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J. GAGE & COMPANY, Limitkd TORONTO. '''"^S)r"'''J",'.''*vt?."' •'."' ' '"•"'*"'«-"^ «' ••"•■"'l'^ 1" the year J!..1. 1„ UK. 0,.I..c nr „.., Ml,a«t.r„f Atfricullun,. I.y XV. J. O...K & Co.. Llmitcll" PT^EFACE. N tlio prpparntiori of this volume tho „im \ u for pup.,, i.. „„va„ee., .,o.Tn T ,;7 ''" "T" ^.f''°^'^« varied. „..d interes,.,.,, anthology T.-ehy""""' hu« been dict,.a„l primarilv , , ""^ °' '*''*^'°'"' train t,.., j ... Jt ""//..'"/"'"'''"'''' ^''^• i.a,in..tiono.',:'.;r :,tr^^^^^^ ''"V^"'^'- ^»'« "fe When U.y „. lef. ^ l,r^':;l::^.:i-V" ^ wm .ad .. .....ion. T,.e..u,uJt;z^::':j- T u . '"^^'•f'-npl..h t,.e pu,,«se in view. ThouKh the ,,roso 8e,eotions are fewer in number th«„ »K F-....S t,.ey amount in the aggregate to a,.u oT.^L.f of h! reaH...K matter. Severn, of them are inde. ndent nl V or monographs and when t,.e use of exc t l„ h 7 care has been taken to make them a, art "t t ""''^'"l^-'- r-ib.e. T,.e pn.se lesson, of .«.th k d wii JT^ " Jnva,uub,e aid in tl.e to.,.!.; , ^ ^'-""** «" the variety of s ,e tH '' '"""'"-'''^'•'" "" '-^'^^unt of --d.o..ono,,e.der::;S-'.:rt^^^^ thorne, and Burrou.'hs on the otl.«. . . ^' *^" »m»wh„t ■„, „.«:.„: ;'::i'r: :,: ;:,:"";"".''"'"' ■>' from their writi,,.,, .i., |„ , ? ' "" »l«i™ ma* All three kinds of {xx-try-lyric ei.ip -nW a reoresentpH ;„ tu- .1 . "^ ' ' *°^ dramat c— are represented ... this anthology, thn last chiefly bv snoh H tic monologues as Tennyson's " Ulysses "and R T^' "Italian in England." Both no«.. . Browning's ijiuaa. ijoth poets w ie extensive use ol this IV Preface. literary form, and the selections hero inserted aro highly charac- teristic of their authors. Their more popular and suitable compositions have b-en utilized to an unprecedented extent, a matter of exceptional importance in the case of poets who were indisputably foremost in the latter half of the last century, and who will not be soon or easily deprived of their pre-eminence during the present one. It is unnecessary to mention here the names of the many other poets from whose writings have been culled a large number of surpassing- ly beautiful gems of literature. Not the least i.iteresting or valuable are the poems by colonial authors, both Canadian and Australian. One aim in the compilation of this Reader has been to keep down the number of authors and make more extensive selections from the works of those whose writings are suitable for this purpose. It h.s in this wiiy been rendered possible to make a special study of the works of each of several authors, such as Addison, Scott, Irving, and Macaulay in prose, and Tennyson, Browning, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Longfellow in poetry. With a view to affording facilities for the comparative study of literature, irresjiective of authorship, the selections have been arranged in groups about a s(!ries of general ideas. Obviously many of them might have been with ecjual justifica- tion placed in groups other than those to which they have been allotted. Some suggestions in relation to this extremely interesting and important subject will be found in the Api)endix, which contains also essential or helpful information respecting some of the selections. In the case of excerpts the works from which they have been extracted are clearly indicated. The utmost care has been taken to make this Reader as nearly as possible a {lerfect specimen of the book-making art. In every essential resix>ct it will compare favorably with any collection of literature ever previously published. It is in fact as well as in name a "twentieth century" product. TABLE OF CONTENTS. On My Mother's Picture. . I)ora Elegiac Stanzas To a Brother The Irish Emigrant The Little Midshipman . . David Swan Maud Miiller In Memoriam Rip Van Winkle The Ancient Mariner Rosahelle Crusader and Sarareii Cavalry Charges at Balaklava. . The Kide to Aix On Horseback A Proud Pedestrian King Richard and Saladin King Richard and Rohin Hood The Glove and the Lions . . The Glove The English Language . . Spelling and Derivation . . Change in Language English Speech The English Language . . The Apology of Socrates . . . . The Death of Socrates Thanatopsis Address to a Mummy Mortality The Iniitat on of Christ . . King Robert of Sicily The Vision of Sir Launfal Lady Clara Vere de Vere . What is Time '1 Ode to Duty The Happy Warrior Life, Death, and Immortality The Tragedies of Birds' Nests. The Birds of Killingworth The Cuckoo at Laverna . . The Blackbird niilinm Cou'per 9 Alfred Tennyson 1.3 William Wordnworth . . .. 18 Alfred Tenvyion 20 Lady l)nferin 21 Jenn Iwielow 23 Nathaniel HawthoniK . . . 31 John Gre.enle.af Whilfier . . 41 Alfred Tennymn 45 Waxhiwjtoii Irvinij . . . . 47 Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . 75 "i* Sir Walter Scott 97 Sir Walter Scott 99 William Howard Runsell . . 105 Robert Broiniinij 113 Edwin Paxton Hood . . . . 116 Oliver Wendell Holmes .. 117 Sir Walter Scott 118 Sir Walter Scott 124 James Henry Leiyh Hunt. . 130 Robert Broioninij 132"' Joseph Addison 137 — Richard Chenevix Trench . . 143 Friedrich Max Midler . . 147 William Wettnore Story . . 149 J. G. Lyon '. . . 153 flato 166 Plato 163 William Ctillen Bryant . . 169 Horace Smith 172 William Knox 175 Thomas a Kempis . . . . 177 Henry W. Lon;ifelloiv . . . 179 ^ James Russell Lowell. . . . 186 • Alfred Tennyson 193 John Howard Marsden . . 195 William Wordsworth. . .. 197 "^ William Wordsworth . . 199 — Alfred Tennyson 202 John Hvrroughs 205 Henry W. Longfellow. .. 216 a* William iVordsworth. . .. 224 Alfred 2'ennyson . . . . , 228 i. if' VI Table of Contents. To a Skylark To the Cuckoo . . . . . . . . The Green Linnet .. Ode to a Nightingale To a Nightingale To a Nightingale The Song- Sparrow The Whitethrottt The Canadian Song-Sparrow . . The Death of Arthur The Passing of Arthur . . The Tomb of Arthur Sir Roger de Coverley The Country ( Jentleman . . Lord Chesterlield . . . . Daniel O'Connell . . . . '.'. The Italian in England . . The Lotos- Eaters Ulysses Village Characters The Angler The Brook The Sleeping Beauty The Bleeping Beauty The Fairies Lord Clive Ode on the Death of Wellington The Mountain of Miseries . Discontent Contentment Peace of Mind The Changed Cross Canada and Great Britain . Canada and the United States. Canada and the Empire . . Canada and the Empire . The Queen and the Empire . . The British Flag The First Dominion Day. . The Canadian Confederacy A Song of Cariada Canada to Columbia Canadians on the Nile Hands all Round Kin Bejond Sea Commonwealth Day The Austral Months Perry Ryuuhe Shelley. . William Wordsworth. . William Wordsworth John Keats William Wordsworth . . Alfred Tennyson . Edward William Thomson Theodore Harding Rand . Sir James Edgar . Sir Thomas Mulor^ . . . Alfred Tennyson . Aubrey de Vere Joseph A ddison Washington Irving Samntl Johnson Wendell Phillips . Robert Broicning . Alfred Tennyson . Alfred Tennyson . Olirer Ooidsmilh Washington Irring Alfred Tennyson . Jacob Orimm Alfred Tennyson . Thomas West wood Thoma.1 B. Macauluy . Alfred Tennyson Joseph Addison Horace Oliver Wendell Holmes Sir Edward Dyer A nonymous ^jV John Macdonald Joseph Howe Sir Wilfrid Laurier . . Sir Charles Ttipper . . Sir Wilfrid Laurier Joseph Howe John Reade Charles George D. Roberts . Robert Reid Lyman Cyrus Smith . . .. William Wye S7nith .. .. Alfred Tennyson William Ewart Gladstone. . George Essex Evans Henry Clarence Kendall . . PiSC. . 229 . 233- . 234 235- . 238 . 239 . 239 . 240 . 241 . 242 -7 . 247 - . 256 . 261 - . 267 . 269 — . 272 . 276 . 281 *. , 283 *> 285 . 289 294 301 306 313 314^ 329"* 335 343 344 347 350 353 360 363 366 371 376 377 379 380 382 383 j, 385 ^ 387 392 394 Appendix _ _ ..403 INDEX OF AUTHORS. F'AOE. Addlaon 13;, 261, 335 A Kuuipis ];7 Browniu;,' .... ux 132, '.'Tfi Bryant |,.,j Burroughs .t^^ Coleridge 75 Cowper () Do Vcrc 256 Oufferin, Lady .... oj ^>'<^'' .'.'.".' 347 Kdgar on Evans og.^ Glalstone 3^- Goldsniith 380 Griuim nn, Hawthorne 3. JJ"'"""* 117, 344 Hood jjg Horace ' o.™ !!°"<' • ' .' Jfii), 376 """t .130 Ingelovv, J(!aii .... .j3 ^"■'"Sr .' 47, '267, 289 Johnson .w« Keats .^ Kendall ... wi Knox . . ,.. llO ^""'^^ 363.371 , PAGE. Lionfrfcllow . , , . 170 .11,. I^"""" I8.i ^-y"" 15.'; Macanlny gj^ •Miicdonald 353 Malory ........' .' 242 Marsden jg^ Max Mailer ........ uj Phillips .vg P'*'" '.'.'. 'lafi, 163 !^"d 240 Iteade 3-- Reid • ... 380 Roberts '3-9 «"«««» ■■■■'■'.'.'.'. m ?f°" !':. 09. 118. 124 Shelley g-jg Smith, Horace ] J72 Smith. L. C. . ■ ■ • < Smith, U'.\K ^ '^'"■•y ." ' .■ 149 Tennyson. . . 13,20,45,133, 202, 228. 239, -'47, 281, 283, _,^ -"SI. 306, 329, 385 1 homson ogg Trench 113 Tupper ' ogg Westwood ... 01, whittier ; ; ; ^^ Wordsworth . . I8, 197, 199, 224, 233, 234, 238 4 ^. (^^^ J^Mc-w^ The above is a facsimilr of Kipling's manuscript of the first two stanzas of the " Recessional." The text of the remaining three stanzas will be f omul in the Appendix, in coniuxtion with the annotation's on Tennyson's "Hands All Hound." FIFTH READER. ON MY MOTHERS PICTURE. O THAT those lips had languag,. ! Life has passed With me but roughly since . hoard thee last. Those lips are thine -thy own swee-, smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !" The meek intelligence, of those dear eyes (Blest be the art that can immortalise, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic cllim To quench it!) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, welcome guest, though unexpected here ! Who bidst me luMior with an artless song. Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 1 will obey, not willingly alone But gladly, as the piecept were her owr. ; And, while that face renews my filial *rrief, Fancy siiall weave a charm for my relief, ' Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that tliou art she. I i/ lu 15 ao 10 On My IMother's Picture. 10 15 20 25 30 >Iy luothf r ! when I Icurnofl tliat thou wast dead, Spy, wast thou conscious of tho tears I slied ? IIovercKl thy spirit o'er tliy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perliaps thou gavest me, though unfeit, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! — it answers — Yes. r heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But Avas it such ? — It was. — Where tliou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Tiiy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern. Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ; What ardently I wished I long believed. And disappointed still was still deceived, By expectation every day beguih'd. Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, I le.ir»u'd at last submission to iv lot. But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no morej Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener, Robin, day by day Drew me to school along the public way. Delighted with my bauble coach and wrr.pped In scarlet mantle warm and velvet capped, .-'L^^'^m. On My Mother's Picture. 11 Tis now become a history little known That, once we called the pastoral house onr own Short-lived possession ! But the record fair That memory keeps of all thy kin.h.oss tluTe St. II outlives many a storm that has effiuvd A thousand other themes less deeply trace.]