Chapter-10, DAYBREAK

Ans:-The wind of the sea hails the ships. (āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ…āĻ­ā§āϝāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻž āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤)

Ans:- The wind tells the mariners to start a fresh journey with the rise of the sun. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ⧋āĻĻāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻ­ā§āϰāĻŽāĻŖ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind finds the ships anchored in the jetty. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻœā§‡āϟāĻŋāϤ⧇ āύ⧋āĻ™āϰāĻžāĻŦāĻĻā§āϧ āĻ…āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇)

Ans:-The wind of the sea cries so while passing over the distant lands. (āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĻā§‚āϰāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤ⧀ āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāϞāĻ­āĻžāϗ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϚāĻŋā§ŽāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:- The wind tells the forest to hang all his leafy banners out. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŦāύāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāύāĻŋāĻļāĻžāύ āωāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind wants to see the daybreak to be greeted by the leafy banners of the forest. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϚāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāύ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāύāĻŋāĻļāĻžāύ āωāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ­ā§‹āϰāϕ⧇ āϏāĻ‚āĻŦāĻ°ā§āϧāύāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāĻ•āĨ¤)

Ans:-'Leafy banners' implies the twigs and branches of the trees full of leaves. (āĻĒāĻ¤ā§āϰāύāĻŋāĻļāĻžāύ' āĻŦāϞāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻļāĻžāĻ–āĻžāĻĒā§āϰāĻļāĻžāĻ–āĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤)

Ans:-At daybreak, the wood bird keeps staying in its nest with folded wings. But the wind touches the wings tenderly and makes him rise. (āĻ­ā§‹āϰāĻŦ⧇āϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āĻ­āĻžāρāϜ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ āύ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āϛ⧁āρāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ āφāϞāϤ⧋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāϰ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϝāĻŧ )

Ans:- The wind tells the wood-bird to wake up and sing. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻœā§‡āϗ⧇ āωāϠ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:- The wind sees the chanticleer sleeping in the farms. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ—ā§‹āϞāĻžāĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŽā§‹āϰāĻ—āϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽā§‹āϤ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind persuades the chanticleer to blow his clarion and announce the day break. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŽā§‹āϰāĻ—āϕ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āωāĻšā§āϚāύāĻŋāύāĻžāĻĻ⧇ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŦ⧃āĻ¤ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind whispers to the fields of corn to bow down and salute the coming morning. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĢāϏāϞ⧇āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāύ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāύ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āύāϤāĻļāĻŋāϰ⧇ āφāϏāĻ¨ā§āύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤāϕ⧇ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŦāĻžāĻĻāύ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-Belfry-tower is the high room on the church where is kept the church-clock. (āĻŦ⧇āϞāĻĢā§āϰāĻŋ-āϟāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻšāϞ āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻ•ā§āώ āϝ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind tells the church-bell to sing loudly and wildly to proclaim the sunrise. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϚāĻŖā§āĻĄ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻœā§‡ āωāϠ⧇ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ⧋āĻĻāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-While crossing the churchyard, the wind leaves a deep sigh to think that it can not awake the buried. (āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āφāĻ™āĻŋāύāĻž āĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϭ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āϝ⧇, āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāϰ⧇ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤ āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind blowing over the churchyard said this to the dead and buried. (āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻŦāĻ–āĻžāύāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŽā§ƒāϤ āĻ“ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻĻ⧇āϰ āωāĻĻā§āĻĻ⧇āĻļā§āϝ⧇ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind finally goes to blow over graveyard. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļ⧇āώ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāĻ–āĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞāĨ¤)

Ans:- When the wind blows over the field, they lie in rest with their crops. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻŽāĻžāĻ āϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻ–āύ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĢāϏāϞ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ āύ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤)

