Absent 4/23?

We discussed the sentimental culture (aesthetic) of the mid 19th century and its empasis on religion, maternal love and sacrifice, and the maudlin. We used four parlor songs to establish this as the aesthetic. We began a character analysis in order to apply the elements of this culture to Uncle Tom's Cabin. The lyrics to the parlor songs are below.

"The True Heart of Woman"
Words by Mrs. Wilson,
Music by Alexander Lee
(New York: Atwill's Music Saloon, [1834-1847])

My friends they fall from me,
My foes laugh to scorn;
I stand on life's desert,
A pilgrim forlorn.

Yet one flower is growing
Round hope's lonely grave;
One font still is flowing,
My parched lips to lave.

Say what is that floweret,
On life's barren waste?
And whence flows that fountain,
My lips still may taste?

'Tis the true heart of woman,
That blooms 'mid the storm,
Which no tempest can wither,
No changes transform.

The true heart of woman,
The true heart of woman,
Which no tempest can wither,
No changes transform.

In sunshine she flies us,
When all things look bright;
Her smile then denies us
The warmth of its light.

But when the clouds gather
Around us in gloom,
She's the rainbow of pleasure,
Our sky to illume.

Though friendship is fleeting,
Though hope may decay,
The fond love of woman
Will ne'er pass away.

'Tis the true heart of woman,
That blooms mid the storm,
Which no tempest can wither,
No changes transform.

The true heart of woman,
The true heart of woman,
Which no tempest can wither,
No changes transform.

The Snow Storm, A Ballad

Poetry by Seba Smith, Music by L. Heath
(Boston: Oliver Ditson, 1843)

The cold wind swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wandered with her child.

As through the drifted snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.

And colder still the winds did blow,
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow--
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone.

"O God!" she cried, in accents wild,
"If I must perish, save my child,
"If I must perish save my child."

She stript her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm;
As round the child she wrapped the vest,
She smiled to think that it was warm.

With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed.

At dawn, a traveller passed by,
And saw her 'neath a snowy veil--
The frost of death was in her eye,
Her cheek was cold, and hard and pale--

He moved the robe from off the child;
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled,
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.

"What Is Home Without a Mother?"
By Alice Hawthorne
[Pseud. for Septimus Winner] (Philadelphia: Lee & Walker, 1854)

What is home without a mother,
What are all the joys we meet?
When her loving smile no longer
Greets the coming coming of our feet:
The days seem long, the nights are drear,
And time rolls slowly on:
And oh how few are childhood's pleasures,
When her gentle gentle care is gone.

Things we prize are first to vanish
Hearts we love to pass away,
And how soon, e'en in our childhood,
We behold her turning, turning gray:
Her eye grows dim, her step is slow,
Her joys of earth are past;
And sometimes ere we learn to know her,
She hath breath'd on earth, on earth her last.

Older hearts may have their sorrows,
Griefs that quickly die away
But a mother lost in childhood
Grieves the heart from day to day.
We miss her kind, her willing hand,
Her fond and earnest care,
And oh! how dark is life around us,
What is home without her there.

"Mother, Home and Heaven"
By Frank Drayton
(Philadelphia: Lee & Walker, 1856)

A mother's name is dear to all,
The first we lisp in infant days:
And when our golden youth hath flown
We love to sing it in our lays:
'Tis sweet to mem'ry to recall,
The watchful care, and cheering smiles,
Of a dear Mother's loving heart,
A heart that ne'er its love beguiles.

[CHORUS] There's many names we all revere,
And cherish'd ones to us most dear,
But none more sweet to us are giv'n
Than those of Mother, Home and Heav'n.

The name of home we love to hear,
Tho' it may ring from us sad tears;
There is in it a charm that binds,
Our hearts to scenes of bygone years:
We ne'er from mem'ry can efface
The hallow'd spot that gave us birth,
The glowing hearts of youthful friends,
Who join'd us in our sports of mirth.

The name of Heav'n doth wing our thoughts,
From joys of earth that quickly die,
To never fading ones that bide,
Within the realms of yon fair sky:
We love to dwell upon the thought,
That we with those we lov'd so well
Shall meet again where all is joy,
In that bright land where Angels dwell.