. Thy nightly visits to my chamln-r ma.l,, That thou mightst know „,« safe an.I warmly lairl • Thy morning bounties ere I left my honu-, The biscuit, or confectionery plum • The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowod By thy own hand till fresh they shone and glowe.1: All this and, more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall, Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks That humor interp<,sed too often makes ; All this, still legible in memory's page And still to be so till my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honors to thee as my numliers may, Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the h„ur When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers. The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin (And thou wast happier than mvself the while Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and 'smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear. Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?30 I would not trust my heart ;-the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.— ° i 10 *#? 15 80 25 12 On My Mother's Picture. T5ut no — what here wo call our life is such, So Htm to 1)6 loved and thou so much, Tiiat I should ill reijuite thee to constrain Thy unlmund spirit into bonds again. S Thou, — as a galhmt bark fiom Albion's coast (The storms all weathered iid the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some wt-ll-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on tlie floods that show 10 Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated \"ith incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached t'.e .^'.lore "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar"; 15 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed, — Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, 20 Sails rii)ped, seams opening wide, and coir;i;xss lost. And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. Yet O, the thought that thou ait safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive wliat may to me. '.'5 My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth ; But higher far my nroud pretensions rise, — The son of parents passed into the skies. And now, farewell, — Time unrevoked has run 30 Hid wonted course, yeu what I wished is done By contempliition's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; Dora. To have renewed tho joys that once were min« Without the sin of violating thine; And, while the wings of fancy .still mo fr..., And T can view this mimic form of tlipe, Time has but half succeccJerJ in his theft,— Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. —WILLIAM rowPER. 13 DORA. With Farmer Allan at the farm abwlo William and Dora. William was his son And she his niece. He oftei, look'd at them And often thought, "I'll make them man anrl wifp." ,o Now Dora felt her uncle's vill in all And yearn'd towanl William ; but the youtli, Invause He had been always with her in the house, Thought not of Dora. Then there came a day When ^Jlan call'd his son and said, "My son, 15 I married late, but I would wish to see My grandchild on my knees before I die, And I have set my heart upon a match. Now therefore look to Dura : .she is well To look to, thrifty too beyond her age. 20 She is ray brother's daughter; he and I Had once hard words and parted, and ho died In foreign lands, but for his sake I bied His daughter Dora; take her for your wife, For I have wish'd this marriage night and 'any 25 For many years." But William answer'd short : "I cannot murry Dora; by my life I will not marry Dora." Then -he old man 14 Dora. in \5 •x 25 te Was wroth, and doubled up his hands ond said, "You will not, iK.y ! you riare to answer ihuH ! But in my time a father's word was law And so it siiull be now for roe. Lcoit to it; Consider, William; take a month to think And let me have an answer to my wish, Or by the Lord that made me you shall pack And never more darken my <'oors again.' But William an.s\ver"(J madly, hit his lips, And broke away. The nujre he look'd at her The less he liked her, and his ways were harsh But Dora bore them meekly. Then lieforo The month was out he left liis father's house And hired liimself to work within the fields, And lialf in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed A laborer's daughter, Mary ^lonison. Th,n, when the bells wer3 ringing, Allan call'd His niece and said, "My girl, I love you well, But if you speak with him that was my son Or change a word with her ho c .lis his wife My home is none of yours. My will is law." And Dora promised being meek. She thought, "It cannot be; my uncle's mind will change!" And days went on, and there was born a boy To William; then distresses came on him, And day by day he pass'd his father's gate Heart-hruken, and his father helped him not. But Dora stored what little she could save And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know Who sent it; till at last a fever seized On William, and in harvest time he died. Then Dora \yent to Mary Mary sat Dora. Am? Jook'd with tear, upon l.or lx,y and thought Hard th,„fiH ,.f Dora. Dora came and .aid "I have olH.yd n.y up-'m until now, And r have sinnd for it wa.s alf thro' „,o This evil came on William at the first But Mary, for the sake of him that's gone A».d for your sake, the woman that he d.ose And for this orphan I am come to yo„ • ' You know there has not Ix.., for these h^■e yoars So full a harvest ; lot me take the Ix^y And I will set him i.. my uncle's eye Of the full harvest he may see the hoy And bl.vss him for th. sake of hi.n that's ...... ' And Dora took the child and went her way" Across the wheat and sat upon a mound That was unsown, where many poppies grew. far ott the farmer came into the field And spied her not, for none of all his men l>are tell hin, Dora waited with the child • And Dora would have risen and gone to him But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'., And the sun fell, and all the land was dark But when the morrow came she rose and took The child once more and sat upon the mound And n,ade a little wreath of all the flowers That grew alx,ut and tied it round his hat To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. Then, when the farmer pass'd into the field, He spied her and he left his men at work And came and said, "Where wero ^ou yesterday! Whose child IS that? What a. ,oing here?" 15 4 10 1.-. sn 25 30 16 DOBA. 10 15 20 2j 30 So Dora cast her oyps u|mn the ground Vnti niiHwoiVl softly, "Tliis is Willium's child!" "And did I not," Maid Allan, "did I not Forbid you, Dora?" Dora 8.t .f |.e will „..t tako thee Wk a«ai„ ' T"? ''"'" f"' ' "" '^■" ^^•^'"" -•' '-- And ...Kfo,WilW.sclul.Ju,.eil la, «,...«., Of H«o to help us." So the wo..,e„ kis.'l B"h other and set out and reach'.! the fan.. The d<0^ -t up Mwixt his gran,Mn.Un.... >VlK> thrust hun in the hollows of his ann And dapt hin. on the hands and on the cWs Like one that loved him; and tlie ' ul .„ .7V ;);..i^^;i>iedforthe,o,;„j:j':::'-'''^ Tent, a.,ei,,,„,,,^^^ H.S mother ho cri.-d out to co.ne .o h... • O father !-,fvou let me call ^ou so _ 1 never came a-U..^g,„. f„, ,„^,^,^^ Or Wi,ii.a,. or this child; but now Lome ^ur Dora; take, .er back; she loves you well. Witt :,r VUhan. died he died at peace ^.thal, men; for I asked him. and he said H oould not ever rue his marrying „.e- I hud been a patient wife; but. Sir. he said Tha he was wrong to cro.ss ,.i« f.^.er thus • 'jod bless lim'' be «oiM < j H faceandpass'd_unh:.ppythatlam! Bu now S.r ,et me have my boy. for you W II make ,nm ,.ard and h^ wi„ ,earn to s,.,,. 17 Ml lA 20 as 30 jj- —.J., '• :f».k :-''' 18 Elegiac Stanzas. 10 16 His father's raeraory, and take Dora back, And let all this be as it was before." So Mary said and Dora liid her face By Mary. There was silence in the room And all at once the old man burst in sobs : "I have been to blame — to blame. T have kill'd my son; T have kill'd him— but I loved him -my dear son. May God forgive me ! — I have been to blame. Kiss me, my children." Then they clung about The old man's neck and kiss'd him many times. And all the man was broken with remorse. And all his love came back a hundredfold. And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child Thinking of William. So those four abode Within one liouse together ; and as years Went forward Mary took another mate. But Dora lived unmarried till her death. — ALFKK.D TENNTSON. 20 S5 ELEGIAC STANZAS. I WAS thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile ! Four sununcr weeks I dwelt in sight of thee; I saw thee every day, and all the wliile Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! So like, so very like, was day to day ! Whene'er I looked thy imago still was there: It trembled but it never passed away. How perfect was the calm ! it seemed no sleep, No mood which season takes away or brings : I could have fancied jhat the mighty deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. i^ Elegiac Stanzas. Ah !THEx,,f„..ne had been the painter's ..and To express what then I saw, and add the glean, The hght that never was on sea or land. ' Ihe conserrati„n and the poet's dream, I would have pl.„ted thee, thou hoary pile Am.d a world how different from this - ' Beside a sea that could not cease to smile On tranquil land, beneath a sky of blisa A picture had it been of lasting ease Elysmn quiet, witi.out toil or strife'- No motion but the moving tide, a bre'eze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart Such picture would I at that time have made- Ana seen the soul of truth in every part, ' A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. .-o onee it would have been -tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control • A power has gone that nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanized my soul. Not for a moment could T now behold A smiling sea and he what r have been. The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; Tins, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, _l^aumon, friend: who would have been the If he had lived, of him whom T deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend- Ihis sea m anger and that dismal shor*. 19 10 15 90 25 20 To A BllOTHER. IH Oh, 'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; That hulk which labors in the deadly swell. This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear. 5 And this huge castle standing here sublime ; I love to see the look with wliich it braves. Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time, The lightning, ♦lio fierce wind, and trampling waves Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone, 10 Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind ! Such happiness wherever it be known Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude and patient cheer. And frequent sights of what is to lie borne ! 16 Such sights, or worse, as are before me here — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. —WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 90 TO A BROTHER. "More than ray brothers are to me," — Let tliis nut vex thee, noble heart ! I know thee of what force thou art To hold the costliest love in fee. But thou and I are one in kind. As moulded like in Nature's mint; And hill and wood and field did print The sbme sweet forms in either mind. The Irish Emigrant. For us tJie same cold streamlet curl'd Thro' all his eddying coves ; the same All winds that roam the twilight came In whispers of the beauteous world. At one dear knee we proffer'd vows, One lesson from o,.