Johann Pachelbel, Thomas Cole's The Course of Empire - The Savage State, and John Donne - Death Be Not Proud

I would like to continue with another series of Thomas Cole's paintings called, The Course of Empire.  The first painting is called "The Savage State".  You can learn more about it and view an enlarged version with zoom capability on the following link:  http://www.explorethomascole.org/tour/items/63/words

The Course of Empire: The Savage State by Thomas Cole

We are going to begin exploring a new composer this week, Johann Pachelbel.  The only piece of his I am familiar with yet is one of my favorite pieces of classical music - Canon in D.  As I've researched a bit I found that he has other pieces and we will explore some of these in the coming weeks.  You can learn more about Johann Pachelbel and Canon in D on the following two links :


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Pachelbel
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pachelbel%27s_Canon


Listen to it performed on the You Tube links below.  The first is performed with the original instrumentation, the second is piano and the third, guitar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvNQLJ1_HQ0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1kGJoGVpOs&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4Sh9cKEDH0



Our new poet is John Donne.  As my dad was passing to glory this week, Mom quoted from one of his poems, Death Be Not Proud, and I chose it for this week's poem.  We will look into other poems of his in the weeks to come.  You can find interesting information on his life and writings on the following link:  http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/ 


                      Death Be Not Proud
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, death, thou shalt die.