Ans:-At the advent of the new morning, the wind tells the wood-bird to sing merrily. (āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āφāĻ—āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāϕ⧇ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ—āĻžāχāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind is unhappy the moment it blows over the tombs in the churchyard. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϪ⧇ āĻ•āϰāĻŦāĻ–āĻžāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĻ⧁āσāĻ–āĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind tells the departed soul lying in graves to sleep in peace. (āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ•āĻŦāϰ⧇ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤ āĻŽā§ƒāϤ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽā§‹āϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-The wind of the sea says this to the fields of corns. (āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻĢāϏāϞ⧇ āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϞ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:- In Longfellow's Daybreak the wind comes out of the sea and pushes aside the mists. It calls the ships and draws the attention of the sailors. It asks them to resume their daily duties. The darkness of night is gone. The wind blows over the land. It tells everybody to get up from sleep. Passing through the forest it touches the trees. It asks them to flutter their banners of leaves to and fro. It urges the birds to open their wings and sing. While going past the farms, the wind rouses the chanticleer. The bird is to crow loudly to welcome the day. It makes a whispering noise, to the ears of the corns. It impels the corn-plants to lower their heads to greet the morning. Then the wind asks the church-bell to announce the hour of the daybreak. But while going over the graves in the churchyard, it sighs sadly. It softly tells the dead to sleep on. Thus the wandering wind brings the message of action to everyone it meets.

(āϞāĻ‚āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧋āϰ Daybreak-āĻ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āωāϠ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϠ⧇āϞ⧇ āϏāϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‡āρāϚāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāϕ⧇, āφāϰ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻž āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āϰāĻžāϤ āĻļ⧇āώ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āĻžāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχāϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āωāϠ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāϏ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāĻ›āϗ⧁āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻļ āĻ•āϰ⧇, āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻāĻĻāĻŋāĻ• āĻ“āĻĻāĻŋāĻ• āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϞāϰ āĻĻā§‹āϞāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āύāĻž āĻŽā§‡āϞ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ–āĻžāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻŽā§‹āϰāĻ—āϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻ—āϞāĻž āϖ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻšā§‡āρāϚāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻļāĻ¸ā§āϝāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āϤ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻļāĻ¸ā§āϝāϚāĻžāϰāĻžāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āύ⧁āχāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āφāϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāύ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‚āĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϘāϰ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧀ āĻĒā§āϰāĻšāϰ āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϝāĻ–āύ āϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻšā§‡āϰ āωāĻ ā§‹āύ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āϛ⧁āρāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āϏ⧇ āĻĻ⧁āσāϖ⧇āϰ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢ⧇āϞāϛ⧇, āφāϰ āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϞāϛ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āϝ⧇āύ āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āχ āϚāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ­ā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§āϝāĻŽāĻžāĻŖ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϝāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇āχ āĻĒ⧌āρāϛ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ āĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŖā§€āĨ¤)

Ans:-The poem Daybreak describes the activities of the wind. It gets busy as soon as it dawns. The poet nicely describes how the wind comes out of the sea and makes its way through mists toward the land. It carries on a self-imposed duty of rousing every creature from sleep. It asks all to welcome the day with works. It encourages the mariners to sail their ships. It shouts to the trees to keep moving their leafy banners. The wood-bird's folded wing indicates that it is not yet fully awake. The plants of the corn field will soon bow.their heads. The wind wakes them up. The tower-bell will toll loudly to announce the morning prayer. The wind finally comes near the grave. It sighs for those who are left alone under the earth. The dead are not to be awakened from their peaceful sleep. The description is, however, not objective. There is a distinct subjective flavour in it. The poet imaginatively catches the mood and atmosphere of the hour of daybreak. The personal touch makes the poem subjective.