« hook we learn'd Ere childhood's flaxen rinylet turn'd ' io black and brown on kindred brows. And so my wealth resoml)Ies thine • But he Wits rich where I was poor, And he supplied my want the more As his unlikeuess fitted mine. —ALFRED TKNNV80N. 21 THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side hv side' That bright May morni'ng long ago \\ hen first you were my bride The corn was springing f.osh and green. I he lark sang loud and high, The red was on your lip, Ma'v, The love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark^s loud song in in my ear, The corn is green again. 22 The Irish Emioeant. But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, Your breath warm on my clieek, And I still keep list'ning for the words You never more may speak. 10 u 80 » I'm very lonely now, Mary, — The poor make no new friends ; But, oh : they love the better still The few our Father sends. And you were all T had, Mary, My blessing and my pride ; There's nothing left to care for now Since my poor Mary died. I'm bidding you d long farewell, My Mary kind and true. But I'll not forget you, darling. In the land I'm going to. They say there's bread and work for all. And the sun shines always there ; But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fail'. And when amid those grand old woods I sit and shut my eye-, My heart will travel back again To whore my Mary lies ; I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side. And the springing corn and bright ISIay moin, When first vou w^ie mv briflc — LADV DUKFERIN. •■>»^iK\XfVM^r^ iixm- vif m The Little Midshipman. 23 THE LITTLE MIDSHIPMAN. Who is tins ? A careless litflo midshipman, Id ing about in a groat city, witli his po.-kots full of money. He is waiting for the coach: It comes up presently, and he gets on the top of It and bocrins to look about him 5 They soon leave the ohimney-fops behind them ; his eyes wander with delight over the harvest-tields, he smells the honeysuckle in the hedge-row, .nd he wishes he was down among the haze -bushes that he might strip them of,o their milky nuts. Then he sees a great waggon piled ui. with barley, and he wishes he was seated on the top of It ; then they go through a little wood, and he likes to see the checkered shadows of ,5 the trees lying across the white road ; and then a squirrel runs up a bough, and lie cannot forbear to whoop and halloo, though he cannot chase it to its nest. The passengers go on talking,- the littler midshipman has told them who he is and where he IS going. But there is one man who has never joined in the conversation ; he is dark- looking and restless; he sits apart; he has heard the rattling of coin in the bov's pocket, o, now he watches hi,n more narrowly than ■x'e. ■.^i 24 The Little Midshipman. Tho 1;h1 lijis told tlio otlicr passengers that his fatliei-'s liouse is tlie parsonngo at Y ; the coach goes within five miles of it, and he means to get down at the neai-est point and 5 walk, or rather run, over to his homo thronjrh tlie great wood. The man decides to gc^t down, too, and go through the wood. lie will rob the Httle mid- shipman ; perliai)s, if lie cries out or sti'uggles, 10 he will do w-orse. The ooy, ho thinks, will have no chanco against him; it is quite im- possible that he can escape; the way is lonely, and the sun will be down. It is too light at I)resent for his deed of darkness and too near i^tiie entrance of the Avood, but he J:nows that shortly the path will branch otf into two, and the right one for the boy to take will be dark and lonely. But what prompts the little midshipman, 20 when not fifty yards from the branching of the patli, to break into a sudden run ? It is not fear,— he never dr<^ams of danger. Some sudden imi)ulse, or some wild wish for home, makes him dash off suddenly with a whoop 25 and a bound. On he goes as if running a race; tbo path bends and the man loses sitrht of him. "But I shall have him vet," he thinks; "lie cann.jt keep this pace up long," The buy has nearly reached the place where The Utti.t. ArTi.siin^MAN. 95 th.. p;ah ,livi,l„s wl.on l,« start., „,, ,, ,,,„„,, "•'."". o"-' ♦I'"' - — ly fly, ,„'„1 i' ; t whnTn,jt along elo.so t„ ,|,„ «,,„„„, ,,„f„,,, ^. ,, ' '"'• ^,""' ''« g-'« tl'o start „«,,:„; tl.ov , goes smi>M.\.v. 27 AH this tinio tho dark pass.n;,oM- fnllou-.s the mmn tra,.k and holi.v.s that his ,.r..v is hofor. -"• At h.st he l..a,.s n .,-ashin. of ^h,.,! boughs, and presently tho little n.i.lshipn.an's voice not m-ty yards h.fore him. Y.s • it is - t<>o tnie; the boy is in the m.ss tra.k. U, ' will .soon ,.ass the ootta;,e in u.e vvoo.l, nn.l after that his pursuer will come upon him. 11-3 boy bounds into the path, but as ho P--tl. cottage he is so thirsty and so hot. hat he tlunks he musr ask the occupants if they can give him a glass of water. He enters without ceremony. " Water ? » says the woos ; it is so. He pushes himself into the thicket and raises his stake to strike when the boy shall pass. On he comes, running 10 lightly with his hands in his pockets. A sound strikes at the same instant on the ears of both, and the boy turns back fi-om the veiy jaws of death to listen. It is the sound of wheels and it draws rapidly nearer. A man comes up 15 driving a little gig. ^^ "Holloa!" he says in a loud, cheerful voice. " What ! benighted, youngster ! " ^^ "O! is it you, Mr. D ?" says the boy; "no, I am not benighted; or at any rate I a. know my way out of the wood." The man draws farther back among the shrubs. -Why, l>less the boy," he hears the farmer say, " to think of our meeting in this way ! The parson told me he was in hopes a5of seeing thee some day this week. I'll give thee a lift. This is a lone place to be in at this time o' night." "Lone!" says the boy, laughing. "I don't mmd that; and if you know the way it's as Thk Lrm.F Mii..sh[I'man. 29 safe as tl.o qua.te.-.lo.k.' So ho p.fs |„to „,. furinoi-s g,g, an.l is oucv m,.,o our „f .va,-!. ot the imrsiu'i'. But the man knou-s that tho farmo.'s l,o„so IS a quarhM- of a niilo ,,<.,,,.,• ,h.-u. th- par...,,- « age, and i„ that qua.to,. c,f a n.il,. thnv is v.r a chanc'o ,.f winniitti.i^f tho rohl,..,v. II,. dotn- inmos still to make tho a,t.„,,\t a,.s!" suys tho hoy, seated hotween his father and mother on u s< .fa, " why, mother, I AH1) S«AN. DAVID SWAN. 81 W ha. „,,,„,,,,,,,, I,, „i,,,D„vi,lS,™,,,„,,il we ,,Unm ,„„„.„.„„,• ,„,,„ who,-,, his ,.,„.|,, „ , II ,,„„|„,. |„ ,1^,, ; ';""' ™^ •" '"!<•■ '"'■■ l-lm..l ,„„,.,.. „;. „ >> ""„„«h t„ s„y ,|,,„ |„, „,„ ,^ ,„„.^,. ,^^. ^.^ ^^ ■ """""^ '""" "•■ '■•■"I I'll'l.' I...v,„«, ,„„1 l„.,l : '■•■'"•'1 ■"; "'■'""-■>• -1 1 ■■.i"-ii,„ „,,h „ I'r"'." "■>-".™"'"M'ii,n„n,„„A „,v ,tr„T''"' •'"'" "" *■""*'•'■•""» 'i- li" n-.riv,„ noon „t a s„„„„,.rv ,l„y, his w..„n,„..... ,„„| ,1,;. ■noivas,,,^. h,.,-,t ,],,,,•„ him.„si,,l,„v„i„,h., ft.-s .•,Mn-™i..„t sh.,,1,. „,„1 ,„v:,it ,h,. ,i,„,„„ o.„ h,.s ,„„.,- ,.■1,. .As if plan,,.,, „„,„„;„. for h,m, th,.,-„ s,,,,,, a, ,, a li„|,. ,„• ,„•,, maples w„h a ,l..|i„„f„l , ,,, i,. „,„ „.J '' "-1 s«,.h a frosh, l„,l,l.nn« siai,,.- thaMt «.,.,„., On^ , fe,va„. A„.g„, o,. „„t |,<. |,i,„.,| „ ,^.., "« l'"-.^.v lips, a„,I ,hc.„ /lu„. ,,i,a,„|,. „|„„,, „ e.nnk,p,I.nvn,„ his hc.a,i upon «,,,.,. shi,.,s' ■>'H .' pan- of pantaloons ,i,„l „,, j,, „ ,„• , cotton handk,.,-chi,.f. Th.. sunl.ean,s ,.,„„,, „ aeh „,„, t,,.. „„| .,|„ „„, _^^, , .^^. ^,.^^_^^ ;^ oa<] after the lu-av, vain of vesto,,!av and ,- h.sg,.as,vh,i,. suited the yonng „an " le "' ".an a be,l of down. The spri,,. ,„„,„„„,„, 32 David Swan. I drowsily beside hiin; the l»ra!ielies waved dream- ily across tlio blue sky overhead; and a deep sleep, pei-chaiieo Iiiding were all one, or rather all nothing, to David Swan. He had slept oidy a few moments when a brown carriag(>, drawn by a handsome pair of horses, bowled easily along and was brought f"-^*^m^i^MkI.M^ David Swan. 33 to a star stii; uv:-v' ■ iu froi.f ,.f n • i, "'g-pl"«. A lnM./.p in '■'''• pemmt«l.,..,.,,. ,,,,';■' '■•''■';'' ""' "■"' ri... Wheels to slide off, T}u> *«nuge .„» slight and oe«,.,i™„„i ...o-ol • " eanugo Wlule the ,.,ad„„a„ „,„] a servant Z: -P'-'f ♦!- whcl th., 1,,,,,. an,l g : ,7 ' '"'" "'" >"«-cliant t,-,Hl as lirfitlv David .,„„,.,., tart „,,a,i„';:::^.r"'^"" gentfe:;;r''r'''-*r'""-'''^p^'-^''-'>i') Lt Z b,,.atl ""L,:?"", ^' '"">"■ '■« "-aws ou with,,,,, • ''""P "" """ brought i .,.1 i ^^' """""'■ *■"'• i' ^"M suppose iiealth and an unt,'„ul,led mind " "An,! youth besides," said the kdy. "Healthv ;"'<'.i.ehisthauo„rwaJui,sX The longer they looked the more did this u ' ;;:t,^ ^'i, '""•'•-'"' - «- -ifnow, jouth, to ,il,oiu the wayside and tlie manle shade were as a secret ohan.ber witl, ZtiX '.h-s ■"^M.^mmj 34 David Swan. i gloom of damask curtains brooding over liira. Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glinim* , d down upon his face the lady contrived to twist a branch aside so as to intercept it, and shaving done this little act of kindness she began to feel like a mother to him. "Providence seems to have laid liini here," whispered she to her husband, "and to have brought us hither to lind him after our dis- loappointment in our cousin's son. Methinks I can see a likeness to our d.'parted Henry. Shall we waken him ? " "To what purpose;'" sai-l the merchant, hesitating. "We k.tow nothing of the youth's 15 character." "Thcit open countenance!" replied his wife in the same hushed voice, yet earnestly. " This innocent sleep ! " While these whispers wei'e passing, the sleep- L'lier's heart did not throb, nor his ]>reath become agitated, nor his featm-es Ijetray tlu" least token of interest. Yet Foitune was bending over him just ready to let fall a burden of gold. The old mei'chant had lost his only son and 25 had no heir to his wealth except a distant rela- tive, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases people sometimes do sti-anger things than to act the magician and awaken a young man to splendor, wUo fell asleep in poverty. David Swan. 35 "Shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady, persnasively. bewld '"""^ '' '■""'■■' ""■•" "'''"^ "'" ''•'■■™"'. The oM cotiple started, ved.Iened, and hnrried = a™y mntnally wondering, that they .honld ever have dreamed of doing anything so verv ndienlous. The merchant threw himself haek "1 tlie carnage and occupied his mind with the plan of a magnificent asylun, for nnfortnna.e,, men of husmess. Meanwhile David Swau enjoyed his nap. The carriage could not have gone above a along , trip,,„,j, p,,,,^^ ,^.|,.^.|^ cisely how her little heart was dancing i.Uier bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind o motion that ca„.sed-is there any ha.