Thanksgiving Songs!

Hello everyone –

I’m sending out this week’s regularly scheduled Quotemail early because of the University’s Fall Break. Submitted for your enjoyment is a trio of Thanksgiving songs (yes, “Jingle Bells” was actually written as a Thanksgiving song, not a Yuletide carol). J

“Over the River and Through the Wood” (1844)

By Lydia Maria Child (1802-1880)

Over the river, and through the wood,

To Grandfather's house we go;

the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh

through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

to Grandfather's house away!

We would not stop for doll or top,

for 'tis Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood—

oh, how the wind does blow!

It stings the toes and bites the nose

as over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood—

and straight through the barnyard gate,

We seem to go extremely slow,

it is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood—

When Grandmother sees us come,

She will say, "O, dear, the children are here,

bring a pie for everyone."

Over the river, and through the wood—

now Grandmother's cap I spy!

Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?

Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

“Simple Gifts” (1848)

By Shaker Elder Joseph Brackett, Jr. (1797-1882)

1. 'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

Refrain: 

When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right.

2. 'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,
And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,
Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,

Refrain

3. 'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,
'Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me,"
And when we hear what others really think and really feel,
Then we'll all live together with a love that is real. 

Refrain

“Jingle Bells” (1857)

By James Lord Pierpont (1822-1893)

1. Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

O'er the hills we go

Laughing all the way.

Bells on bobtail ring

Making spirits bright

Oh what sport to ride and sing

A sleighing song tonight.

Chorus:

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Jingle all the way!

O what joy it is to ride

In a one-horse open sleigh.

2. A day or two ago

I thought I'd take a ride

And soon Miss Fannie Bright

Was seated by my side

The horse was lean and lank

Misfortune seemed his lot

He got into a drifted bank

And we - we got upsot

Chorus

3. A day or two ago

The story I must tell

I went out on the snow

And on my back I fell

A gent was riding by

In a one-horse open sleigh

He laughed as there I sprawling lie

But quickly drove away

Chorus

4. Now the ground is white

Go it while you're young

Take the girls tonight

And sing this sleighing song

Just get a bobtailed bay

Two forty is his speed

Hitch him to an open sleigh

And crack! You'll take the lead.

Chorus

Happy Fall Break & Thanksgiving to one and all! J

Rob

Songs to the Evenstar

Hello everyone –

Coming up on November 24^th, skywatchers throughout the world will be able to see the bright planets Venus and Jupiter very close to each other in the west during evening twilight. The planet Venus is the brightest object in our sky after the Sun and Moon, and a great deal of mythology has gathered around it since the beginning of recorded history (and probably long before that!). Here are some of my favorite poems about Venus, my favorite planet to observe in the night sky, which is now functioning as the “Evening Star” (a/k/a the “Wishing Star” from Disney animated films).

The Evenstar in Old English!

(Cynewulf, 8^th Century CE):

    éala éarendel engla beorhtast

    ofer middangeard monnum sended

Which means:

“Hail Day-Star! Brightest angel sent to men throughout Middle-Earth!”

“February Twilight”

By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

I stood beside a hill

Smooth with new-laid snow,

A single star looked out

From the cold evening glow.

There was no other creature

That saw what I could see --

I stood and watched the Evening Star

As long as it watched me.

“Evening Star” (1930)

By H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)

I saw it from that hidden, silent place

Where the old wood half shuts the meadow in.

It shone through all the sunset’s glories – thin

At first, but with a slowly brightening face.

Night came, and that lone beacon, amber-hued,

Beat on my sight as never it did of old;

The evening star – but grown a thousandfold

More haunting in this hush and solitude.

It traced strange pictures on the quivering air –

Half-memories that had always filled my eyes –

Vast towers and gardens; curious seas and skies

Of some dim life – I never could tell where.

But now I knew that through the cosmic dome

Those rays were calling from my far, lost home.

“The Voyage of Ëarendel, the Evening Star” (1914)

By J. R. R. Tolkien (1892-1973)

Editor’s Note: The Evenstar (Venus, Éarendel) is a beacon of hope to the peoples of Middle-Earth in J. R. R. Tolkien’s fantasy writings (The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, etc.). May you always find an Evenstar when you need one, and may you also be the Evenstar to others. J

Ëarendel arose where the shadow flows

At Ocean’s silent brim;

Through the mouth of night as a ray of light

Where the shores are sheer and dim

He launched his bark like a silver spark

From the last and lonely sand;

Then on sunlit breath of the day’s fiery death

He sailed from Westerland.

He threaded his path o’er the aftermath

Of the splendor of the Sun,

And wandered far past many a star

In his gleaming galleon.

On the gathering tide of darkness ride

The argosies of the sky,

And spangle the night with their sails of light

As the streaming star goes by.