(āϏāĻŽāĻ—ā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋ āϜ⧁āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āύāĻžāύāĻžāύ āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŖāύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ āĻšāϤ⧇ āύāĻž āĻšāϤ⧇āχ āϏ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŖāύāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āύ āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āωāϠ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻĒāĻĨ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āύ⧇āϝāĻŧ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĄāĻžāĻ™āĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻ…āĻ—ā§āϰāϏāϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖā§€āϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧋āϞāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āϏ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦ⧇āĻšā§āĻ›āĻžāϝāĻŧ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āωāĻĒāϝ⧁āĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻŽā§‡ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧋āϞ⧇ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜ āϚāĻžāϞāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ—āĻžāĻ›āĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‡āρāϚāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϞāϰ āĻĻ⧁āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϚāϞāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāύāĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧀āϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻž āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇ āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻž āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϏ⧇ āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻ­āĻžāϞ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϜāĻžāϗ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻļāĻ¸ā§āϝ āϚāĻžāϰāĻžāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻļā§€āĻ˜ā§āϰāχ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āύ⧁āχāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχāϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϏāĻžāĻĻāĻšā§‚āĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻž āωāĻšā§āϚāĻ¸ā§āĻŦāϰ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻœā§‡ āωāĻ āĻŦ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧀ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻžāϰ āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļ⧇āώ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻšāĻžāϜāĻŋāϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāĻ–āĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇āĨ¤ āϝāĻžāϰāĻž āϚāĻŋāϰāύāĻŋāĻĻā§āϰāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āϏ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŽ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āύāĻŋāĻĻā§āϰāĻž āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻžāύ⧋ āϚāϞāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŖāύāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻŽā§‹āĻŸā§‡āχ āύāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āύ⧈āĻ°ā§āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāĻ• āύāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāĻ—āϤ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻļ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļ⧇āώāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āĻ…āύ⧁āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāĻž āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽāĻ—ā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϜ⧁āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āωāώāĻž āϞāĻ—ā§āύ⧇ āϝ⧇ āĻŽāύ⧋āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ āϏ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋ āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āϏ⧇āϟāĻŋ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āĻ āĻŋāĻ•āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϧāϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋ āωāĻĻā§āĻĻ⧇āĻļā§āϝāĻŽā§āĻ–ā§€ āĻ“ āϝāĻĨāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāĨ¤)

Ans:- Longfellow's Daybreak is remarkably rich in imagery and beautiful diction. A series of images come before our eyes in quick succession, as we read the poem. First we see a film of mists over the sea. In the sea we notice the motionless ships. Soon we see the green forest with its numerous trees with cluster of green leaves on each of them. The poet compares them to green banners. Thus the image of leafy banners soothes our eyes. It is followed by the image of birds with folded wings. The image of restive birds is nicely suggested by their folded wings. Then comes the radiant image of the chanticleer with his colourful body and scarlet comb. All is suggested in this very name. We can also imagine its loud musical crowing. The green fields of corn offer another eye-soothing image. They bend with the wind as if to welcome the sunny morning. Finally comes the bell on the tower of the church. The tombs in the churchyard below complete the procession of imagery in this poem. There are some beautiful phrases too in Daybreak, like leafy banners, wood-bird's folded twing, and the belfry-tower which add to its total attraction.