™ in sa^- W *|7 -a ^'"'"■,*" ^^"'' "" ""'"*■ Conscious that , he ..liken girth, if silk it were, was rela.x-. mg Its hold, slie turned aside into the shelter of the maple-trees and there found a young man asleep by the spring! Blnshing as red as aity .o.se that .she should have iutr„,led, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe. Bnt there^ was pen, near the sleeper. A monster of a bl h»rf been wandering oveihead-l,n.z, buzz, buzz -now among the leaves, now flashing through the stnps of sunshine, and now lost in the da^k 36 David Swan. sliafle, tUl finally he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of David Swan. The sting of a bee is sometimes deadly. As fi-ee-hearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with sher handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and d ove him from the maple-shade. How sweet a picture! This good deed accomplished, with quickened breath and a deeper blush si e stole a glance at the youthful stranger, for whom i"she had been battling with a dragon vl the air. "He is handsome!" thought she, and blushed redder yet. How could it be that no dream of bliss grew 15 so strong within him that, shattered by its very strength, it should part asunder and allow him to perceive the girl among its phantoms? Why at least did no smile of welcome brighten upon his face ! She was come, the maid whose 20 soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had beer 3evered from his own and whom, in all his vague but passionate desires he yearned to meet. Her only could he love with a per- fect love — him only could she receive into the 2s depths of her heart — and now her image was faintly blushing in the fountain by his side; should it pass away its happy lustre would never gleam upon his life again. "How sound he sleeps!" murmured the girl. She departed, ^^^~~mmmmMT^mm:^ David Swan. 37 but did not trip along the mad so lightly as when she eanie. Now this girl's father was a thriving rountry merchant in the neighborhood, an«l happened at that identical time to be looking oui for 5 just such a young man as David Swan. Had David formed a wayside acqnaintanc«; with the daughter, he would have become tlie father's clerk and all else in natural succession. So here again had good fortune-the best of fortunes— 10 stolen so near that lier gai-ments brushed against hun, and he knew nothing of tue matter. The girl was hardly, out of sight when two men turned aside beneath the maple-shade Both had dark faces set off by cloth caps, 15 which were di-awn dt)wn aslant ovei- their brows' Their dresses were shabby, yet they had a cer- tam smartness. These were a couple of rascals who got their living by whatever the devil sent them, and now, in the interim of other 20 busmess, had staked the joint profits of their next piece of villainy on a game of cards, which was to have been decided here under the trees. But, finding David asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whispered to his fellow— '^ "Hist! Do you see that bundle under his head ? » The other villain nodded, winked, and leered. "I'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the 38 David Swan. m first, " that tbo oliu]) lias cither a pocket-book or a siiuff Httlo hoai-d of stnall chaiitr,. stowed away amongst his shirts. And if not thei-o, we shall find it in his i)antaIoons' po('k(>t." 5 "But how if ho Wilkes ?" said tlio other. His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handle of a dirk, and nodded. " So be It ! " muttered the second villain. They approached the un(!ons('i()us David, and, 10 while one pointed the dagger towai-ds his heart' the othei- began to seai-ch the bundle beneath his head. Their two faces— gi-im, wiinkled, and ghastly with guilt and fear— bent over their victim, looking horribly enough to be mistaken 15 for fiends should he suddenly awake. Nay, had the villains glanced aside into the spi'ing, even they would hardly have known themselves as reflected there. But David Swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect even when asleep 2«ou his mother's bi'east. "I must take away the bundle," whispered one. " If he stirs, I'll strike," nmttered the other. But at this moment a dog scenting along 25 the ground came in beneath the maple trees, and gazed alternately at each of these wicked men and then at the quiet sleeper. He then lapped out of the fountain. " Pshaw t" said one villain. "We can do D.\vi[> Swan. 39 iiothiii- MOW. The dojr's muster must he "lose hehiiid." "Let's take a (h-ink and he oil'," said tlie other. Tli.^ mail with the ihig^ov tlinist baek the r, W(>ai.<)ii into his ))os()m and „rew forth a pocket-pistol, hut not of that kind wliieh kills by a sin-le dischar-e. It was a Hask of liquor with a l)lo(.k-tin tuml^ler screwed upon the mouth. Each drank a comfoi-tahle dram, audio h'ft the siK>t with so many jests, and such huighter at their unaccomplished wickedness, that they mi.i^ht Ix' said to have ^oue on their way rejoicinjr. In a few liours they had for- gotten the whole affair, nor once imagined that is the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against their souls in letters as dur- able as eternity. As for David Swan he still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hung over him, nor of the 20 glow of i-ene-A-ed life when that shadow was withdrawn. He slei)t, hut no longer so quietly as at first. An hour's repose had snatch.Ml from his elastic fi'ame the weariness with wliicli many hours of 25 toil had burdened it. Now he stirred-now moved his lips, withont a sound -now talked m an inward tone to the noonday spectres of his dream. But a noise of wheels came rattling .^..*. 40 David Swan. louder and louder ulon^^ the r..nd until it dashed tlirough the dispersing mist of David's slumh.M- -and there was the staKe-ooach. He staited up with all his ideas about hini. 5 " Holloa, driver! Take a passenger ? " shouted he. " ^o*^'" on top ! " answered the drivei- Up mounted David ank and gold. «o. '--losing his heart, the Judi/e r^nJe on And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon ^Vhen he hummed in court an old love-tune; And the young girl mused In^side "the well. A«ll the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion us he for power. Yet oft in his marble hearth's bright glow He watched a picture come and <.o And sweet Maud M.iller's hazel eves Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft. when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead, And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms To dream of meadows and clover blooms ; And t.e proud man sighed with a secret pain,- An, that I were free again ! 43 15 » ^11V-V« c Mii W^l I 10 15 44 Ma I'D MiiLLER. Free as when I nxJe that day When> tl» barefoot maiden raked tlie liay." She woflrltnl a man unlearnfd and poor, And many children played round her door. But caro and sorrow and childbirth pain I^ft their traceH on heart and brain ; And oft when the summer's sun ahone liot On the new -mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring-brook fall Over the road-side, through the wall, In the shade of the apple tree ayairi She saw a rider draw liis rein, And, gazirijr down with timid grace. She felt his pleased eyes read he. face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen wails Stretched away into -lately halls : The we.iry wheel f.. a spinet turned, The tallow eandl(= .in astral burned : And for him who sat by the chimney lug Dozing and grumbling oer pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty, and love was law. Than .she took up her burden of life again Saying only, ' It might have been." Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! M .■% 4rv? In Memohiam. OckI pify them Ix.fli! and piry ns all, Who vainly Mip Hrmms of y„„r|, PMCttll ; F..r of all sad words of ton^iiP or iH>n, TI.P .saddest aro the«- " \t m.omt mav'k rkkn !" Ah, well for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from hunuin eyes, And in the hereafter angels may Roll the stone from its grave away. Jons liUKt.VLEAK WIIITTIirR. 45 IN MEHORIAM. One writes, that "Other friends remain," That "Ijohs is common to the race "— And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaflF well meant for grain. That loss is common would not make My own le.s.s bitter, rather more: Too common ! Never morning wore To evening but some heart did break. O father, whereso'er thou l)e. Who pledgest now thy gallant son : A shot, ere half thy draught be done, Hath still'd the life that beat from thee. O mother, praying God will save Th.y sailor,— wiaie thy head is bow'd His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud Drops in his vast and wandering grave. 10 15 ao ip i I 10 46 In Memoriam. Ye know no more than I who wrought At that last hour to please him well; Who mused on all T had to tell, And something written, something thought. Expecting still his advent home, And ever met him on his way With wishes, thinking, "here to-day," Or "here to-morrow will he come." O 8(jmewhere, meek, unconscious dove, That sittest ranging golden hair. And glad to find thyself so fair. Poor child, that waitest for thy love 1 For now her father's chimney glows In expectation of a guest; And thinking "this will please him best," She takes a riband or a rose ; For he will see them on to-night; And with the thought her color burns; And, having left the glass, she turns Once more to set a ringlet right; And even when she turn'd the curse Had fallen, and her future Lord Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford, f)r kill'd in falling from his horse. 25 O what to her shall l)e the end? And what to me remains of good? To her perp(>tual maiflenhood, And unto me no second frien fly kite.s and shoot marbles, and told ,|„.,„ long .stories of ghosts, witehes, and Indian.s. Whenever he. «ent dodging about the village he was sur- rounded by a tro,.p of then, hanging on his .ski.ts, elambenng on his b„ek, and plaving a thousand tricks on hi,,, with hnpunitv, and not a d,,g would ba,.k at Inn, throughout thea. neighborhood. The great error in Rip's composition wa« an msuperable aversion to all kinds of profit- able labor. It could not be from the want of 50 Kip Van Winkle. assiduity or perseveraiiee, for lie would sit on a wet rock with a rod as lung and licuvy as a Tartar's lauco, and Msh all day without a murmur even though ho shouM not be eii- 5couragod by a single nibl>le. He would eaiTy a fowling-i)ieee on his shoulder for h..ui-s together, trudging thi-ough wcjods and .swain[)s and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squin-els or wild i)igeons. He would never 10 refuse to assist a neighbor even in the rough- est toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn or building stone fences. The women of the village, too"^ used to employ him to run their errands and 16 to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not do for them:— in a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing family duty and keeping his farm in order, he found it im- 20 possible. In fact he declared it was of no use to work on his farni ; it was the most pestilent Httle piece of ground in the whole country; everything about it went wi-ong, and would go 25 wrong in spite of him. His fences were con- tinually falling to pieties; his cow would either go astray or get among the cab]:)ages; weeds were sure to grow thicker in his field than anywhere else; the rain always made a pomt eSi Rip Van Winkle. ItlhJV'V :"''''''''''' ^''^ patrimonial estate had duindJea away nndor his nj,,,.,^^ ment acre by acre imh-] ♦! ,- "^•*"'^^^- lelt than a m.ro patch ,>f Indian corn and a pot^oes, yet it was the worst conditioned n^' m the nei^rhborhood. asTf'tLef I'T' "■"; ""'■" ■■'■' '■---"-' -"I wild a.. Urdu., |,eg„t,,.„ i„ Us own lik,.„es^ ,„ cr.:r'"^""'^' ■"''-'"- '>--■'" Rip Van Winki., „ ^-eve,-, was one „f those happy mortal, „f „„„,, ^^ '^o « tioiis, who take the «-n,.u msposi- bread or I,,., , ! ""'*>'' <'•'" white 20 least thought or tro„l,le, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a jK.nnd I eft to h,mself ho would have whistle,! life away ,„ perfect eon.entment. but hi wiL Morning, noon, and night her tongue was 52 Rip Van Winkle. incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip hat'liove he ,-ecip,.oeated the se„time,it with a'l his heart. Ill a long ,.a,Tibln of the kind 0,1 a fine'' antu,iinal day Ki^, had unconscionslv sn-an,!,!..! to one of the hi-hcst i)a,-ts of the Kaatskill mountains. II,> Avas afto,. his ...s'o,-,te spoi-t of .sqiiiiTel-shooting, and th,. stih soHtudos had:» <'"hoed and ,.,-eehoed with the ••epo,-ts of his ,i,nin. Pantin- and fati-n.'d he th,-ew hhnself late m tlu. afte,-noon on a g,-een knoll eovei-ed with mountain luM-baKO that e.