Thursday, January 29, 2015

An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament by Charles Harpur - Essay Prepared for my UG English Students - Dr.Suresh Frederick



An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament by Charles Harpur
 (Essay Prepared for my UG English Students - Dr.Suresh Frederick)
Introduction:
“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” is a poem written by Charles Harpur. This is written in the form of a dramatic monologue. Charles Harpur (1813-1868) was an outstanding Australian poet in the early days of Australia. In this poem, Harpur brings out the plight of an aboriginal mother. The words “aboriginal” and “aborigine” are used by the invaders to designate the indigenous people of Australia.
In this poem, “An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament”, Harpur presents the plight of an aboriginal mother. The aboriginal mother is escaping from the murderous white people, with her child, who is just a toddler. She has to go still some more distance, so that she can be safe from the “unsparing” white men. The white men’s hands are wet with murder. The mother carries her child unnoticed by the white men into the dark forest. She treads on, even though thorns pierce her feet, in the darkness.
“O moan not …..” is like a refrain in a song. Moaning is a low sound made by a person expressing physical or mental suffering. The mother is also suffering along with the boy, mentally and physically, but she prefers to console the child first. She says that she is willing even to part with “the braid”, which was given to her as a gift by her deceased husband, so that she can get a “palmful of water” for her child. Here the poet presents the plight of the aboriginal mother, whose only objective is to save her child.
The baby jumps up in happiness, when he hears his father’s name. But the mother asks the baby not to “spring”, on hearing his father’s name, because he is no more. The father is “smouldered” into ashes under the “blasted gum”. He has been killed and his body is charred and blasted by the fire. In that very big fire, he was slaughtered along with his relatives.
The mother feels that, she would have also died with her husband, but she has to live only for the sake of her small child. She urges her child to listen to the death cry. She wants to escape from these bloodthirsty people. She is unable to forget her husband who died bleeding on the roaring fire.
              The mother recollects her husband’s fame. Now, no one can hear the loud noise made by him with the thomahawk (a type of axe used by the natives of Australia) in his hand. Now, none can see his ability to use the spear, because, he was killed brutally by the white men. His leadership in the family and to the community is lost. His hunting call will not be echoed in the mountain, any more.
             At last, the mother finds hope in the child. She is willing to barter the valuable braid given by her beloved husband to save her child by getting him a “palmful of water”.
Conclusion:
“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” is full of pathos (a quality that evokes pity or sadness). This poem also expresses maternal love as well as love for the spouse.

Monday, January 26, 2015

“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” by Charles Harpur for III BA English



“An Aboriginal Mother’s Lament” by Charles Harpur

STILL farther would I fly, my child,
    To make thee safer yet,
From the unsparing white man,
    With his dread hand murder-wet!
I’ll bear thee on as I have borne
    With stealthy steps wind-fleet,
But the dark night shrouds the forest,
    And thorns are in my feet.


        O moan not! I would give this braid 
            Thy father’s gift to me –
        For but a single palmful
            Of water now for thee.

Ah! Spring not to his name – no more
    To glad us may he come!
He is smouldering into ashes
    Beneath the blasted gum!
All charred and blasted by the fire
    The white man kindled there,
And fed with our slaughtered kindred
    Till heaven-high went its glare!

And but for thee, I would their fire
    Had eaten me as fast!
Hark! Hark! I hear his death-cry
    Yet lengthening up the blast!
But no – when that we should fly,
    The way that we should fly
On the roaring pyre flung bleeding –
    I saw thy father die!

No more shall his loud tomahawk
    Be plied to win our cheer,
Or the shining fish-pools darken
    Beneath his shadowing spear;
The fading tracks of his fleet foot
    Shall guide not as before,
And the mountain-spirits mimic
    His hunting call no more!

        O moan not! I would give this braid 
            Thy father’s gift to me –
        For but a single palmful
            Of water now for thee.