(āϞāĻ‚āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧋āϰ Daybreak āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻŦā§āϝāĻŋāĻ• āĻ­āĻžāώāĻžāϝāĻŧ āωāĻ˛ā§āϞ⧇āĻ–āϝ⧋āĻ—ā§āϝāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϏāĻŽā§ƒāĻĻā§āϧāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϞ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇ āĻĻā§āϰ⧁āϤ āϭ⧇āϏ⧇ āφāϏ⧇ āĻāϕ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ• āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāϏāĻŽā§‚āĻšāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽā§‡ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧀ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāϤāϞāĻž āφāĻ¸ā§āϤāϰāĻŖāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āϞāĻ•ā§āώ āĻ•āϰāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻļā§€āĻ˜ā§āϰāχ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāχ āϏāĻŦ⧁āϜ āĻ…āϰāĻŖā§āϝ, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ…āϜāĻ¸ā§āϰ āĻ—āĻžāϛ⧇āϰ āĻ­āĻŋāĻĄāĻŧ, āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ¤ā§āϝ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ—āĻžāϛ⧇ āϗ⧁āĻšā§āĻ› āϗ⧁āĻšā§āĻ› āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āϏ⧇āϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϏāĻŦ⧁āϜ āĻĒāϤāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāύāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āĻāχāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ leafy banners-āĻāϰ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‹āĻ–āϕ⧇ āϤ⧃āĻĒā§āϤāĻŋ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ āφāϏ⧇ āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āϗ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϏāĻž āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ›āĻŦāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽāϰāϤ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāϟāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāρāϜāĻ•āϰāĻž āĻĄāĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻĻā§āϝ⧋āϤāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āϝ⧇ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāχ āϏ⧇āϟāĻŋ āĻāĻ• āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŖāĻžāĻĸā§āϝ āĻŽā§‹āϰāϗ⧇āϰāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ chanticleer āύāĻžāĻŽāϟāĻž āĻļ⧁āύ⧇āχ āĻŽāύāĻļā§āϚāĻ•ā§āώ⧁āϤ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāχ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻšā§āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻŖ āĻĻ⧇āĻš āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžāϰ āϞāĻžāϞ āĻā§āρāϟāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻļ⧁āύāϤ⧇āĻ“ āĻĒāĻžāχ āĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ‚āĻ—ā§€āϤāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āωāĻšā§āϚāĻ•āĻŖā§āĻ āĨ¤ āϏāĻŦ⧁āϜ āĻļāĻ¸ā§āϝāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰāϏāĻŽā§‚āĻš āφāϰ-āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻšā§‹āĻ–-āϜ⧁āĻĄāĻŧā§‹āύ⧋ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇ āύ⧁āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϛ⧇ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻļ⧇āώ⧇ āφāϏ⧇ āϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āϚ-āĻ­āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āωāĻĒāϰ⧇ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϘāϰāĨ¤ āφāϰ āύ⧀āĻšā§‡ āϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻšā§‡āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϪ⧇ āϏāĻŽāĻžāϧāĻŋāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāϰ āϏāĻŽāĻ¨ā§āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŽā§āĻ­āĻžāϰāĨ¤ Daybreak āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻ‚āĻļāĻ“ āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϝāĻĨāĻž, leafy bananers, Wood- bird's folded wing āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ the belfry-tower, āϝ⧇āϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻ—ā§āϰāĻŋāĻ•āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻ•āĻ°ā§āώāĻŖā§€āϝāĻŧ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤

Ans:- The poem Daybreak is written in nine lovely couplets. In keeping with the flow of the wind, it is in a breezy style. With the wind we seem to move on inland from the sea-coast. Then we fly over the forest, the garden, the farms, the fields and the churches. The poet actually puts his own words into the lips of the personified wind. He catches the mood and atmosphere of the earth at daybreak. He imaginatively and dramatically shows the wind prompting every creature do the work appropriate for early morning. All through there is felt a genuine love for close contact with nature. It is decisively a romantic quality in the poet. No man is mentioned in the whole poem except the mariners. But indirectly human presence is indicated. To awaken men, birds sing. How will the bell toll the hour unless a man pulls at it? The refreshing touch that the morning breeze brings makes everyone happy. They eager to do the suitable work. Altogether there is an atmosphere of cheerful welcome at the arrival of the dawn after the darkness of night. The refreshing style of the poem echoes that mood. It really seems to hail the coming morn.