-owned the bi-ow of a pi-eeipi,.,^ Fi-o,n an opening between the 25 trees he could ovc-look all the h.we,- country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lo,-dly Jfudson far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic course, 4 56 Rip Van Winkle. wi h the ,eflo.fion of a ,,„rplo Hpearanc.e He was a short square-built old ellow, with thiek bushy hair and a gn.zle«^s and <'olois. Thorn was on« who scorned to ho tho <.oMiTnaiidor. s He was a stout old gontlenian with u woathcr- beaten count.'nance; he won> a iaood do..}»lot, broad })elt and lumger, hi-h-c-owno.l hat and f<'nther, red stockings, and high-liceled shoos with roses in them. Tho whole group ro-,o min-e hopping and tvv„te,mg among the bushes, and the eagle was wheehng aloft and b,-ea.ting the pu,.e ^mountain b,-ee.e. "Su.ely," thought Rip "r have net slept he,e all night." He recalled the occm-rences befo.^e he fell asleep. The strange man w,t^h the keg of liqaor-the mountaf^ ravme-the wUd retreat among the rocks- Rip Van Winkle. qi the woe-begone party at iiine-pins— the flagon —"Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!" thonght Rip; "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?" He looked round for his gun but, in place 5 of the clean wdl-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock wo.-m-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a 10 trick upon him and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappear. \ but he mighf have strayed away after a squirrel oj- partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name all 15 m vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen. He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol and if he met with any of the party to demand his dog and gun. As 20 he rose to walk he found himself stiff in the joints and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain bods do not agiee with me" thought Rip, "and if this froli(, should lay me up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have a 25 blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some difficulty he got down into the glen; he found the gully up which he and his com- panion had ascended the preceding evening, 62 Rip Van Winkle. ta, LI '•■"""^'"'•nt a „,o™tai„ stream was now foannng down it-leaping from rook to rock and Ailing the glen wim babbHng "P « «iH working his toilsome way throngh thickets of birch, sassafras, and wild^ ha.e and sometimes tripped up or entangled Mkmd of net-work in his path At length he reached to where the ravine had opened throngh the ..liffs to the amphi! theatre, but no tra.-cs of such opening re- « The rocks presented a ,n4 impend «t.able wall over which the torrent came umbhng m a s!,eet of feathery foa.n, and Z •nto a broad deep basin black from the ^adows of the surrounding forest. Here then » called and whistled after his dog; he was fX -wered Iv the cawing of ft,::;: Tdt crows sportn,g high in the air ab«,t a dry tree that overhung a sunnv precipi,.e and who, secure in their elovation', sclneclto lolk What was to be done? The morning was passmg away and Ri,, fdt famished fo. warn of h,s breakfast. He grieved to give up hi! dog and gun; he dreaded to „„4 Ms wife- '^SBklmL .-i?^llft.2..'.«i;t Rip Van Winkle. 53 but it would not do to starve among the mountan.s. He sh„ok his head, shoul.le.vd the rusty firelook and, with a heart fidl of trouble and anxiHy, turned his steps homewarft l)nt tlie day Ix'fore. There sstood the Kaatskill niouiitains— there ran the silver Hudson at a distance— ther«> was <>very hill and dale precisely as it had always lu'<.n. * Rip was sorely perplexed. " Tliat flagon last night," tlKmght he, "has addhnl my poor head sadly l'" 10 It was with some difficulty that he found his way to his own housvi, whirli h.^ approached with silent awe expwting every moment to hear the -shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay— the roof isfallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by his name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind 2ocut indeed— "My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!" He entered the house which, to tell the truth. Dame Van Winkle had always kept in neat oi-der. It was empty, forlorn, and ap- 25parently abandoned. The desolateness over- came all his connubial fears; he called loudly for his wife and children; the lonely cham- bers rang for a moment with his voice and then all again was silence. ■fipr-.^. Rip Van Wrinkle. 65 He now huiTiod forth and hastened to his old resort, the village inn-l>ut it too was gone A large Hcketty wooden building stood in its Plciee, with great gaping windows, some l,roken and mended with old hats and petticoats, anun, hoin^r ponnift.'d in this way to tvvjsjt tljo scoiios of his ontorprise and keop u ^nianlinu oyo upon th«> river and tho ffront city callrd Uy his nniuo; that his ofathor had onco se«m thcui in thojr old Dutch drossos ]>laying at nino-pins in n liollow of the mountain ; and that ho hitnself had hoard ono summer afternoon tlio sound of tiieir balls like distant peals of thunder. 10 To make a lf)n^' str)ry short, tho company broke up and returned to the more im[.oi-tant concerns of the election. Rip's daujfhter took him home to live with her; she had a snug well-furnished liouse, and a st.ut cheery farmer 16 for her husband, whotn Rip recollected for one <»f the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen l.-anin^^ a«,'aiiist th.i Uu^f^, he was e!r.ployeoforn ho rouM ^^ot i into tho n-nlar tnu-k <,f ,.ossip or rouM l>o ma.lo to .■ou.prol.e.Ml the .,ra„po thin-s that hH.l takon pi., -o durin- ),is torpor; how that thoro l,a.l ho<.n a n^vohitiouarv war-thaf the <'ountry hali(i,.un. : the r-han-os ot states an.l e,„,>i,-es ri.ado l.„t litti. i,np,-ossion .., on him; but then- was one spon.-s of desfwitism under whiW. lie had Um^r groa,...l, ,n.d that was -pettieoat ^n.vernn.ent. Happily that was at an ond; he had f?ot his ,,oek out of the yoke of niatrunony and could jro iu and out whenever „ he pleased witliout dr-endin^ the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Wh<.,ever her name' was mentioned, howeve,-, he shook his head, sh.'U- ged his shoulders, and cast up his eves, whirii might pass either for an exp,-essi(,n of i-esii^nui- ^ tion to Ins fate or joy at his delive,-auce. He used to tell his sto,y to eveiy st,-anger that arrived at Uv. Doolittle's hotel. He was at first observed to vary on some points every ^^^\ wi 74 Rip Van Winkle. time he told it, which was doubtless owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down to precisely the tale I have re- lated, and iiot a man, woman, or child in the 5 neighborhood but knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on which he always remained flighty. 10 The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their 15 game of ninepins; and it is a common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. -WASHINOTON I R VINO. "He who knows most grieves most for wasted time." liante. " Dost tlioii lovo life ? Then do not s(|uander time, for that is the stufi life is made of." — Franklin. " Believe me when I tell you that thrift of time will repay you ill after life with a usury of profit iKjyond your most sanj^uine dreams, and that the waste of it will make you dwindle. alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest reckonings." -Oladatont. ' .'0m^}^'S^^'. ^#.n~_}2S^S2l:" TuE Ancient Makinek. 75 THE ANCIENT MARINER. PART I. It is an Ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. " By thy long gray beard and glittering eye Now wherefore stopp'st thou ni.' ? The bridegroom's doors are opened wide And I am next of kin ; The guests are met, the feast is set : May'st hear the merry din. " He holds him with his skinny hand : " There was a sliip," quoth he. "Hold off! unhand me, gray -beard loon!" Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye— The wedding-guest st«KKj still And listens like a thrtH! years' child : The Mariner hath his will. The wedding-guest .sat on a stone: He cannot choo.se but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : "The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, Mer.ily did we drop Below the kirk, below tl. > hill, Below the lighthouse top. 10 u ao 76 The Ancient Makineb. •' The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he ! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. ft " Higlier and liigher every day. Till over the mast at noon "- The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, 10 Red as a rose is she ; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The wedding-guest he beat his breast. Yet he cannot choose but hear ; U And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyeii Mariner : " And now the storm-blast came and he Was tyrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertakiiig wings ao And chased us south alonir. " With sloping mast and dipping prow, As who, pursued with yell and blow, Still treads the shadow of his foe And forward bends his head, 2S The sliip drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward a^e we fled. " And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold, And ice mast-high came floating by 80 As green as emerald. The Ancient Mariner. "And through the drifts the snowy difts Did send a dismal sheen ; Nor shapes of men nor lieasts we ken The ice was all between. "The ice was here, the ice was ther*-. The ice was all around ; It cracked and growled and roared and howled, Like noises in a s wound ! "At length did cross an albatross, Thorough the fog it came ; As if it had been a Christian soul We hailed it in God's name. " It ate the food it ne'er had eat And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit ! The helmsman steered us through ! " And a good south wind sprung up behind ; The albatross did follow, And every day for food or pla}- Came to the mariners' hollo! "In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white. Glimmered the white moonshine." " God save thee, Ancient Mariner ! From the hends that plague thee thus!-— Why look'st thou so?"— "With my crossbow I shot the albatross. 77 10 IS ao 2.") 4 78 The Ancient Mariner. 10 16 » PART II. "The sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. " And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo ! " And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'era wo(i : For all averred 1 iiad killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. ' Ah, wretch ! ' said they, ' the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow ! ' " Nor dim nor red, like God's own head. The glorious sun uprist : Then all averred I had killed the bird That brought tiie fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist. " The fair breeze blew, the white foam Hew, The furrow followed free ; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. •' Down dropt the breeze, tlie sails dropt down ; 'Twas sad as sad could be. And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea ! The Ancient Mariner. " All in a hot and copper sky, The bloorly sun at noon Right up alK)ve the masi did stand, No bigger than the moon. " Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion : As idle as a painted siiip Upon a painted ocean. " Water, water, everywhere. And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. " The very deep did rot : O Christ ! That ever this should be ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. " About, about, in reel and rout The' death-fires danced at night ; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green and blue and white. "And some in dreams assured were Of the s{)irit that plagued us so ; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. "And every tongue through utter drought Was witliered at the root ; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. 