Showing posts with label Anne of Green Gables. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anne of Green Gables. Show all posts

Monday, July 7, 2014

Flowers and Trees in "Anne of G.G." ch. 13-15

Ch. 13:
Looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them! You mayn't get the things themselves, but nothing can prevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them." ~ Anne
 
"Do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?"
 
Ch. 14:
Madonna Lilies

Roseberries
 
White Water Lily

Pink Water Lily
 
Ch. 15:
"Maples are such sociable trees; they're always  rustling and whispering to you."

Birch-Lined Path

Wild Lily-of-the-Valley

Pigeon Berries
 
Gum

Bracken
 
The Pansy Books
 
Read this book here!
Read the sequel Ester Reed Yet Speaking here!


Friday, October 4, 2013

Flowers and Trees in "Anne of G.G." Ch. 12

Ch. 12:
Tiger Lilies

 
 Bleeding Hearts


 Crimson Peony
 
 Scotch Roses

 
Columbines pink
 
 and blue
 
 and white
 
 Bouncing Bets/Soapwort/Lilac

Southernwood
 
Ribbon Grass

Mint

Adam-and-Eve

 
 White feathery sprays of Sweet Clover
 
Scarlet Lightning
 
White Musk
 
Daffodils

 
Rice Lilies (Wild Orchids)


 
 
Anne mentions that Diana is going to teach her a new song called Nelly in the Hazel Dell. I could not find it on YouTube but I did find a blog post with sheet music for the song.
 
deprecatory - expressing disapproval; disapproving
 
He [Matthew] had just got home from a trip to the store at Carmody, and he sheepishly produced a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to Anne, with a deprecatory look at Marilla.
 
 
 


Flowers and Trees in "Anne of Green Gables" Ch. 6-11

Ch. 6:
fractious - (typical of children) irritable and quarrelsome
 
Yes, I suppose I might as well take her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert. The baby's awful fractious, and I'm clean worn out attending to him. If you like I can take her right home now.
~ Mrs. Blewett 

Ch. 7:
Marilla says to herself that she must find her old Peep of Day series for Anne to study.

Matthew Cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child and taught her something. She's next door to a perfect heathen. Will you believe that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight? I'll send her to the manse tomorrow and borrow the Peep of the Day series, that's what I'll do. And she shall go to Sunday-school just as soon as I can get some suitable clothes made for her. I foresee that I shall have my hands full. Well, well, we can't get through this world without our share of trouble. I've had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my time has come at last and I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it. ~ Marilla

Ch. 8:
Somehow, things never are so good when they're thought out a second time...have you ever noticed that? ~ Anne
 
Ch. 9:
coppice-a thicket or grove of small trees or shrubs

 

 
Oldest Maple in Canada
 
 Mountain Ash
Helpful identification site
 
Mountain Ash in winter
 
 Water Fern

 
Starflowers


 
Ch. 10:
obdurate - stubbornly refusing to change one's opinion or course of action
 
Breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals—for Anne still remained obdurate.
 
 
White Narcissi
 

Ch. 11:
But I'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain and sensible all by myself. ~ Anne

Buttercups
 
Fuscia
 
Then all the other little girls recited a paraphrase. She asked me if I knew any. I told her I didn't, but I could recite, 'The Dog at His Master's Grave' if she liked. That's in the Third Royal Reader. It isn't a really truly religious piece of poetry, but it's so sad and melancholy that it might as well be. ~ Anne
 
Spoiler: Sad Poem
 
The Dog at His Master’s Grave
by Mrs. Sigourney    
 
"He will not come" said the gentle child,
And she patted the poor dog's head.
And pleasantly called him, and fondly smiled,
But he heeded her not, in his anguish wild,
Nor arose from his lowly bed.

'Twas his master's grave, where he chose to rest,
He guarded it night and day
The love that glowed in his grateful breast,
For the friend that had fed, controlled, caressed,
Might never fade away.
 
And when the long grass rustled near,
Beneath some traveller's tread,
He started up with a quivering ear,
For he thought 'twas the step of that master dear,
Returning from the dead.

And sometimes, when a storm drew nigh,
And the clouds were dark and fleet,
He tore the turf with a mournful cry,
As if he would force his way, or die,
To his much loved master's feet.

So, there through the summer's heat he lay,
Till autumn nights were bleak;
Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay,
And he pined, and pined, and wasted away.
A skeleton gaunt and weak.

And pitying children often brought
Their offerings of meat and bread,
And to coax him away to their homes they sought,
But his buried friend he ne'er forgot,
Nor strayed from his lonely bed.

Cold winter came with an angry sway,
And the snow lay deep and sore;
And his moaning grew fainter day by day,
Till there on the spot where his master lay,
He fell, to rise no more.

And when he struggled with mortal pain,
And death was by his side,
With one loud cry that shook the plain,
He called for his master, but all in vain,
Then stretched himself and died.
 
 
 
 I sat just as still as I could and the text was Revelations, third chapter, second and third verses. It was a very long text. If I was a minister I'd pick the short, snappy ones. ~ Anne
 
Revelations 3:2-3
"Awake, and strengthen what remains and is on the point of death, for I have not found your works perfect in the sight of God. Remember then what youi received and heard; keep that, and repent. If you will not awake, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come upon you."
 
 
 Helpful tree guide
 


Thursday, May 16, 2013

Flowers and Trees in "Anne of G.G." Ch. 5

Ch. 5:
Thistle
 
Skunk Cabbage

 
And now for the poetry portion of the post...
 
Edinburgh After Flodden 
by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
 
I.

News of battle!-news of battle!
Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:
And the archways and the pavement
Bear the clang of hurrying feet.
News of battle? Who hath brought it?
News of triumph? Who should bring
Tidings from our noble army,
Greetings from our gallant King?
All last night we watched the beacons
Blazing on the hills afar,
Each one bearing, as it kindled,
Message of the opened war.
All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights, that never beckon
Save when kings or heroes die.
 
(Rest of poem found here)
 
 
On the Battle of Hohenlinden

by Thomas Campbell
 
On Linden when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser rolling rapidly.
But Linden shew'd another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet-sound array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rush'd the steeds to battle driven,
And vollying, like the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.
And redder still those fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of purpled snow;
And bloodier still shall be the flow
Of Iser rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout, mid' their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens—on, ye brave!
Who rush to glory and the grave;
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry.
Oh! few shall part where many meet,
The snow shall be your winding sheet,
And every turf beneath your feet
Shall mark the soldiers' cemetry.
 
 



Bingen on the Rhine
(this one has a little commentary)
 
 
 
The Lady of the Lake
by Sir Walter Scott
 (this one also has a little history)
 
 
 
The Seasons
by James Thomson 
(I'm guessing there are three more seasons)
 
 
 
The Fall of Poland
also by Thomas Campbell
 


O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued oppression poured to Northern wars
Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars,
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,       
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn;
Tumultuous horror brooded o’er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland,—and to man!
Warsaw’s last champion from her height surveyed,
Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,—       
“O Heaven!” he cried, “my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high!       
And swear for her to live!—with her to die!”
He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed
His trusty warriors, few but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;       
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,—
Revenge or death, the watchword and reply;
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!
In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!       
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew:
O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!       
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career:
Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell!


 
A lot of these poems are really long so I just put down the links to them instead.

 
Scrub Firs

 
Red Sandstone Cliffs