(Daybreak āĻļā§€āĻ°ā§āώāĻ• āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋ āύ-āϟāĻŋ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒāĻĻā§€āϤ⧇ āϰāϚāĻŋāϤāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϚāϞāĻžāϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϤāĻžāϞ āϰ⧇āϖ⧇ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻĻā§āϰ⧁āϤ āϧāĻžāĻŦāĻŽāĻžāύ āĻļ⧈āϞ⧀āϤ⧇ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŽāϰāĻžāĻ“ āϧ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϚāϞāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāϞāĻ­ā§‚āĻŽāĻŋāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻŦāύāϰāĻžāϜāĻŋ, āωāĻĻā§āϝāĻžāύ, āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āϤāĻ–āĻžāĻŽāĻžāϰ, āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻĒā§āϤāϰ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϚāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻšā§‡āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϚāϞāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŦā§āϝāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋāχ āϝ⧇āύ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āϰ⧂āĻĒ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§āϖ⧇ āĻŦāϏāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āϊāώāĻžāϞāĻ—ā§āύ⧇ āϧāϰāĻžāϰ āϝ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāύāϏāĻŋāĻ•āϤāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϰ⧂āĻĒ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻ•āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāύāĻžāĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āϏ⧇āϟāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇āϛ⧇āύāĨ¤ āύāĻžāϟāϕ⧀āϝāĻŧ āĻ­āĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āύ āϕ⧀āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖā§€āϕ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧇ āωāĻĒāϝ⧁āĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽā§‡ āϞāĻŋāĻĒā§āϤ, āĻ…āύ⧁āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϏāĻŽāĻ—ā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž āϜ⧁āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻŋāϰ āϘāύāĻŋāĻˇā§āĻ  āϏāĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻŋāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻĒāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻŋ āύāĻŋāσāϏāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āĻšā§‡ āϰ⧋āĻŽāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻŋāĻ•āϤāĻžāϰ āϞāĻ•ā§āώāĻŖāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ• āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻĒāϰ⧋āĻ•ā§āώāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ⧇āϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻŋāϤāĻŋāϰ āχāĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻŋāϤ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋ āĻ—āĻžāχāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻž āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻ—ā§āϰāĻšāϰ āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻŦ⧇ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻĻāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ āĻŸā§‡āύ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϕ⧇āω āύāĻž āĻŦāĻžāϜāĻžāϝāĻŧ? āϏāĻ•āĻžāϞ⧇āϰ āĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āϝ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻļ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏ⧇, āϤāĻžāϤ⧇ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āĻ‰ā§ŽāĻĢ⧁āĻ˛ā§āϞ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻ–āύāĻ•āĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϝ⧋āĻ—ā§€ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āφāĻ—ā§āϰāĻšā§€ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻŦ āĻŽāĻŋāϞ⧇ āϰāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϧāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ⧇āϰ āφāĻ—āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϖ⧁āĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāĻŦāϰāĻŖ āϤ⧈āϰāĻŋ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻĻāĻŋāύāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻāχ āφāĻŽā§‡āϜāϟāĻžāχ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻĢāϞāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤ⧁ āϰāϚāύāĻžāϰ⧀āϤāĻŋāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋāχ āϝ⧇āύ āĻāϟāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤāĻŦāϰāϪ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāύāĻž āĻ—āĻžāύāĨ¤)

Ans:- The very first thing one note in Longfellow's Daybreak is a spirit of liveliness. It catches alive the moment when the day just begins, through a series of pictures and activities. A feeling of freshness and eagerness is evident. After the night of darkness, the day is to be heartily welcomed and celebrated through works. But the beauty of the poem lies mainly in its ability to create the proper atmosphere. On the sea there are mists still. The ships are yet to sail. On the land the forest-trees start waving their leafy banners. The wind passes them. The wood-bird is urged to open its wing and sing. The chanticleer is about to blow his clarion. The whispering cornfields also welcome their morning by blowing to it. The church bell is about to toll for the morning prayer. All earthly things are eager to begin works which denotes life. Only the dead in their tombs cannot be disturbed. They are to go on sleeping peacefully. The atmosphere is thus built up with sights and sounds.