79 10 IS 0) 2."! ,,: j; i-iU I fa 80 The Ancient Mamner. K) 15 20 25 " Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross, the albatross _^About ray neck was hung. PART III. "There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazeid peer as tlirough a grate ? And is that woman all her crew? Is that a Death? an.l are there two? Ts Death that woman's mate i ' " Her lips were red, her I.wks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Nightmare Life in- Death was 'she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. 81 10 Id 20 25 / aHKfei 82 The Ancient Mariner. "The uaked hulk alongside name, And the twain wore casting dice ; 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles tlirirc. • "The sun's riin dips, the stai« riisli out, At one stride comes the dark ; With far-heard whisper o'er the sea Off shot the spectre-bark. *' We listened and looked s-deways up ' 10 Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to t i|i ! The stars were dim and thick tiie niyht. The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white, Prom the sails the dew did drip — U Till clomb above the easicrn bar The horned moon with one bright star Within the nether tip. "One after one by the star-dogged moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, ao Each turned his face with a ,diastly pang And cursed me with his eye. " Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sign nor groan), With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 2S They dropped down one by one. "The souls did from their bodies fly, — They fled to bliss or woe ; And every soul it passed me by like the whiz of my cross-bow ! " The Ancient Makineb. PAKT IV. " T FEAR thee, ancient Mariner I I fear thy skinny lianfl ! And tho„ art long anrl lank and brown, As is the ril)J)od st-n ^(and ! " I fear theo and t}.y -littering eve, And thy skinny h.uid s„ l)r.)wn." "Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest I This body dropt not down. " Alone, alone, all, ail alone, Alone on a wide, wide s.^a! And never a .saint took pity on My soul in agony. " The many men, .so beautiful » And they all dead did lie ; And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on, and so did T. " I looked upon the rotting .sea And di. w my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck. And there the dead men lay. •T looked to Heaven and tj;^^ed to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whi.sper came and made My heart as dry as dust. " T closed my lids and kept them close And the balls like pulses beat : For tlH. sky and the sea. and the sea and the sky i^y iike a load on my weary eye, And the dead were nt my feet 83 w 15 4 2S 84 The Ancient Martver. "The cold sweat melted from tlit'ir liiuba, Nor rot nor reck did they : The look with which they hniked on me Had never passefi away. C " An orphan's curse would drag to h< 11 A spirit from on high ; But oh ! more hor rible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days, seven nights F saw that curse, 10 And yet I could not die. "The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide : Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside. 10 " Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread ; But where the ship's huge shadow lay The charmed water burned alwav, A still and awful red. 20 " Beyond the shadow of the ship I watched the water-snakes : They moved in tracks of shining white And, when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in ho ary fl akes. as " Within the shadow of the shij I watched their rich attire : Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam ; and every track Was a flash of g olde n fire. The Ancient Mauinek. 85 "O happy living things! no tunguo Their Ijeauty might dwlare : A spring of lov gushifl fiorn my hoart, And T bit'swd them unuwiin' ; Huvi- my Kind saint tk pity on nie, And ! l)ie.s.swj them unaware " Th« wlf-.sanie monwiit I nmld pray; And from uiy n»'ck no frt'o The albatross fell off and sank Like lead into the sea. HART V. " Oh slet'p ! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole I To Mary Queen the praise Ije given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven That slid into my sou!. The silly buckets on the deck I hat had so long remained, I dreamt that they were MU-d with dew, And when 1 woke it rained. " My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments ill were dank ; Sure I had drunken in my ul discerned Two voices in the air. '"Is it he?' quoth one, ' Is this the man? By Him who died on cross, With Ills cruel bow lie laid full low The harmless albatross. "'The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the biid that love:/. 94 Thk ANrrF.NT Makixer. h ■ 10 lA W 25 "•Brown skrl.-tons of leaves that lag f y for<'^ iiiMok along, When tlie WyUnl is heftvy with snow, Ami the owlet whpH to the wolf h^-low Th.it oats tii»j slu.-wolf's youriK,' "'I)t'ar Tiorrl! it hath a tiomlish I.k^,1< ' (The pilot mndf i-eply), ' r am a fcarf.l * ' Push on, push on ! ' >Saifi thu hermit eheerily. "The lM)at came closer to the ship, But T nor spake nor stirred ; The hoat eame close f>eneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard, " Under the water it rumbled on »Stil! louder and more dread; It reached the ship, it split the bay, The ship went down like lead. " Stunned by that loud and dreadful .ound Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven flays irowned My bcxly lay nft .at. But swift as dreams myself I found Within the pilot's boat. " Upon the whirl where sank the ship xhe boat spun round and round ; And all was still save that the hill Was telling of tlio sound. "I moved my lips— the pilot shrieked And fell down in a tit ; Ik Thf AN( rKNT AfAHINER. The holy li.Timf rais,..j |,i, ,.y,.^^ Ami piaycl wli.n- In- did sit. " r f ; til.- piluts Im.V, Who iiMsv diitli iTii/v I,'.., I^tuj.'lhd l..iid and Inn;;, and ail fi.e uhjlo Mi*; "vrs w.'Tit to and fro ; 'Ml : lia!' ,,uotli h... •full plain [ ,.,•.., The flf\il knows how to row,' " And now, all in my own coiintn-e I st(MMl on tlu) firm land I The lu'vmit ,stfp|».d forth frn,„ tlu- FM^af, And sc-arc-ely ho loiild sfan.J. '"O shrieve me, shrL-v , ,■, holy niau ! ' The hermit crossed his hrow. 'Say quick,' .pioth hf, ' F hid thee say— Wliat luantior of man ait thou ? ' " Forthwith this frame of mint- was wrenched Wit}) a \vf)ful ayony Which forced me to lH-;,'iri my tale, And tlien it left me free. "Since then at an uncertain hour That agony returns, And till my ghastly tale is told This heart within me burns. " I pass like night from la'|s frnni tli;it (l.».r Till' Wfflililii; i^iiists ui<' tllilc ; r>iit ill tli«> ^'.ikIcm liuwcr the li-iile Ami liriilf iiiiiiilH .siii;,'iiiir nn- : Ami hark I lie little v.-simt Im-II, VV'liii'h lii'Mitli iiif til piaviT ! •'O wcddiny jrncsi ' tliis sutil luis Kfi'ii Alutif on II wiili' vii,j,. si'ii : S<» liiiii'ly 'tw >iat (Ji.ll himsflf Scarce NtM'int' : ■' n* to In-. 'O 8W('«'t.r tliHii the miirriaj(e-fcaHt Tis sweeter far to iiie To walk to;,'elher to the kirk With u gooilly eotiipaiiy ! — "To walk together to the kirk And all together pray, While each to his great Father l)eiiils, Old men, and hatxs, and loving friends. And youths and niaidenn gav ! "Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest ! H«^ prayeth well who loveth well Both man and hinl and beast. " He prayeth Ix'st who loveth l)est All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us- He made and loveth all " The Mariner, whose eye is bright Whose beard with age is hoar, yST'- '^T2T Turii.'d In.,,. ||„. l.ii,|,,,M,„„n-s .|,,.,r. "•■ "t '''^■'- '" flM( i.> , I....... ,,,nui.-.| Ami is of NfiiM' foiluti! ; A .sadder utid u wi ,.,. ,„.i„^ Ho lose the iiKiriow innin. — MAMC-fl. rwlDIt < OI.KHIIK.K.. ROSABELLE. O LISTKV, listen, liulics ifiiy I N.» lian-lity tVut of aims F tell : .Soft is tlic not." and sad tlio lay That inouiiis th.' lovely Hosabelh'. " M(K)f, moor the bar-e, ye gallant crow, And, «vntle lailye, deign to stav ! Host the.- in Castle Havensheueh,' Nor i,.,u{,t liie .stormy firth today. "The hhukeniiig wave is edged with white. To ineh and nuk th(* .sea-mews tlv ; The fishers have heard the VVater-Sprite Whose screams foreljodi; that wivk is nigl "Ljist night the gift(Ml 8eer (Jid view A wet .shroud swathed round lacJye gay , Then .stay thee, fair, in Ravensheueh : Why cross the gloomy firth today?" '"Tis not becau.se Lord Lindesay-s heir To-.iight at Rjslin leads the ball, Rut that my ladye-riiother fheio Hits lonely in her castle-hall. •>7 10 la 20 i; ;■ M ¥y '• ■' li 98 RoSAliELLE. " 'Tis not IxH-ausc tlic rint,' tlu'y ride, Ami Lindi'say at tlie riiij; rides well, But that my sin; tlio wine will ciiido If 'tis nut filled by Uusabelle." 6 O'er Rosliii all that dreary night A w(»ndr()iis blaze was seen to irleam : 'Twas liroader than the watch-fire's Hj,'ht, And redder than thi; bright niounbeam. It glared on lloslin's castleil roek, 10 It ruddied all the copsi'-wood glen ; 'Twas seen from I)ryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Ilawthorndeu. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud Where lloslin's chiefs uneoHined lie, U Each baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron [)anopIy. Seemed all on fire, within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pilhir foliage-bound, ao And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair. 85 There are twenty of lloslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud ehapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But "the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! Crfsader and Sakacen. 99 An.I <.,.u.|, S,. Clair was l,uri...| ,|,oro With cau.lle, with huuk, a„d with k,.,-!! • Biit the s.a-.av..s nu.. an.l the wihl w,„.ls s„n«. The du-e of lovely Ko.sal)elIe. — SIU W.M.TKK SrOTT. ^i ill, 4 CRUSADER AND SARACEN. A soLiTAHv jo.u-noy maffon'd liftlo to the ., C^msa.l.M-, who u;,.s m..ust„„„.l to .....sidn- Ins ' g<-.l sw<.r,l .-.s his safest <...ort and d.vout iK.ughts as Ins best companion. Nature Im.l however, hot- .hMnantls for rofreshment and y.l pose oven on th. iron tVamo anons of his own. TManting his long spear in the sand at a distance fi-om the scene 10 of comi'at he strung with great address a short bow which he carried at his Lack and, putting his horse to the gallo]), once mon; de- scril)ed two or three circles of a wider extent than formerly, in the course of which he dis- lo charged six arrows at the Christian with such une-rring skill that the goodness of his harness alone sa\-ed him fi-om being wounde.; in as many places. The seventh sinift apparently found a less •jor>erfeet pai-t of the armor, and the Christian di-opped heavily f)-om his horse. But what was the surprise of the Sai-acen w^lien, dis- mounting to examine the condition of his pros- trate enemy, he found himself suddenly within 25 the grasp of the European who had had recourse to this ai-tifice to bring liis enemy within his reach! Even in this deast thou offer that thou wiU observe the truce ! " " The word ' a lollower of the pi-ophct was never broken,^ answered the emir. "It is thou, brave Nazar.iie, fi-om whom I should de-25 mand se.'urity did I not know that treason seldom dwells witli courajre." The crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made him ashamed of hi., own doubts. zjir^fvor^' ita,Mti^Jsssaruia»,^ CaVALHY CriARfSKS AT BALAKf. AVA. le- ft Rv tl \o <'ross (.