London 1802 Analysis

Arriving back at his apartment, Booker found Tom curled on the couch, his gaunt face a mask of misery. Dressed in ill-fitting sweats, the borrowed clothing swamped his slender frame, giving him the appearance of someone much younger than his twenty-five years. There was a bucket next to the couch that smelled faintly of vomit and Booker averted his eyes, unable to stomach the sight of the foul smelling liquid. His lower body ached, and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed. For the first time since Tom’s arrival, he was aware of the enormity of what he was taking on. He could say goodbye to his carefree bachelor’s life, he was now responsible for a sick and emotionally damaged

Dread and sorrow wash throughout me. We spent so long in this cursed building to prevent us from ending up like we did. I furrow my brows. The foul smell of rotting old wood came upon my senses. Now, I could only taste dryness in my throat. This attic has still not changed one bit.

The sun shines through the small basement window of the house. It’s early morning beams piercing across the face of a young girl as she sleeps. It takes awhile for the brightness to penetrate her green eyes but when it does she stretches lazily under the covers closing those eyes for yet one more moment of dreams. She suddenly bolts upright as she remembers what today is.

As the wind brushed the back of my dress, I turned around to overlook the waves of golden ocean, pouring into the small town I called home. But, my eyes became fixed on the sun. It was so wonderful, so beautiful as it rose out of its slumber in the mountains. I always felt the sun’s warmth on my cloudy white dress, and I loved how it always felt like my father’s hugs.

Frantically trying to find her way up the cold, dark stairs she trips over old, dirt covered shoes, dusty ragged dolls who’s dresses have been torn, and moldy glass bottles. As she gets to the the top she pulls trying to open the brown, wooden door, her hope of getting out anytime soon starts to vanish as the flickering light goes off behind her. Never being in the basement for very long , she never noticed how badly it had smelled of insects, and rotting mice. Deliberately she climbs back down the uneven staircase to the cobwebbed entrance.

“You’ll make a lovely bouquet for my kitchen,” she whispered to the fragrant blossoms. Standing straight, she made her way to her home, looking over her shoulder at the dirt road passing along the side of it. It had been busy in the recent months, but today, it remained empty, stretching out into the horizon and into the small village below.

The roads and air became thick and disgusting, making them sweaty and constantly having to get out of their car to go and stretch and cool off. They stopped several times on the road, but their last stop was at a neighborhood, where all houses were burned down and abandoned, except one which still remained up and well. As foolish as they were, the college kids became anxious to enter hospitality and receive directions and possibly a cool drink. As they were walking towards the house, they noticed a basement window creak open and close quickly, with a shadowy figure moving away. All unexpectedly, the door swung open and there stood a man and woman who seemed friendly and inviting, a bit too

In a small town many years ago, the Tapestry family walked to work enjoying the simple pleasures that the morning offered. Timothy Tapestry was a tall man with blond hair and a subdued face. He had lived in this town his whole life, and just like any other morning, he gazed happily at the hills in the distance. Ever since he was young, Timothy had marveled at how the sun lit up those hills in the morning, and since he was a creature of habit, he did the same today.

Another exhausting day ahead. Waking up at the crack of dawn to prepare the meals, care for the children and animals, work on the fields, collect berries and mend my husband’s clothes. With the black death rushing through the town and everyone dropping dead like fly’s, I must take care of myself and my family. I can’t afford my husband to die, I have enough work as it is, I couldn’t do it all myself.

“London, 1802” dramatizes the conflict between how England is now, and how it used to be. The speaker expresses concern for England’s present state when they say,” Milton! Thou should’st be living at this hour: / England hath need of thee” (1-2). This shows that the speaker feels sympathy for England’s current condition. The speaker then on to say that the cause of England’s current condition are its citizens; the speaker describes England’s citizens as “selfish men” (6) who need “manners, virtue, freedom, [and] power” (8). Finally, the speaker ends by saying, “and yet thy heart/ the lowliest duties on herself did lay” (13-14). This illustrates the fact that the speaker feels bad for England, because compared to the shape it was in in the past,

“I failed to see to the burial of my family. They rot where they fell, the rats crawling from corpse to corpse. Fearing death myself, and knowing it is coming for me, too, I ran from home to home on our street and where there were the dead I took what coins I could find and stored them in my purse. A boy about my age lay swollen on the floor of one fine house by the port—his father was a merchant, I think—and I took his coat you see here, very fine, and washed the fluid that comes with death from the fabric in the sea.

It was another day following the routine: wake up at dawn, set off into the fields and woods just outside the skirts of the village to gather what was needed, and come back before the sun sets. I settled back into my bed for a night’s sleep after such a long day’s work.

The following morning the crisp air and golden sun flowed brilliantly into her room through the open window. The posts of the window where scratched up wood with an old part of a blond colored sheet covering it. Her sleepy eyes blinked slowly as the day began. After a whole evening and morning with the thought of school, a tornado of yes, no, maybe, and back again spiraling around. This went on about the dreary feeling morning. Her usual smile upside down and the sides drooping far down. When she finally got up and out of the rickety, springy feeling frame of the puffy stuffing, cloud like bed. Hesitantly climbing down the ladder

A golden light shines through the apartment windows. After drawing open the last curtain, Elowen rests on the window seat and places her breakfast on an unpacked cardboard box. She watches the aftermath of the morning storm cover the city below in a thick, shiny glaze. These are her favourite mornings, when her mother works an early shift. Something about waking up in a quiet house gives her a sense of peacefulness.

Similar in theme to Wordsworth’s “London, 1802” is Percy Shelley’s poem “England in 1819”. Looking at Shelley’s poem in terms of historical context and nostalgia allows the political sonnet to be read as a piece of restorative nostalgia for the targeted reading audience of this works time period. This sonnet is written in iambic pentameter however the rhyme scheme of this sonnet differs from the scheme of a traditional English sonnet. The rhyme scheme within this poem follows ABABAB,CDCD,CCDD. Connecting this structure to the concept of nostalgia allows for the “a-b” section to be viewed as “reflective nostalgia”. The “a-b” section strays from the form of a traditional sonnet and repeats itself, this repetition mimics the act of “longing” as the section goes back to the same rhyme scheme. Looking at the first six lines, the speaker emphatically describes the horrors and hardships of England’s government and the life of the proletariat. The act of dwelling on the current state of England demonstrates reflective nostalgia and forces the reader to reflect on the state of England before these changes took place. For the intended reading audience of this poem this work would call attention to the changes of society and manipulate time forcing the reading to imagine the past of England and look forward in fear to the future as “reflective nostalgia does not follow a single plot but explores ways of inhabiting many places at once and imagining different time zones” (Boym 4). As the first six lines repeat themselves in rhyme scheme outside of the traditional sonnet structure, this connects to the idea of reflective nostalgia in mimicking reflective nostalgia fear of “returning to current states” (Boym 4). This section, evoking reflective nostalgia in the poems intended reading audience acts as a radical political stance against the King, Capitalism and state of the Church. In dwelling on the changes and corruption in society, this section uses reflective nostalgia to “cherise shattered fragments of memory and demoralizes space” (Boym 5). The fragments of “cherished memory” is England before the ongoing wars stemmed from the revolutions, the “demoralized space” comes from the manipulation of time that nostalgia causes