(āϞāĻ‚āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧋āϰ Daybreak-āĻ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽā§‡āχ āϝ⧇ āϜāĻŋāύāĻŋāϏāϟāĻž āϞāĻ•ā§āώ āĻ•āϰāĻž āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻž āĻšāϞ āĻāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻŽāύ⧋āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĨ¤ āϝ⧇ āĻŽā§āĻšā§‚āĻ°ā§āϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύāϟāĻž āϏāĻŦ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇, āϏ⧇āϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻœā§€āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞ⧇āϛ⧇āύ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ›āĻŦāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“-āύāĻž-āĻšāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϏāϤ⧇āϜ āĻĢ⧁āϰāĻĢ⧁āϰ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻ—ā§āϰāĻšā§€ āĻŽāĻžāύāϏāĻŋāĻ•āϤāĻž āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻˇā§āϟ āĻĢ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āϰāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϧāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āφāĻ—āĻŽāύāϕ⧇ āĻšāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻ• āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻ‰ā§ŽāϏāĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻĒāĻžāϞāύ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻ§ā§āϝāĻŽā§‡āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āφāϏāϞ āϏ⧌āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻ°ā§āϝ āύāĻŋāĻšāĻŋāϤ āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϝ⧁āĻ•ā§āϤ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ āϏ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻ•ā§āώāĻŽāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāĨ¤ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āϚāϞāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ āϜ⧁āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϏāĻŦ āĻŦāύāĻ¸ā§āĻĒāϤāĻŋ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ ‘āϏāĻŦ⧁āϜ āĻĒāϤāĻžāĻ•āĻžâ€™ āĻĻā§‹āϞāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāύāĻĒāĻ•ā§āώāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āϖ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ—āĻžāχāϤ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŽā§‹āϰāĻ— āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāρāĻļāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāϜāĻžāϤ⧇ āωāĻĻā§āϝāϤāĨ¤ āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž-āĻŦāϞāĻž āĻļāĻ¸ā§āϝāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āύ⧋āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧀ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāύāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻ—āĻŋāĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϰ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻž āĻŦāĻžāϜāϞ āĻŦāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦ āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤ⧁ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻļ⧁āϰ⧁ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāϞ⧇āϛ⧇, āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āχ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāĨ¤ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻŽā§ƒāϤāϰāĻž āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻŦāϰ⧇ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āĻ›āĻŦāĻŋ, āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ āϏ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-Longfellow's poem Daybreak gives us a graphic pen-picture of a day. It is the start of the day. The morning sun rises over the sea. The sleepy say wakes up. From its cavern emerges the wind. The sea is still shrouded with mists. The ships stand motionless and still. The mariners are yet to rise. They can't shake off sweet slumber. The far-off lands are yet to receive the message of daybreak. The forests are yet to hang their leafy banners out. The wood-birds are in nest. Their wings are folded. The housecocks do not shout. The fields of corn do not receive the signal of sunrise. The belfry-tower remains calm. No chime of bell is heard. Infact, both the land and the sea are steeped in a trance. Only the sun and the wind are active. The sun brings the day. The wind announces the message all over the world.

The wind is the messenger of the day. The new day means new, promises. After the nightlong inaction the day brings the spirit of regeneration. It welcomes action. But it can't deliver the message to all itself. Now the wind is out to carry the message. His is a self-imposed duty. He is alive to the well being of the world. He can't allow men and nature indulge in inaction and indolence. It feels an urge to translate the dream of the delightful day into reality. The wind first gets the news of the arrival of a day. Obviously, it is committed to the entire world. Thus the wind sees itself in relation to day.

(āϞāĻ‚āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧋āϰ Daybreak āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āύāĻŋāϖ⧁āρāϤ āϚāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻĒāĻžāχāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϰāĻŽā§āĻ­āĨ¤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻ“āĻĒāϰ āωāĻĻāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ› āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝāĨ¤ āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻ¨ā§āϤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻœā§‡āϗ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāϰ āĻ—āĻšā§āĻŦāϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻœā§‡āϗ⧇āϛ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āϤāĻ–āύāĻ“ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽā§‹āĻĄāĻŧāĻžāĨ¤ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻŋāϰ, āύāĻŋāĻļā§āϚāϞāĨ¤ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāϕ⧇āϰāĻž āϤāĻ–āύ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāϗ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŽāϧ⧁āϰ āύāĻŋāĻĻā§āϰāĻžāϰ āφāĻŦ⧇āĻļ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĻā§‚āϰ āĻĻā§‚āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āϤāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰāĻž āϤāĻ–āύāĻ“ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϤāĻžāĻ•āĻž āĻā§‹āϞāĻžāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ–āĻŋāϰāĻž āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āĻ—ā§‹āϟāĻžāύ⧋āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϰ āĻŽā§‹āϰāϗ⧇āϰāĻž āĻšā§€ā§ŽāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻœā§‹āĻĄāĻŧ⧇āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻĢāϏāϞāĻ­āϰāĻž āĻŽāĻžāĻ  āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝāĻžāϞ⧋āϕ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ‚āϕ⧇āϤ āĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋāĨ¤ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϘāϰ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĨ¤ āϘāĻŖā§āϟāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋ āĻļā§‹āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻĒāĻ•ā§āώ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻ āϘāĻžāϟ āĻ“ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āϘ⧁āĻŽā§‡āϰ āφāĻŦ⧇āĻļ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻŋāĻˇā§āϟāĨ¤ āϕ⧇āĻŦāϞ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ āφāύ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύāĨ¤ āϏāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€āϤ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŖāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤

āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻĻā§‚āϤāĨ¤ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻļāĻĒāĻĨāĨ¤ āϰāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāĻŦā§āϝāĻžāĻĒāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻˇā§āĻ•ā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻŦāϏāĻžāύ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āφāύ⧇ āύāĻŦāĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āωāĻĻā§āϝāĻŽ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻ°ā§āĻŽāϕ⧇ āφāĻšā§āĻŦāĻžāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϤ⧋ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχāϕ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ–āĻŦāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϛ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āφāϏ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ˜ā§‹āώāĻŋāϤ āĻĻāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āĻŦāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€āϰ āĻ•āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻžāĻŖ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϕ⧇ āϏāĻĻāĻž āϏāϝāĻŧāĻžāĻ—āĨ¤ āĻ…āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώ āĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•ā§ƒāϤāĻŋāϕ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āϚāϝāĻŧāϤāĻž āĻ“ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϞāĻžāϏāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—āĻž āĻ­āĻžāϏāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻļā§āϰāϝāĻŧ āĻĻ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϧ⧁āϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻĒā§āύāϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŦāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĻāĻŋāύāĻž.. āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻˇā§āϟāϤāχ āϏ⧇ āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āĻĻāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŦāĻĻā§āϧāĨ¤ āĻāχāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āϝ⧁āĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:- Longfellow's Daybreak is a fine lyric. It gives the message of Daybreak. The message is delivered to the entire world by the sea-wind. It acts as the messenger of the new day. Initially the wind is very busy. It feels an urge to rouse the world from sleep. The sun is up. The new day appears. The misty sea is still in sleep. The ships are inactive; the mariners enjoy rest and repose. They know not that the . day has already come. So there is no room for indolence. The day breathes a new spirit. Work is worship. All must welcome work, worship the day. And hence, the wind travels far-off lands, fields, forests and farms. Thus he breaks the sleep of all. Finally he comes to the grave. The energetic, restless, ever-busy wind now looks calm and quiet. And suddenly we find a shift in its tone. And the change in tune nicely goes in tune with the immediate atmosphere.

As the wind crosses the churchyard, it finds the graves of the departed souls. They are now lying in peace and sleep. They are in utter darkness of the grave. The wind feels sorry for them. Hence it sighs and slowly passes by. It does not shout. It only whispers, "Not yet, in quiet lie". This is the tone of farewell. This is note of despair. Earlier the wind looks jubilant and spirited. But now it is sad. But it can't forget its duty. It can't stay there longer. It blows on and on. The momentary break is nicely revealed by the change or its tone.

(āϞāĻ‚āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧋āϰ  Daybreak āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϚāĻŽā§ŽāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ—ā§€āϤāĻŋāĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻ­ā§‹āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϏāĻŽāĻ—ā§āϰ āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€āϤ⧇ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻž āĻĒ⧌āρāϛ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āύāϤ⧁āύāĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϤāĻžāĻŦāĻžāĻšāĻ• āĻšāĻŋāϏ⧇āĻŦ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽāĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ¸ā§āϤāĨ¤ āĻĒ⧃āĻĨāĻŋāĻŦā§€āϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻ˜ā§‹āϰ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—ā§āϰāϤ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāϕ⧁āϞ āĻšāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāϏ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϕ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāĻļāĻžāĻĸāĻžāĻ•āĻž āϏāĻŽā§āĻĻā§āϰ āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻ¨ā§āϤāĨ¤ āϜāĻžāĻšāĻžāϜāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āϚāϞāĻžāĨ¤ āύāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻ•āϰāĻž āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ āωāĻĒāĻ­ā§‹āĻ— āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āϜāĻžāύ⧇-āύāĻž āϝ⧇-āĻĻāĻŋāύ āχāϤāĻŋāĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇āχ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϰ āφāϰ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āϜāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻ—āĻž āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ 'āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āύāϤ⧁āύ āωāĻĻā§āϝāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āύāĻŋāĻšā§āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻžāϜāχ āĻĒ⧁āĻœā§‹āĨ¤ āϏāĻ•āϞāϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϜāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ—āϤ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāύāĻžāĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ—āĻžāχāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϰ āϤāĻžāχ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻĻā§‚āϰ-āĻĻā§‚āϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻļ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϛ⧁āĻŸā§‡āĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ, āĻŦāύāĻžāύ⧀ āĻ“ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ-āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ āĻĻ⧇āϝāĻŧ āϛ⧁āϟāĨ¤ āĻāχāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇āχ āϏ⧇ āϏāĻ•āϞ⧇āϰ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āĻ…āĻŦāĻļ⧇āώ⧇ āϏ⧇ āφāϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāĻ–āĻžāύāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āωāĻĻā§āϝāĻŽā§€, āϚāĻžā§āϚāϞ, āϏāĻĻāĻžāĻŦā§āϝāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏāϕ⧇ āĻāĻ–āύ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻ“ āĻļā§€āϤāϞ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻšāĻ āĻžā§Žāχ āφāĻŽāϰāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤāύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋāĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻāχ āφāĻŦāĻšā§‡āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤāύ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ¤ā§ŽāĻ•ā§āώāĻŖāĻžā§Ž āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āĻļ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϏāĻ™ā§āĻ—āϤāĻŋāĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖāĨ¤

