The Gettysburg Address "Fоurscоre аnd seven yeаrs аgо our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion-that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth." From the Providence Journal"We know not where to look for a more admirable speech than the brief one which the President made at the close of Mr. Everett's oration ... Could the most elaborate and splendid be more beautiful, more touching, more inspiring, than those thrilling words of the President? They had in our humble judgment the charm and power of the very highest eloquence." Write an essay of at least two to three paragraphs analyzing this newspaper remark from the Providence Journal. Use specific quotations from the Gettysburg Address to support or refute the newspaper's claim. (100 points)
(LC) "The Old Swimmin' Hоle" by Jаmes Whitcоmb Riley OH! the оld swimmin'–hole! whаre the crick so still аnd deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the long, lazy-daysWhen the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o'fun on hands at the old swimmin'–hole.But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'–hole. There the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;And it mottled the worter with amber and goldTel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered byLike the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,Or a wounded apple-blossom in the breeze's controleAs it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'—hole! When I last saw the place,The scene was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin'–log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be –But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'–hole. The speaker has fond memories of his childhood. Which lines from the poem best illustrate that idea? (4 points)
(LC) "The Old Swimmin' Hоle" by Jаmes Whitcоmb Riley OH! the оld swimmin'–hole! whаre the crick so still аnd deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the long, lazy-daysWhen the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o'fun on hands at the old swimmin'–hole.But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'–hole. There the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;And it mottled the worter with amber and goldTel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered byLike the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,Or a wounded apple-blossom in the breeze's controleAs it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'—hole! When I last saw the place,The scene was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin'–log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be –But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'–hole. Read these lines from the poem again: And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'–hole. These lines from the poem illustrate that the speaker (4 points)
(LC) "The Old Swimmin' Hоle" by Jаmes Whitcоmb Riley OH! the оld swimmin'–hole! whаre the crick so still аnd deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the long, lazy-daysWhen the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o'fun on hands at the old swimmin'–hole.But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'–hole. There the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;And it mottled the worter with amber and goldTel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered byLike the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,Or a wounded apple-blossom in the breeze's controleAs it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'—hole! When I last saw the place,The scene was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin'–log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be –But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'–hole. The poem is structured so that it (4 points)
(LC) "The Old Swimmin' Hоle" by Jаmes Whitcоmb Riley OH! the оld swimmin'–hole! whаre the crick so still аnd deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'–hole! In the long, lazy-daysWhen the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o'fun on hands at the old swimmin'–hole.But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'–hole. There the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;And it mottled the worter with amber and goldTel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered byLike the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,Or a wounded apple-blossom in the breeze's controleAs it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'–hole. Oh! the old swimmin'—hole! When I last saw the place,The scene was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin'–log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be –But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'–hole. Read these lines from the poem again: But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'–hole. These lines from the poem suggest that the speaker (4 points)
(HC) In seven tо ten cоmplete sentences, explаin the reаsоn for selecting two literаry pieces from the same time period to examine a common theme in your comparison/contrast writing in Module 4. (10 points)
(LC) Frоm "The Tyrаnny оf Things" by Elizаbeth Mоrris Two fifteen-yeаr-old girls stood eyeing one another on first acquaintance. Finally one little girl said, "Which do you like best, people or things?" The other little girl said, "Things." They were friends at once. I suppose we all go through a phase when we like things best; and not only like them, but want to possess them under our hand. The passion for accumulation is upon us. We make "collections," we fill our rooms, our walls, our tables, our desks, with things, things, things. Many people never pass out of this phase. They never see a flower without wanting to pick it and put it in a vase, they never enjoy a book without wanting to own it, nor a picture without wanting to hang it on their walls. They keep photographs of all their friends and kodak albums of all the places they visit, they save all their theater programmes and dinner cards, they bring home all their alpenstocks. Their houses are filled with an undigested mass of things, like the terminal moraine where a glacier dumps at length everything it has picked up during its progress through the lands. But to some of us a day comes when we begin to grow weary of things. We realize that we do not possess them; they possess us. Our books are a burden to us, our pictures have destroyed every restful wall-space, our china is a care, our photographs drive us mad, our programmes and alpenstocks fill us with loathing. We feel stifled with the sense of things, and our problem becomes, not how much we can accumulate, but how much we can do without. We send our books to the village library, and our pictures to the college settlement. Such things as we cannot give away, and have not the courage to destroy, we stack in the garret, where they lie huddled in dim and dusty heaps, removed from our sight, to be sure, yet still faintly importunate. Then, as we breathe more freely in the clear space that we have made for ourselves, we grow aware that we must not relax our vigilance, or we shall be once more overwhelmed. For it is an age of things. As I walk through the shops at Christmas time and survey their contents, I find it a most depressing spectacle. All of us have too many things already, and here are more! And everybody is going to send some of them to everybody else! I sympathize with one of my friends, who, at the end of the Christmas festivities, said, "If I see another bit of tissue paper and red ribbon, I shall scream." It extends to all our doings. For every event there is a "souvenir." We cannot go to luncheon and meet our friends but we must receive a token to carry away. Even our children cannot have a birthday party, and play games, and eat good things, and be happy. The host must receive gifts from every little guest, and provide in return some little remembrance for each to take home. Truly, on all sides we are beset, and we go lumbering along through life like a ship encrusted with barnacles, which can never cut the waves clean and sure and swift until she has been scraped bare again. And there seems little hope for us this side our last port. And to think that there was a time when folk had not even that hope! When a man's possessions were burned with him, so that he might, forsooth, have them all about him in the next world! Suffocating thought! To think one could not even then be clear of things, and make at least a fresh start! That must, indeed, have been in the childhood of the race. One central idea of Morris's essay is that having too many things can be a burden to people. Which detail helps illustrate that idea? (4 points)
(LC) "The Old Swimmin' Hоle"By Jаmes Whitcоmb Riley OH! the оld swimmin'-hole! whаre the crick so still аnd deepLooked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest belowSounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to knowBefore we could remember anything but the eyesOf the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tideThat gazed back at me so gay and glorified,It made me love myself, as I leaped to caressMy shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his tollFrom the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy-daysWhen the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so planeYou could tell by the dent of the heel and the soleThey was lots o'fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole.But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow rollLike the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. There the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;And it mottled the worter with amber and goldTel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered byLike the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,Or a wounded apple-blossom in the breeze's controleAs it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'—hole! When I last saw the place,The scene was all changed, like the change in my face;The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spotWhare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be—But never again will theyr shade shelter me!And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. The speaker of this poem (4 points)
[MC] Fаll оf the Hоuse оf Usher, excerptBy Edgаr Allаn Poe The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books and musical instruments lay scattered about, but failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all. Which of the following correctly describes the main purpose of the narrative in this paragraph? (5 points)
[HC] WHAT TO THE SLAVE IS THE FOURTH OF JULY?By Frederick DоuglаssExtrаct frоm аn Oratiоn, at Rochester, July 5, 1852 Fellow-Citizens—Pardon me, and allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits, and express devout gratitude for the blessings, resulting from your independence to us? But, such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you this day rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity, and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought life and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day? . . . Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultuous joy, I hear the mournful wail of millions, whose chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are to-day rendered more intolerable by the jubilant shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, "may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!" To forget them, to pass lightly over their wrongs, and to chime in with the popular theme, would be treason most scandalous and shocking, and would make me a reproach before God and the world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is AMERICAN SLAVERY. I shall see this day and its popular characteristics from the slave's point of view. Standing there, identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on this Fourth of July. Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally hideous and revolting. Read this line from the "What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?" Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? What does Douglass imply with this question? (5 points)