- my sword," li • ' sail liis haiMl (.11 the woa^mn as ho siK.ko "I 1, laying be t nio companion to IIm'o, Sar fortu treth lie wills that w will n'»'M, While (.til- er, remain in (•()mi)aiiy t(.- (V "By Mohammed, prophef of God, j.Md I.. Allah, (}nd of ih,. proplu't," replied his late foeinaii, "there is ,h, trea<-hery in my heart towards the.'. And now wend wo to 'votider ...fountain for the Imnr of rest is at hand, and the stream had hardly touched mv li], when I was called to batth' by thy a).pi.,ach." The Kni-ht of the Couchant Leopai-d yielded a ready and courteous assent, and the late •■•-foes without an an^n-y lo„k or ^-esture of doubt rode side by side to the little cluster of palm-trees. — WIK W.M.TKK HCOTT. CWALRY CHARGES AT BALAKLAVA. TrTE cavahy who hav<' .,'en i,ursuing the Turks on the ri<,dit are coining up 1o thel-idge •-■obeneath ns, whi.-li conceals our cavalry from view. The heavy brii^^ade in advance is' drawn up in two lines. The li-ht cavalrv bri-ade is on their left, in two lines also. The silence is ressivo: between the cannon bursts one cuu ihear the chan rm sables iu the \alley below iig of bits .'ind the clink of •i >iW< •-It'. •af^ ■'•.■;« I! I lit 10(3 Cavalry Charoeh at Balaklava. The Russiuii.s on tlioii- loft divw hivatli for a moment nnd then in one giand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses' feet. Gathering speed at every sstriiie they dash on towards that thin reo„,ont , on our own eavah y. We saw Bri^a.iier-G -al S«'arlett rule along in fr„nt of l,is ,„asslv. squadrons. The Russians, evidently corps ^Miir iH'ir h^dit blue jackets embroidered with .silver iHC'e, were aved up quickly to support tiiern as they rea^-hed the sumnnt The instant they can.e in sight the. trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warn- nig blast which to)u us all that in another moment we should see the shock of battle be- neath our very eyes. L.>rd Raglan, ail his staff and escort an.l groups of otfic.rs, the Z<,uaves,. Fi-en(;h generals and officers, and bodies of Frcn.-h infantry on the height we.-e spectators of the scene as though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down, and not a word was. said. The Russians advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they c-hangcd to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their first line was ^^v,*?t^::w2reaB' *f^ A- ;! f UN CaVALUY f'HAU«JKS AT BaLAKLAVA. at loast doultlc tli<» Iriij^th of oms — it was three tiiru's jis (l«»('p. Bcliind thoni was u similar lino equally strong and rojnpact. Tln\v evidently <1('spis(»(l tlit'ir ijisitrnifi«'aiit looking I'licniy: Itut •'-tlicii' tiiiip was coint'. The trunijK'ts raii^ oHt ajraiii thronuli the valloy, and tin- fin'vs and EFiniskilloiMMs wont ri«;ht at tlni «'»'ntro of tli«^ Russian oavalry. The spao' l)«>tw«^«'n tlu»ni was oidv a f(nv luuidivMl vaids; it was scar<'»>lv nM'noufJCli to It't tho horses " i^atlu'r Wi-y," nor had tiio men quite spj •<> surtici^'nt foi- the full play of their sword-arms. The Russian line hrinjijs forward each winj? as our eavalry advance, and threatens to annihilate i-ithem as they pass on. Turni,i«i: a little to their left so us to meet the Russian right ilie (^reys I'ush on with a cheer that thrills to evejy heart — the wild shout of tht? Enniskilleners rises through th<> air at the same instant. As lightning I'otlashes through a cloud the Greys and Enniskil- lenei-s piei'ced through the dark masses of Rus- sians. The shock was but for a, moment. There was a clash of steel and a light play of sword- bladcs in the air, and then the Greys and the asred-eoats disapj>eai- in the midst of the shaken and quivering 'ohunns. In another moment we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished numbers .-iiid in l)i()keii order against the second line, which is advancing against them 'n' ^:z^3i^::^^'^^ CaVALUV ('maIKIKS at HAFAKr.AVA. 10!) n fa>f us it <-aii to n-tiifvo t, • fortiiiio of tlio <"i :!•<;.>. If wiis u t('i-ril>N' imomi' iii. "(;.m| 1„.||. til in! th.'y art' lost ! " was tl rxrlamation of rn< H' tlian ohh man ami tli«- iiotiirlit of j n;ui\ '''• ifli iniahatt'd lire, tlic ii. ol." ln-arts f hcnu's. The lirst )»'»'H sjiiaslM'd K'^ ai ii had (I.-d otf at oiip liiu' of Kussiaiis -which had } nttoHv bv our rhai flank ind towards th»' ccnf !•('- \v»M'«' corninir I ►acK sheer ■ swaliow lip ouj handful f m.'ti. By .■- ••♦>1 an enemy's sciuadrons, and already array hor>»'S and red coats hud ai>i»eured right ■ It th It* r"j. I 'f tin? second mass, wl le.'i. witl iij -til.ie tV'ce like a liolt from a how, the •"<•*.( d Ime of the heavy brigade rushed at i •• M-miuints of the first line of the enemv. w»'fif 'urough it as though it were made of ■iH».ird ani{u s as they were still disordeivd bv tlie t*- rible assault of the Uivy.s and their com- mons, j»ut th(Mii to utter rout. i*. lip And liow^ occurred the melancholy cutustro])he which his us all with sorrow. It the Q'artermuster-Genei-al, Bi-l«'ad appears thataa ler Hiiuk ing that the ]iy;ht i'uvairv had not LH-ey, gone far enough in front when the enemy's horse 110 CaVALHV ClIAlUlES AT HaF, hiid fl.>,,s. ^ The oidy 15 support our li^dit cavahy had was tho reserve of heavy euvahy at a j^reat distance behind them, the infantry and <;uns l)ein;,' far in the rear. There were no sijuadrons in column at a!i and there was a plain to chai-,..s. Siiivly timt I,,,m.I|iiI ,.f m..-i. ...n not K'-iii^' t.. rim.-,. ,,n juMiv i„ jM.siti.ui ' -. Alas! ,t was I.,,! f„u fni... Tl.-ir ,1..,,,..,,,,.. valor kiirw no ImmumIs, jwi.l tar in,!...-! w,,s it '•«'i.H.v,..l rn.ni its s.M.all,.,l iM-n.-r part ,|i...n- tion. Tli..y a.lvan.M-,1 in tw., Ium>, .,Mi.-k.nin- th.'ir par,, as th.-y .•|.....,1 „,„,„ ,| „..,„^. ^ ^,^ """■" ^'''^"■*'"' N ta,-!,. was n..v..r u itn:......i ,|,..,n l.y thos,. who i„.i„.i,i ,1,^.,^. j,,.,.^,^.^ nj^lijn- to the arms of i>,.ath. At th,. .listan.M. „r t\\,.lv,. lmn.lr...l vanls tlw. whoK> lin. of tlu. ..n.H.y Im-I.-I....] ,oV,h fionn-, thirty iron moufhs a 11 1 of sn.ok,. and Man.. tlm.uirl, svUrh ln...Mi tl... ,|,,„||v i.-.n^ Tli,.ir Jli^'l.t was ,narl<,..| l.y instant -aps in our ranks '••' '''''■'*^ ""■" ''"'l l'">s.'s, hv st,.,.,Is Mvin-. wound,.,! ..r ri.|,.rl,.ss ar/oss 11,,^ plain. Tlio"lirsr,. line IS l,r..k,.n -it is j,.in<.,l l,v tl... Mvon.l -th.-v iH^vor halt or ,.h,.,.k th.-ir >, 1 a,i Ins.a.: With .Imnni.lu.,] ranks tliinn-.l l,v tl..,.,. tl.ir.v guns whi.-h tin. Knssians ha.l lai-l with th. mo^, d^'a.lly a.M.u.acy, with a halo of flashin- .f....I..5 above their hoads, an.l with a rho.v whii-h w .s ;''")y a nobl.. f,.||ovv's ,|,.ath-,-rv th.v tl,.w into the smoke of the l.att,.ii,.s, luit ere th.-v were lost from view the plain was strewii with .S"i *i^Kar^\,M^km *=„■ V'Kf.^ii mrw- 'fWf 112 Cavalry Charges at Balaklava. tlu'ir Ixxlics and wiili tlic ('ai'('ass<'s of horses. Tlii'V wci'H expos»'(l to an oliiiciuo firo from tlio luittcries on the hills on Itotli sid^^, as \v<'ll as to a direct fire of inuskclrv, Thronof smoke we ('<»uld sff their sahi-cs flaslun*^ as they ro oui- deligjit we saw them 10 returning after l>reaking through a column of liussian infantiy and scattering it like chatt", when tJH^ flank fire of the batteiy on the hill swept tht'm aking their way through the columns which enveloi»ed them, when there took place an act of atrocity without parallel in the modei-n warfare of civilized nations, The Russian The Ride fkom Ghent to Aix. 113 guiinors, wIr'u the storni of cavalry passed, ro- tunied to their gxuis. They saw tlieir own cavahy mingled with the troopei's who luid just ridden over them, and, to the etei-nal displace of the Russian name, the mis(M-eants poured a murdei- a ous volley of gi-ai»e and canister on the mass of struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one common ruin ! It v.as as much as our heavy cavalry could do to cover the letreat of the m'sei-abfe i-«Mn-io nants of the banlace they had so lately quitted. At thirty- five minutes past eleven not a British soldier, except the dead and the dying, was left in front of those guns. -wlu.vm ..ow.uu kusskll. ^ i THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX. I Hi'KANu to the stirrup, and .Joris, and he ; I j,'all"!,..d, Dirck galloped, we ,^^dloped all three; . "Good-speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts un- drew ; "Speed!" echoed the wail to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 20 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Xot a worfl to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; 8 -fc frm 114 The Ride fkom Ghent to Aix. I turned in my sa,i^,,^-' Kol led n...,.k and croup ov..-, Uy ,U,ui as a ston. • And tlK.,v was n,y Poland to In.u- tho whole wH^ht OMhe news which alone could save Aix f.on. h.,. f,te, ^V.hlnsnoslnlslikepitsfullof Mood tothehrhn An.l with circles of red for his eye.s,K.-kets' rim. Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, « Shook off both my jack-hoots, let ^o heic ar.d all Hood up in the .stirrup, leaned, pa„ed his ear, Ca.l,.d my Roland his p<.t nan.e, n,y horse wi,h<.ut p.er, tlappe.l my hands, laughed an.l sang, any no.se, had or good, Till at length into Aix llolan.l gailope.l and s,oo,l ! ^ And ail T remember is friends flocking roun.l As I sat with . :s head 'tnixt n.y knees on the .round, And no vo.ce bu. was praising this Roland of n.ine As I poured down his throat our last n.easure of wine, \\ Inch (the burgesses voted by common consent) ^Vas no more than his due who brought good news from "^ *.inent. —ROBERT BHOWNIVO. W-v> |W*" 116 On Horseback. ON HORSEBACK. Hurrah ! for a ride in tlie morning gray On the back of a bounding steed ; What, pleasure to list how the wild winds play : Hark ! Hark ! to thtnr music, — away ! away I 5 Gallop away with speed. 'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride There is health in a morning's joyous ride. And hurrah ! for a ride in the sultry noon When the summer has mounted high, 10 'Neath the shady wyt'iik silciirc. "Tile Mcl.M'h Hw is wri, .,,„„> to Saia pivsent would remaiiuo at hom,. when such a pi-ince was to bo seen as lli.-hai-d, with th.> tcToi-s of whose name even on th(* sands of Yvunm the nurse stills her child a-id tlie five Aral^ subdues his restive steed! But will not my brother pass to theio tent whicji his sei-vant hath prej.aivd for him? My princi])al black slave hath taken oi-der for the reception of the prin.