āϝāĻ–āύ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āĻ—ā§€āĻ°ā§āϜāĻžāϏāĻ‚āϞāĻ—ā§āύ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ āĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āĻ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻ⧇āĻšā§€ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŦāϰāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāĻ–āύ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āϘ⧁āĻŽā§‡ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž ‘āĻ•āĻŦāϰ⧇āĻ°â€™ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻ›āĻŋāĻĻā§āϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϧāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻŋāϤāĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āĻŦā§‹āϧ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āϏ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϧ⧀āϰ⧇ āϧ⧀āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āϚāĻŋā§ŽāĻ•āĻžāϰ āύāϝāĻŧ, āĻĢāĻŋāϏāĻĢāĻŋāϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇, “āĻšāϝāĻŧāύāĻŋ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ/āϘ⧁āĻŽāĻžāĻ“ āĻ•āĻŦāϰ āϤāϞ⧇āĨ¤' āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āϏ⧁āϰāĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻŖā§āĻŖāϤāĻžāϰ āϏ⧁āϰāĨ¤ āφāϗ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϏāϕ⧇ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϤ āϞāĻžāϗ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻāĻ–āύ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻŖā§āĻŖāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻ°ā§āϤāĻŦā§āϝ āĻ­ā§‹āϞ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘāĻ•ā§āώāĻŖ āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻžāϝāĻŧ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧāĨ¤ āϏāĻžāĻŽāϝāĻŧāĻŋāĻ• āĻāχ āϛ⧇āĻĻ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āϏ⧁āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻ­āĻžāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤)

Ans:-Personification is an effective poetic device. Sometimes a poet employs this device to express his own thoughts and ideas. Personification implies the art of attributing life to an inanimate object or any phenomenon of nature. Poets like Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley and many others of their ilk recurringly resort to personification in their poetry. They present poem Day break is the brilliant example of personification. Let us go through the poem to see the masterly execution of his fine figure of speech.

The wind is humanised here. The wind is an element of nature. It has no life of its own. But the poet invests it with life and vitality. The wind is given the duty of conveying the message of 'daybreak' to the sleeping world. Infact, it is the messenger the harbinger of new life and new age. It has its own speech. It calls the mists from sleep and tells them to make room for it. It arouses the mariners from sleep. Now like a true messenger it travels over land to announce the daybreak. It acts like a living being all the time. It can tell, shout, whisper like human beings. It can sense and feel the urgency of work after the nightlong inaction. It can feel the thrill of the new day. And so intent it is that it needs no rest. It crosses the forests and farms, towers and churches. It feels an urge to inspire the world with the moto of regeneration. It delivers to all that life is a spirited game. Sweet languor is but a momentary phase of life. Man should not give in contemplation and indolence. He should feel the new stirring of life with a new day. At the same time it allows people deep down the earth to take rest. For, after life's fitful fever they sleep well. They must not be disturbed.

To sum up, the entire poem is rich in personification. The wind seems to serve the duty of a sensible person. It seems to echo the very voice of the poet.

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