The poem opens with the autumn evening that descends coldly and sadly. The field is covered in yellow withered leaves, and the elms fade into darkness. There are hardly a voice from the boys playing late and the lights are visible near the streets and the school rooms. The atmosphere is gloomy, dark and monotonous and the poet observes the decorum along with the chapel walls, where the poet’s father rests, stand solemn and unlit.
The poet remembers his father in the gloom of the autumn evening, his body rests. The poet is intrigued with the word “gloom” that brings back memories of his father’s radiant vigor. They passed days together in November, not dark but filled with his buoyant cheerfulness. The poet stands in the autumn evening and think of past autumns with his father.
The poet goes on to say that fifteen years have passed since his father embarked on the journey of death, unexpectedly, on a summer morning. For fifteen years, the poet, who once found solace in his father’s presence like a shelter under a mighty oak, have endured the elements alone, without his father’s protection.
The poet wonders about his father’s strong legacy and strength. He interrogates where the mighty soul, where does he dwell now? Surely, that strength has not been in vain. Somewhere, far away, in the vast realm of existence, his father’s powerful and benevolent force is surely being practiced or felt.
The poet goes on to talk about his father’s character. It is indeed in a distant and radiant realm, whether aware of the past or not, his father continues to fulfill the purpose of the Spirit in which he resides. He remains prompt and tireless, just as he were here. With unwavering zeal, he uplifts the humble good from the ground and sternly suppress the bad. Like a trumpet, he awakens those who walk the dim border between vice and virtue with half-open eyes. He revives and aid them. This was his work and his way of life on earth.
Arnold then criticises the society who are engaged in superficial lifestyle without leaving any significant impact or legacy. He states that the course of mortal life on earth is often a swirling whirlpool of aimless actions. People wander, indulging in the pleasures of eating, drinking, and engaging in superficial interactions of love and hate. They accumulate and squander, experiencing moments of success and moments of failure, all while blindly striving towards uncertain goals. And then, inevitably, they perish, leaving behind no lasting impact. Just as the moonlit waves in the serene solitude of the vast ocean rise, foam for a fleeting moment, and vanish, no one asks who they were or what they achieved.
Arnold then highlights the Victorian spirit of inquiry and knowledge. The poet tells that there are those among them who are driven by an unquenchable thirst, a fiery desire to not be consumed by the crowd, to not wander aimlessly in a whirlwind of dust. They are striving to leave a mark, to snatch something from the clutches of oblivion, to defy the insatiable grave. They have chosen a path, a path with a clear purpose, a path of progress. But this path is no easy journey. It is long and steep, traversing sunken gorges and snowy mountains. With cheerful companions, they set forth, only to be met by storms on the heights. Thunder crashes, cataracts roar, and lightning dazzles their eyes. Torrents breach our path, and the once solid ground gives way beneath their feet. Spray boils over the borders, and unseen snow avalanches descend with ruinous force. Alas, the havoc wreaked in their wake. The friends who started the journey with them falter and they are lost in the storm. They ,the determined few, press on with furrowed brows and resolute lips strain forward. And finally, at nightfall, they reach the end of their arduous path, arriving at a lonely inn amidst the rocks. The gaunt and silent host stands on the threshold, his thin white hairs trembling in the wind. He holds his lantern to scrutinize our weather-beaten figures and asks, “Who do you bring in your company? Who have you left behind in the snow?”
Arnold then goes to tell his father or “friend” that though the paths of the world may have been rough, they saw no signs of his feet being wounded by stones, nor did they witness any toil or dejection affecting his spirit. His father remained cheerful, helpful, and firm throughout. Therefore, it was bestowed upon him to save many alongside himself. And at the end of his days, the poet’s father who is a faithful shepherd shall come and bring his sheep in his hand meaning the influence of his father on others and the legacy his father left behind for others to follow him.
The poet praises his father and it is through him , he also believes in the noble and great souls of the past. They were honored and blessed by former ages. Compared to them, the current race of men the poet see appears soulless and poor. They seem like a mere dream or a longing cry. Indeed, the poet believe that others like his father existed in the past, unlike the men of the crowd today who bluster or cringe, making life hideous, arid, and vile. But there were souls like him ,tempered with fire, fervent, heroic, and good. They were helpers and friends of mankind, servants of God, or say, sons. For his father knew the Father’s or God innermost mind, the One who reluctantly sees one of His little ones lost. The praise is to the poet’s father if mankind has not yet fainted, fallen, and died in its march.
The poet goes on to say that the host of mankind marches in the rocks of the world, but alas, they form a feeble and wavering line. He questions Where are they heading? God has marshaled them and given them a goal, but the way is so long. They have been in the wild for years, plagued by sore thirst and overawed by the rising rocks. Factions divide them, and their host threatens to break and dissolve. The poet must keep them combined otherwise it will be out of the myriads who fill that army, not one shall arrive. They shall wander alone, staggering in the rocks, forever in vain, and die one by one in the waste.
The poem seeks comfort and resolution where in such an hour of need, when the fainting and dispirited race seeks hope, the poet’s father, like angels, appear. It is radiant with divine ardor and he becomes a beacon of hope. Languor, weakness, and weariness are not in his heart, words, or brows. He alights in our van, and his voice, panic and despair flee. Through the ranks he moves, recalling the stragglers, refreshing the weary, and praising the brave. Order and courage return, with rekindling eyes and prayers following his steps. He fills up the gaps in their files, strengthen the wavering line, and continue their marches of journey to the bound of the waste, to the City of God.
Click Here to know Critical Analysis of Margaret Atwood This is a Photograph of Me– https://getsetnotes.com/critical-analysis-of-margaret-atwood-this-is-a-photograph-of-me/
One Reply to “Summary of Matthew Arnold Rugby Chapel”