The Truth...

(By William Blake)

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

Abstract about Language

Self-Access Study and Cooperative Foreign Language Learning through Computers

Prof. Dra. Mariangela BRAGA NORTE
Universidade Estadual Paulista

The purpose of this paper is to show the importance of extra-class study and self instruction in Foreign Language Learning (FLL), especially with the use of computers. Learning is an individual act and the teachers know that the ideal language student is the one that is responsible for his/her self-learning. This research presents two experiences of learning with the computer. The first part deals with autonomous learning and the use of CD-Roms and other software. The second part points out the use of e-mail with the objective of developing comprehension, writing and the amplification of cultural exchange in a cooperative study paradigm. The study followed a qualitative methodology. Data were gathered using the following procedures: interviews with the students involved in the process, students’ diaries, students’ self evaluation sheets, dialogues and teachers’ observation. Results indicate the relevance of the use of computer/internet as a way of improving FL teaching and learning.

KEYWORDS: computer/internet, e-mail, self-access learning, cooperative study.

The whole article can be found in the folowing address:

A tale by Lord Byron...

The Giaour - A Fragment of a Turkish Tale

(A tale by Lord Byron, 1813)

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem-
My memory now is but the tomb
Of joys long dead-my hope-their doom-
Though better to have died with those
Than bear a life of lingering woes-


I do not ask him not to mourn,
Such cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than friendship's manly tear
May better grace a brother's bier?
But bear this ring-his own of old-
And tell him-what thou dost behold!
The withered frame, the ruined mind,
The wrack by passion left behind-
A shrivelled scroll, a scatter'd leaf
Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!


'Such is my name, and such my tale,
Confessor-to thy secret ear,
I breathe the sorrows I bewail,
And thank thee for the general tear
This glazing eye could never shed.
Then lay me with the humblest dead,
And save the cross above my head,
Be neither name nor emblem spread
By prying stranger to be read,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread.'
He pass'd-nor of his name and race
Hath left a token or a trace,
Save what the father must not say
Who shrived him on his dying day;
This broken tale was all we knew
Of her he lov'd, or him he slew.