"Mr. Flood's Party" by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Old Eben Flood, climbing alone one night

Over the hill between the town below

And the forsaken upland hermitage

That held as much as he should ever know

On earth again of home, paused warily.

The road was his with not a native near;

And Eben, having leisure, said aloud,

For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear:

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon

Again, and we may not have many more;

The bird is on the wing, the poet says,

And you and I have said it here before.

Drink to the bird.” He raised up to the light

The jug that he had gone so far to fill,

And answered huskily: “Well, Mr. Flood,

Since you propose it, I believe I will.”

Alone, as if enduring to the end

A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn,

He stood there in the middle of the road

Like Roland’s ghost winding a silent horn.

Below him, in the town among the trees,

Where friends of other days had honored him,

A phantom salutation of the dead

Rang thinly till old Eben’s eyes were dim.

Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child

Down tenderly, fearing it may awake,

He set the jug down slowly at his feet

With trembling care, knowing that most things break;

And only when assured that on firm earth

It stood, as the uncertain lives of men

Assuredly did not, he paced away,

And with his hand extended paused again:

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have not met like this

In a long time; and many a change has come

To both of us, I fear, since last it was

We had a drop together. Welcome home!”

Convivially returning with himself,

Again he raised the jug up to the light;

And with an acquiescent quaver said:

“Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might.

“Only a very little, Mr. Flood—

For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do.”

So, for the time, apparently it did,

And Eben evidently thought so too;

For soon amid the silver loneliness

Of night he lifted up his voice and sang,

Secure, with only two moons listening,

Until the whole harmonious landscape rang—

“For auld lang syne.” The weary throat gave out,

The last word wavered; and the song being done,

He raised again the jug regretfully

And shook his head, and was again alone.

There was not much that was ahead of him,

And there was nothing in the town below—

Where strangers would have shut the many doors

That many friends had opened long ago.

Summary

Mr. Flood’s Party by the master poet, Edwin Arlington Robinson, is the story of an elderly man who outlived everyone close to him. This is something that sadly affects way too many elderly people all too often every day, and many of them also might end up turning to alcohol, just as Mr. Flood does in the poem.

From the title, one might think that it is a happy poem about a lively party hosted by a man named Mr. Flood. It is, however, more of a pity party where the only guests are ghosts and good old John Barleycorn. Mr. Flood feels that he is indeed cursed because he has outlived everybody and is looking back on better years when he and his friends were stronger and, of course, they all were much happier.

It’s a shame that aging causes such isolation for so many, especially now that modern science is extending many people’s lifetimes. We all laugh when we hear “80 is the new 60” and sayings like that, but without good health, friends, and family, anybody could end up like Mr. Flood, living longer, yes, but not so happy it would seem.

I found it especially interesting how the poet made the connection between Mr. Flood’s jug of booze to a sleeping child when he set the jug down carefully as if not to wake it (or break it as the is the case here). He clearly seems to see that inanimate object as something to be treasured and protected, just like his precious memories of better times gone by.

I also found very interesting his reference to Roland’s ghost since he was one of ‘s Charlemagne’s soldiers long ago. He had so much foolish pride that he refused to enlist any assistance in with a battle, in which he and all of his soldiers died. Could it be that it is unsaid, but Mr. Flood may have been responsible for the deaths of some of his old cronies and is feeling guilty? I thought this gave pause for consideration that perhaps it wasn’t just regret, but guilt as well, that sent him into the bottle. On the other hand, maybe it was just guilt at having outlived his loved ones.