Unheeding he dips past these twinkling ships,

By his wayward spirit whirled

On an endless quest through the darkling West

O’er the margin of the world;

And he fares in haste o’er the jeweled waste

And the dusk from whence he came

With his heart afire with bright desire

And his face in silver flame.

The Ship of the Moon from the East comes soon

From the Haven of the Sun,

Whose white gates gleam in the coming beam

Of the mighty silver one.

Lo! with bellying clouds as his vessel’s shrouds

He weighs anchor down the dark,

And on shimmering oars leaves the blazing shores

In his argent-timbered bark.

Then Ëarendel fled from that Shipman dread

Beyond the dark earth’s pale,

Back under the rim of the Ocean dim,

And behind the world set sail;

And he heard the mirth of the folk of earth

And the falling of their tears,

As the world dropped back in a cloudy wrack

On its journey down the years.

Then he glimmering passed to the starless vast

As an isléd lamp at sea,

And beyond the ken of mortal men

Set his lonely errantry,

Tracking the Sun in his galleon

Through the pathless firmament,

Till his light grew old in abysses cold

And his eager flame was spent.

Keep looking up!

Rob

Happy Birthday, Dear Quotemail! :)

Hello everyone –

TODAY, November 8^th, marks the 24^th birthday of the RHC Fortnightly Quotemail emailing list! J The list now known as RHC Quotemail began during my graduate school days in the German Department at the University of Illinois. Its original name was REEL – Rob’s Eclectic Edutainment List. It was primarily aimed at friends and colleagues in the German Department, but it began to expand slowly but surely as my worksites changed over the years. When I moved to the Graduate College Information Office in 1997, this list became the “Quote of the Week,” and when I moved to the ACES James Scholar Honors Program in 2000, it was simply called “Quotemail.” Today, this list can boast over 150 members who receive snippets of poetry and prose, mixed in with some inspiration and humor, every other Friday.

In honor of this auspicious occasion, here are three of my favorite “philosophy of life” poems, which I would like to dedicate to my cousin, A.N.A., on the occasion of her own 24^th birthday, which is also TODAY! J

“A Psalm of Life”

(What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist)

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream ! —

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real !   Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal ;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle !

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, however pleasant !

Let the dead Past bury its dead !

Act,— act in the living Present !

Heart within, and God overhead !

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate ;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

“The Higher Life” (1913)

By Madeline S. Brigham

There are royal hearts, there are spirits brave,

There are souls that are pure and true;

Then give to the world the best you have,

And the best will come to you.

Give love, and love to your life will flow,

And strength in your utmost needs;

Have faith, and a score of hearts will show

Their faith in your work and deeds.

Give truth, and your gift will be paid in kind,

And a song a song will meet;

And the smile which is sweet will surely find

A smile that is just as sweet.

Give pity and sorrow to those that mourn,

You will gather in flowers again

The scattered seeds from your thoughts outborne,

Though the sowing seemed in vain.

For life is the mirror of king and knave,

‘Tis just what we are and do;

Then give to the world the best you have,

And the best will come back to you.

“The Heritage”

By Abbie Farwell Brown (1871-1927)

No matter what my birth may be,

No matter where my lot is cast,

I am the heir in equity

Of all the precious Past.

The art, the science, and the lore

Of all the ages long since dust,

The wisdom of the world in store,

Are mine, all mine in trust.

The beauty of the living Earth,

The power of the golden Sun,

The Present, whatsoe’er my birth,

I share with everyone.

As much as any man am I

The owner of the working day;

Mine are the minutes as they fly

To save or throw away.

And mine the Future to bequeath

Unto the generations new;

I help to shape it with my breath,

Mine as I think or do.

Present and Past my heritage,

The Future laid in my control; —

No matter what my name or age,

I am a Master-soul!

Happy 24^th Birthday to Quotemail and to my amazing cousin, A.N.A.! J

Rob

Happy Keltik New Year's Day -- November 1st!

Hello everyone –

Since today is November 1^st, the Keltik New Year’s Day, I’d like to present a story that has captivated my imagination since the late 1980s, which saw me fall in love with my Keltik heritage! Every culture has a foundational legend or cycle of legends – stories that explain how and why the culture was founded, and by whom. Such stories exemplify the values and beliefs of the people who transmit them from one generation to the next. For medieval Britons, their foundational legend is grounded in the classical poetry of Homer and Virgil, as can be seen from the story of Brutus the Trojan, the legendary first King of Britain, as retold below.

We begin with a summary of the legend from the first stanza of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a 14^th-century Middle English poem, which is a classic of Arthurian literature:

Soon as the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,

the burg broken and burnt to brands and ashes,

the traitor who trammels of treason there wrought

was tried for his treachery, the foulest on earth.

