The Seventeenth Century is without a doubt my favorite period in English literary history. English history took a rather maverick direction in this century and produced some of the greatest literary, philosophical, and theological movements in human history. This century belongs to the three greats: John Donne, John Milton, and John Dryden. What a dynamic trio! At the same time, England, in its quiet way, experienced the equivalent of the French Revolution–but without the bloodshed and chaos. In the middle of this century the English rebelled against their king Charles I (1625-49) and executed him. During this period too England saw the triumph of one of the truly great cultural world views in human history: Puritanism.
Before the Puritans, however was John Donne.
To many historians Donne is an enigma: in his early years his poems satirize Elizabethan notions of platonic love and he wrote bold, almost harsh love poems that were scandalous for his age. Later in life, however, I am convinced that he had a born again experience, and, with Jesus Christ as his savior, he wrote some of the most inspired poems in the English language.
Donne wrote refreshingly new poetry. His literary style is peculiarly his own, especially in the songs and sonnets. Almost every poem has a unique stanza-pattern, never used before and never repeated. These stanzas are often nicely adjusted t o the rhetoric of the units they form. Moreover, the rhythm of the lines has little of the cliches so abundantly exemplified by English poetry during Donne’s youth and maturity. The exceptionally easy-going movement of “Go and Catch a Falling Star” serves to underscore its simplicity and honesty.
Go and Catch a Falling Star
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights
Till age snow white hairs on thee;
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me=2 0
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
Nowhere
Lives a woman true, and fair.
If thou find’st one, let me know;
Such a pilgrimage were sweet.
Yet do not; I would not go
Though at next door we might meet.
Though at next door we might meet.
And last till you write your letter.
Yet she
Will be,
False, ere I come, to two or three.