Colonial America -- prose and poetry

GRE Study Guide

1. American Literature (3-94)

• Colonial America -- prose and poetry
• 18th & 19th century -- prose
• 18th & 19th century -- poetry
• Modernist poetry
• Modernist novel
• Harlem Renaissance
• Postmodern & Contemporary poetry
• Postmodern & Contemporary novel and drama
  
  

2. British Literature (95-316)

• Medeival and Early British literature
• Renaisance
• Shakespeare
• Restoration comedy
• Restoration Prose & Poetry
• 17th and 18th Century Poetry
• 18th and 19th century prose and the novel
• British Romanticism
• Victorian Poetry
• British (and Irish) Modernism
• Postmodern & Contemporary British literature
  

3. Antiquity and "World" Literature (317-344)

• Classical Literature
• Modern "World" Literature

4. Terms, Criticism, and Forms (345-354)

• Poetic Forms, Literary Terms, Etc.
• Sonnets
• Literary Theory

American Literature:

Colonial America -- prose and poetry

* Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

•She was first published American woman writer.

1. “ Before the Birth of One of Her Children”

All things within this fading world hath end,

Adversity doth still our joyes attend;

No tyes so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,

But with deaths parting blow is sure to meet.

The sentence past is most irrevocable,

A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.

How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend.

How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend,

We both are ignorant, yet love bids me

These farewell lines to recommend to thee,

That when that knot's unty'd that made us one,

I may seem thine, who in effect am none.

And if I see not half my days that's due,

What nature would, God grant to yours and you;

The many faults that well you know I have

Let be interr'd in my oblivious grave,

If any worth or virtue were in me,

Let that live freshly in thy memory

And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harms,

Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.

And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains

Look to my little babes my dear remains.

And if thou love thyself, or loved'st me,

These O protect from step Dames injury.

And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,

With some sad sighs honour my absent Herse;

And kiss this paper for thy loves dear sake,

Who with salt tears this last Farewel did take.

2. “Verses Upon the Burning of Our House”

In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I waken'd was with thund'ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire," Let no man know is my Desire. I starting up, the light did spy, And to my God my heart did cry To straighten me in my Distress And not to leave me succourless. Then coming out, behold a space The flame consume my dwelling place. And when I could no longer look, I blest his grace that gave and took, That laid my goods now in the dust. Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just. It was his own; it was not mine. Far be it that I should repine, He might of all justly bereft But yet sufficient for us left. When by the Ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes aside did cast And here and there the places spy Where oft I sate and long did lie. Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest, There lay that store I counted best, My pleasant things in ashes lie And them behold no more shall I. Under the roof no guest shall sit, Nor at thy Table eat a bit. No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told Nor things recounted done of old. No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee, Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee. In silence ever shalt thou lie. Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity. Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide: And did thy wealth on earth abide, Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust, The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky That dunghill mists away may fly. Thou hast a house on high erect Fram'd by that mighty Architect, With glory richly furnished Stands permanent, though this be fled. It's purchased and paid for too By him who hath enough to do. A price so vast as is unknown, Yet by his gift is made thine own. There's wealth enough; I need no more. Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store. The world no longer let me love; My hope and Treasure lies above.

3. " In Honour of that High and Mighty Princess Queen Elizabeth” - EXCERPT

No more shall rise or set so glorious sun,
Untill the heavens great revolution.
If then new things their old forms shall retain,
Eliza shall rule Albion once again.

HER EPITAPH.

Here sleeps THE Queen, this is the royal Bed
Of th' Damask Rose, sprung from the white and red,
Whose sweet perfume fills the all-filling Air:
This Rose is wither'd, once so lovely fair.
On neither tree did grow such Rose before,
The greater was our gain, our loss the more.
Another.
ere lyes the pride of Queens, Pattern of Kings,
So blaze it Fame, here's feathers for thy wings.
Here lyes the envy'd, yet unparalled Prince,
Whose living virtues speak, (though dead long since).
If many worlds, as that Fantastic fram'd,
In every one be her great glory fam'd.

4. “ The Author To Her Book ”

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,Who after birth didst by my side remain,Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).At thy return my blushing was not small,My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,I cast thee by as one unfit for light,The visage was so irksome in my sight;Yet being mine own, at length affection wouldThy blemishes amend, if so I could.I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;In better dress to trim thee was my mind,But nought save homespun cloth i' th' house I find.In this array 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam.In critic's hands beware thou dost not come,And take thy way where yet thou art not known;If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;And for thy mother, she alas is poor,Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

5. " In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Elizabeth Bradstreet ”

Farewell, dear babe, my heart's too much content,
Farewell sweet babe, the pleasure of mine eye,
Farewell fair flower that for a space was lent,
Then ta'en away unto eternity.
Blest babe, why should I once bewail thy fate,
Or sigh thy days so soon were terminate,
Sith thou art settled in an everlasting state.
By nature trees do rot when they are grown,
And plums and apples throughly ripe do fall,
And corn and grass are in their season mown,
And time brings down what is both strong and tall.
But plants new set to be eradicate,
And buds new blown to have so short a date,
Is by his hand alone that guides nature and fate.

John Edwards

If there is a colonial American man worth knowing anything about, it's Edwards. His own words probably won't come up on the test, but Robert Lowell's "Mr. Edwards and the Spider," might, so it's worth knowing the biographical info.

Edwards was a colonial American Congregational preacher and theologian. He is known as one of the greatest and most profound American evangelical theologians. His work is very broad in scope, but he is often associated with his defense of Calvinist theology and the Puritan heritage.

His Personal Narrative is a Puritan autobiography that recounts his spiritual conversion.

"The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect, over the fire, abhors you and is dreadfully provoked."

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