It was Aeneas the noble and his high kin

who then subdued provinces, lords they became,

well-nigh of all the wealth in the Western Isles:

forth rich Romulus to Rome rapidly came,

with great business that burg he builds up first,

and names it with his name, as now it has;

Ticius to Tuscany, and townships begins;

Langobard in Lombardy lifts up homes;

and fared over the French flood Felix Brutus

on many banks all broad Britain he settles then,

            where war and wreck and wonder

            betimes have worked within,

            and oft both bliss and blunder

            have held sway swiftly since.

The Legend of Brutus the Trojan

By Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)

Excerpted from The Age of Chivalry (1858) – Chapter II: “The Mythical History of England”

Note: In honor of the KeltiK New Year (which falls on November 1), here is the legend of Brutus the Trojan – an exiled prince who eventually became King Brutus I Felix of Britain.  The legendary migration of the Trojan exiles from Greece to Britain is supposed to have taken place around 1100 BCE.

        The illustrious poet, [John] Milton, in his History of England, is the author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter. According to the earliest accounts, Albion, a giant, and son of Neptune, a contemporary of Hercules, ruled over the island, to which he gave his name. Presuming to oppose the progress of Hercules in his western march, he was slain by him. Milton gives more regard to the story of Brutus, the Trojan, which, he says, is supported by “descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to be borrowed or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few.” The principal authority is Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose history, written in the twelfth century, purports to be a translation of a history of Britain brought over from the opposite shore of France, which, under the name of Brittany, was chiefly peopled by natives of Britain who, from time to time, emigrated thither, driven from their own country by the inroads of the Picts and Scots.

        Brutus was the son of Silvius, and he of Ascanius, the son of Aeneas, whose flight from Troy and settlement in Italy are narrated in Stories of Gods and Heroes. Brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to the chase, unfortunately killed him with an arrow. Banished therefore by his kindred, he sought refuge in that part of Greece where Helenus, with a band of Trojan exiles, had become established. But Helenus was now dead, and the descendants of the Trojans were oppressed by Pandrasus, the king of the country. Brutus, being kindly received among them, so throve in virtue and in arms as to win the regard of all the eminent of the land above all others of his age. In consequence of this, the Trojans not only began to hope, but secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. To encourage them, they had the promise of help from Assaracus, a noble Greek youth, whose mother was a Trojan. He had suffered wrong at the hands of the king, and for that reason he more willingly cast in his lot with the Trojan exiles.

        Choosing a fit opportunity, Brutus with his countrymen withdrew to the woods and hills, as the safest place from which to expostulate, and sent this message to Pandrasus: “That the Trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to serve in a foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage life than a slavish one. If that displeased him, then, with his leave, they would depart to some other country.” Pandrasus, not expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, went in pursuit of them, with such forces as he could gather, and met them on the banks of the Achelous, where Brutus got the advantage and took the king captive. The result was that the terms demanded by the Trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter Imogen in marriage to Brutus and furnished shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart from the land.

        The marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the Trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred and twenty sail, betook themselves to the sea. On the third day, they arrived at a certain island, which they found destitute of inhabitants, though there were appearances of former habitation, and among the ruins a temple of Diana. Brutus, here performing sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his guidance, in these lines:

“Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will

Walks on the rolling sphere, and through the deep;

On thy third realm, the Earth, look now, and tell

What land, what seat of rest, thou bids me seek;

What certain seat where I may worship thee

For aye, with temples vowed and virgin choirs.”

To whom, sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision thus answered:

“Brutus! Far to the west, in the ocean wide,

Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,

Seat-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;

Now, void, it fits thy people; thither bend

Thy course; there shall thou find a lasting seat;

There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,

And kings be born of these, whose dreaded might

Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.”

        Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his course towards the west, and, arriving at a place on the Tyrrhenian Sea, found there the descendants of certain Trojans who, with Antenor, came into Italy, of whom Corineus was the chief. These joined company, and the ships pursued their way till they arrived at the mouth of the river Loire, in France, where the expedition landed, with a view to a settlement; but [they] were so rudely assaulted by the inhabitants that they put to sea again and arrived at a part of the coast of Britain, now called Devonshire, where Brutus felt convinced that he had found the promised end of his voyage, landed his colony, and took possession.

        The island, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race whose excessive force and tyranny had destroyed the others. The Trojans encountered these and extirpated them, Corineus, in particular, signalizing himself by his exploits against them; from whom Cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his lot, and there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till Corineus rid the land of them. Brutus built his capital city and called it Troja Nova (New Troy), changed in time to Trinovantum, now London; and, having governed the isle 24 years, died, leaving three sons, Locrinus, Albanactus, and Camber. Locrinus had the middle part [England], Camber the west, called Cambria [Wales] from him, and Albanactus Albany, now Scotland.

Happy Keltik New Year! J

Rob

Scion of the Clan MacCormac