thrush, or throstle, is found in most parts of England, and is one of the finest songsters in Europe. Its note is rich and mellow. This is the bird of which Browning wrote, “He sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!” =Discussion.= 1. Which lines in the first stanza represent the song of the bird? 2. Which line gives Tennyson’s answer to the throstle? 3. Point out the words in the poem that represent the bird’s song. 4. Which lines tell you that Tennyson did not share the little bird’s hope? 5, What do the last two lines show that the bird did for the poet? =Phrases= wild little Poet, 49, 4 carol so madly, 49, 8 never a prophet so crazy, 49, 10 winters are hidden, 49, 16 TO THE CUCKOO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH O blithe newcomer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice; O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice? While I am lying on the grass, Thy twofold shout I hear; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my schoolboy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways, In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still long’d for, never seen! And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blesséd bird! the earth we pace, Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place, That is fit home for thee! NOTES AND QUESTIONS