Poldark, Final Season, Ep. 7

This episode was so adrenaline spiking that if there was one more iota of excitement, I’d have to go to the hospital with a heart attack. yet there were some coincidences that were a bit much.

Ross manages to single-handedly get himself out of the mine he was thrown intoRosina, the  and to find the ore that Tess and her henchman have hid, i.e. stole. So Demelza is soon relieved.

Meanwhile Tess is flirting with Demelza’s preacher brother, Sam. Rosina, another village girl was sweet on Sam. She had her heartbroken last season so she’s due for some love. However, Sam thinks Tess really wants to find God. It’d be nice if she did, but it’s doubtful.

Since Ned was executed, Kitty’s staying with Caroline and Dwight, who invites her to stay as long as she likes. I’m pretty sure these estates were built for big families and lots of guests. Caroline is jealous, needlessly. Her jealousy increases when Dwight proposes that Kitty come with him to London, where she can convince people to stop the torture done in prison. Caroline goes to London herself and helps Kitty hand out flyers advocating against torture.

At dinner at Nampara, Morwenna and Drake announce that Morwenna’s expecting. I figured this would happen. So they’re sure to have a happy ending. I do expect all or most of the characters we like will end on a high note, unlike the 1970s series which ended with Elizabeth’s death.

When Dwight finds out that Caroline is in London and her horse threw her, he’s angry. They argue about his attention to Kitty and she overhears them.

The plot continued to ramp up as Ross comes across some Frenchmen who’re up to no good and are led by the Frenchman who wanted to kill him a season back. That seemed rather coincidental. Ross offers to betray his country to save his skin. After all, his government just hanged his good friend Ned.

Kitty decides to return to Honduras. It makes sense as that’s where she’s lived and has I assume friends and family. Everyone’s so sad, but she probably has more connections and there’s plenty to stand up for in Honduras.

Geoffrey Charles and Cecily are about to run off to America to elope, but Ross doesn’t turn up to help them as planned. Of course, this won’t work. It’s the penultimate episode so we’ve got to have lots of problems. Cecily’s father turns up just as Demelza’s helping the couple and Geoffrey Charles is assaulted and near death. The evil father bargains with Cecily. He threatens to let Geoffrey Charles die, unless Cecily promises to never see him again. So she capitulates and tells GC that she doesn’t love him.

By the end of the episode everything’s gone wrong and the French ships on the horizon and will soon attack. it’s almost too much action. The finale is going to be action-packed.

Poem of the Week

browning4

Among the Rocks

By Robert Browning

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

Poem of the Week

Sonnet 73

By William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish’ d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Poem of the Week

Summer Images

By John Clare

Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank’d, and crown’d,
A wild and giddy thing,
And Health robust, from every care unbound,
Come on the zephyr’s wing,
And cheer the toiling clown.

Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
Loud tongued, and “merry as a marriage bell,”
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching charms wean them of half their cares;
And from thy sunny spell,
They greet joy unawares.

Then with thy sultry locks all loose and rude,
And mantle laced with gems of garish light,
Come as of wont; for I would fain intrude,
And in the world’s despite,
Share the rude wealth that thy own heart beguiles;
If haply so I might
Win pleasure from thy smiles.

Me not the noise of brawling pleasure cheers,
In nightly revels or in city streets;
But joys which soothe, and not distract the ears,
That one at leisure meets
In the green woods, and meadows summer-shorn,
Or fields, where bee-fly greets
The ear with mellow horn.

The green-swathed grasshopper, on treble pipe,
Sings there, and dances, in mad-hearted pranks;
There bees go courting every flower that’s ripe,
On baulks and sunny banks;
And droning dragon-fly, on rude bassoon,
Attempts to give God thanks
In no discordant tune.

The speckled thrush, by self-delight embued,
There sings unto himself for joy’s amends,
And drinks the honey dew of solitude.
There Happiness attends
With inbred Joy until the heart o’erflow,
Of which the world’s rude friends,
Nought heeding, nothing know.

There the gay river, laughing as it goes,
Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides,
And to the calm of heart, in calmness shows
What pleasure there abides,
To trace its sedgy banks, from trouble free:
Spots Solitude provides
To muse, and happy be.

Continue reading

Poem of the Week

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The More Loving One

by W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Leave it to Psmith

Leave-It-to-Psmith

I just finished another hilarious audio book narrated by Jonathon Cecil. Wodehouse’s Leave it to Psmith is a complicated frolic involving Freddie, a rich foolish young man, who tries to get his uncle out of a fix and to get a hefty sum so he can get enough money to buy into a booking scheme. If he only could become a bookie, he can marry his dream girl. All he needs is 1000 pounds. His uncle would help but his parsimonious aunt keeps a careful eye on all the family finances.

Eureka!

Freddie will get someone to steal his aunt’s insured necklace, hand it off to the uncle who’ll in turn submit a claim for the necklace, sell off the real one and give some money to Freddie, some to his needy niece and have some freedom for himself.

Who will take on this ridiculous endeavor?

Enter Psmith. A gentleman who’s fled a dull job for his uncle and has advertised to take on any work. Soon Psmith is posing as an erudite poet and entering the uncle’s country home to figure out how to get the necklace.

The story is great fun and wonderfully read by Cecil.

From Mills’ “On Liberty”

Quote

“In this age, the mere example of non-conformity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a service. Precisely because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break through that tyranny, that people should be eccentric. Eccentricity has always abounded when and where strength of character has abounded; and the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigor, and moral courage which it contained. That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief danger of the time.”
John Stuart Mill, On Liberty