-esses, the otticers of my household will att(Mid your followe,-s, and oursrlf will be the chamberlain of the royalao xtichai'd." He led the way accordingly to a splendid pavilion where was everything,' that royal luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then lemoved the chappe icapa),25 or long riding-oloak which Richard wore, and he stood b( fore Saladin in the close dress which showed to advantage the strength and sym- metry of his person, while it bore a strong 120 Kino Riciiahi) and Saladin. oonfrast to tho flo\viii<; ioIm's wliidi disjLjiiisctl tho tliiu fnime of the Eastern iik.iuu'cIi. It ■was Riclianrs two-lmii(l»Ml sword tluit cliiofly attracted the attention of tlu^ Sarju'rii, a broad sstraight blade the sooiniti^j^ly unwieldy hMij^lh of which ext«md('d well-nigh fi-oni the shoulder to the lieel of the wearer. "Had I not," said Saladin, "seen this brand flaniijig in tlio front of l)attle, like tliat of loAzraol, I had scai-ee believed that Initnan arm could wield it. Might I request to see the Meleeh Ric sti-iko one blow with it in peace and in pure trial of strength!" "Willingly, noble Saladin," answei-ed Richard; 15 and looking around for something wh(M-eon to exercise his strength he saw a steel mace held by one of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal and about an inch and a half in diameter; this he placed on a block of 20 wood. The glittering broadsword, wielded by l)oth his hands, rose aloft to the king's left shoulder, circled round his head, d(v^cended with the sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of 25 iron rolled on the gi-ound in two pieces, as a woodsman would sever a sapling with a hedg- ing-bill. " By the head of tho Propliet, a most won- derful blow!" said the Holdan critically and KiN i-l.-MMMf it l»'sir in • )i"a\vn and sinew. ^^ "Ay, lo..k w.'ll," said Do Vanx in Eiiirlish ; m "it will 1m' loii,!,^ CIV yonr I..,,.,^ ja.-kanaiu.-s lingers do sn<-li a fVut with yonr fine gilded reaping-hook there," "Silence, De Vanx," said Riehanl ; "l,y Our Lady, ho nnderstands or gnesses thy meaning;,, he not so hroad, f ]»i-ay thee." The Soldan, ind.'od, i>i-esently said, "Some- thing I wonld fain attempt, though wln-refore should the weak show their inforiority in pres- ence of the strong? Yet eaeii ]an(l hatli its,. own exercises, atid this may l.e Jiew to the .Afeleeh Kie." So saying he took from th(; tloor a •'ushion of silk and down anrd on earth, were it the Excalibr.r (^^ King .'u-thur, can cut that which oi)poses no steady resist- ance to the blow." 4111 122 Krxa RrciFAHn and SALAnm. f-?~r: " .\rm-k, tlH'ii," said Salatliii, and tiinkiiii; nj) tlio sit't'vo of his ^^owii s1i<»\v liad hai'ih-rit'd into ji mass consist iii^jf of naiii:;ht .ilmt l>on»', hiawii, aii,,tn»rv, of a dull Muc color niJii'kod with ten millions of meandejiiij;- lines If" which showed Imw anxiously the metal had been Welded 1 y th(^ aiinorer. Wieldiiii; this weapon, apparently so inerticient when <'om- p.ired to that of Richard, the Sohhin stood restinu liis weiifht upon his left foot which i:.was sli;L?htly advancelyini( the edge .so dexterously and with so little a[)i»arent effort that the cushion 211 seemed rather to fall asunder than t(» be divided Ity violence. "It is a jugulei-'s trick," said I)e Vaux dai't- ing forward and snatching U[» the [»<>ition of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to iiassiire himself of the reality of the feat ; "there is gi-amaiye in tliis,'' Th.e Soldan see'ued to comprehend liira, for he undid the soit of veil which he had hither- to worn, laid it double along the edge of his Kino RKirviU) and Sm^adiv. 123 mhvc, .'Xtriid.'.! tl).' weapon .m|;;..\v.ivs in tho air, ami dniwin^' it siidrL^niy tliinii-li tli." v.-il, ultli(.u.u:h ii Ininjr en (1,,. h|.„|,. ..ntiivly Innv.' sovTivd that also int., two pails wlii.-li lloat.'.l In (litTcivnt si.lrs ..f tli.> tent, .'.,.,;,lly dispiav- , i»i^ Ih.' oxtivini' tcmprr and sliarpn.-ss of liio weapon and tin- exquisite dexterity of him who used it. "Now, in frood faitli, my htothof," said Kicliard, "thou art even matchless at the triek lo of the sword, and right peril.»us were it to meet thee! Htill, liowever, I put some fajth in u downri,i,dit Kn-Iish l.low, and what we ..annot do l.y sh'ight we eke out hy strength. Xever- theless, in truth thou art as expert in inlli.-tinfr,.-. wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them. ? ^•■"•'^^ J •^''•»Jl- tJ.e learned I h, [ have much to thank him tor and had hronght some small present." As he spoke, Saladin exclianged liis tiu'haujo for a Tartar cap. He had no soon.T j„. is yet infirm, kuoweth the physician i)y his step; l)ut wlien ho is recovered, he know.'t'h not oven his face when he looks upon him." ,Tl 124 KiNd RrcHAiin and Robim Hood. "A jniriM-l<'! a iiiiriK'h.!" ('X.'liiim«'s;iiili ns ? " "Nay, tor mo I say nothinir," said Wauil for ^n'<'»'ii tivos |ia\ walls. And ycf tli.-n- I far more dan.ir.'i-oiis for lrav||,.r< to mc-f f| (( • ' cars as ur la as slorit X' ••oiii|iaiiioiis wli,, ai.> yonder oMtIa tail HI ws. And wl 'o may flH«y Im', f.-r voii ],av.. jmmj: tK'ars (1 nor woKvs, j trow.'" >aid tli.. kidirl Marry, sir, hut vc have .M It. arms/' sai< in time o^ wortli h l»; 1 • •a "oisin s Kit-n-at- iind j.-t 111.. t,.jl vuii that 'I" a half sen.' of tl K'Sl 'S .v»'s at aiiv t !IH' X o\\. pray you, Sii ,.ht. what woiild vo,, do if wo mot two of fh,.„i ?" <' i> I'iii tho villains tot) arth with mv |j VVand)ii, if thoy offnod " But what if fhoro inco. ji "Thoy should di-ink of tl sworod tho knii^dit. IIS any itii|icdiiiicnt.' woro four of thoin .' " lo .saiiio oujt," an- What if si X,'' oontinuod Wan loa. IIhI WO; as wo now aiv. i>arolv t romomlMM- Lockslov's horn'" wo — Would vou Uijt What! sound for lid," ox.-laimo.] th.. kni.ijht. against a score of such m.s,aiHc us tli oso ' *f;» If m\ # f**^ :^'-^jsmik^t^. 126 King Richard and Robin IIood. whom Olio gooonents, desperate as they were, bore ..?«:•• .-^iiKK; x-*."va\ Kiscr RirriARD and Robin IIood. 127 back I'n.in an ana u hidi ..anic.i death in ovm- Mow, and it mvih.mI as if iho terror of his siM-Ie .streii-lh was al.oiit to oaiu tho battle against surh o.l,ls, whn, u knight in bhie armor who had hithert.. kept hiniself behin.l tl.e otj,,.,' ,. assailants, spnrivd forward Avith his lance, and takinu- aim, nut at the ri.ler but at the steed, \.-ounded th.' n..l,|,. animrd mortally. "That was a fel(m stroke!" exclaimed the Black Knight, as the steed fell f. tlieeartlno beunng ]iis rider along witli liini. And at this mom.Mit Wamba winded ih.> huw-l,.^ for tho whole had pass..! ..,, si^vdily that\e had not time to d,> m) sooner. The sudden sound ma.h^ the munhMvrs hear hack on.-e more,,,, and Wamba, though so itniM-rfeetly weaponed,' (lid not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise, "Hhame on yt>, false cowards!" exclaimed he i" the l,lue harnos, who sceme fornudabie antago.iist was most closely pressed, galloped against him iu hopes to uail !':1 7 mMi .iJ^.^^ 1 128 KiN(i Richard and Rorfn FTood. him witli liis laiico ay, soon disposed of the rullians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity that they had not obser\ed in his former l)eai-ing, which i">hitlierto had seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier than of a itersou of exalted rank. 'Let this knight have a steed, Locksley,'' said he, "for T sec your men ha\'e caiiiz:]it those which were ruuuing loose, and h^t i..iu go unharmed." King KrcHAHn and Rums JIooi,. 129 "But that I Ju,l^.o r iist.u tn a vm.., uhosb behests nuist n..t l..> disimto,]," ansu-.n.l tho y..onian, "iM-ouMsend a shaft aff-r il...kulk mj,' villain that sIh.uI.I spam him th. lal.or of a long ioiii-iH'v.*' "Thou boarest an Engjisl, Jn-art, Locksloy" said the Black Knig-ht, "an.l av.II r in forest or field have been atoned by the loyal services you ren' dered my distressed subjects an tfie T.ions. know mo iiimIci- tlif iijuik' wliii-h, I i'oiiv, fame hath l»l(»\vii too \vi liavc i'«'a('h«Ml oven youi I'oyai cars — I am i\oliin Ilood of Sherwood Forest." 5 " Kinj; of outlaws, and jtrincc of ^ood fel- lows!" said the kin/jj; "who hath not heard a name that has hecn horne as far as Palestine? But V>e assured, brave outlaw, that no deed done in our ahsenee, and in the tui'hulent times 10 to which it hath <;i\'cn lise, shall be remem- bered U) thy disadvantage." THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. Kino F. ^;'CIs was a lu'arty kinj,' ami lov'd a roval sptn't, And one day as his lions strovi' .,at luokiiij,' mi llic COlU't. Tlio nobles till'd the hciiclics round, tlit- ladies hy ilit'ir side, loAnd 'inongst t'lcni (.'ount dc Lori^c with one he hoped to make iiis hiide ; And truly twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valor and love and a king above and the royal beasts below. Ramp'd and roar'd the lions with hoiiid lanuliinu jaws; They bit, they glaied, gave blows like l)ean)s, a wind went with their paws ; The Glove and the Lions. 131 ''"1::";,:,:''' •"""■' ""' '■■"■•■' "- "-^ -"•" <- The i,,,..|, f,„„, „,„,, „,„ ,„„ ^.^„,,, ^.,_.^^.^^^ ^^ _^^^^ •seenid tlio sanif. -^ She th,,„sht. "TI,o c„„„, „y w, i, «, t,,,„ ., ,„^,^ -^ .s.ndy^woul.l do desperate things to show his Jove K.ng. mdies. ]ove,.s, all U.k on : the d.anee is wonnroua ■She rin„pp.,n,or g,„ve t„ prov. his ,,„.„, the,, l.^ky „„ him and R„,ile 132 The Glove. THE GLOVE. I , ii .'I " Heigho," yawnod one flay Kin<^ Francis, " Distanoo all valiio enhances ! When a man's busy, why, leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure. 9 'Faith, and at leisure once is he, Straightway he wants to be busy. Here we've got peace and aghast I'm Caught thinking war the true pastima Is there a reason in metre? 10 Give us your speech, master Peter!" I who, if mort^il can say so. Ne'er am at i loss with my Naso, "Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets- Men are the merest Ixions," 15 Here the King whistled aloud, "Ijot's . . Heigho . . go look at our lions !'' Such are tlie sorrowful chances If you talk fine to King Francis. And so, to the court-yard proceeding, 20 Our company Francis was leading, Increased by new followers tenfold Before he arrived at the penfold — Ijords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen At sunset the western horizon. 2S And Sir de Ix)rge pressed 'mid the foremost With the dame he professed to adore most. Oh, what a face ! One by fits eyed Her and the horrible pitside, For the penfold surrounded a hollow The Glove. 133 15 Which led wliore the oy,5 scare,, d.itcd follow, And shelvod to the cliainber sccludf,! Where Bluel)oar(], the great li.,n, hrooded. The king liailed his keep«'r, an Arab As glossy and hiac;k as a scarab, $ And bade Iiim make sport and at once stir Up and out of his den tiie old monster. They opened a hole in tlie wire- work Across it and dropped tbere a tin-work And fled ; one's heart's beatii.- r.-do.iblt-d ; w A pause wbile tlie pit's mouth was troubled, The blackness and silence so utter, By the firework's slow sparkling and s{)utter; Then eartli in a sudden contortion Gave out to our gaze lier abortion. Such a brute ! Were T friend Clement Marot (Whose experience of nature^ but narrow And whose faculties move in no small mist When he versifies David the Psalmist) i should study that brute to describ*; you » Ilium Jiula Leonnn de Tribu. One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy To see the black mane vast and heapy The tail in the air stiff and straining, The wide eyes nor waxing nor waning ^ As, over the barrier which bounded His platform and us who surrounde(J The barrier, they reached and they rested On space that might stand him in best stead ; For wiio knew, he thought, what the amazement, 30 The eruption of clatter and blaze meant, And if in this minute of wonder ii.il ^^w ' M^ 134 The Glove. lu 15 •» 30 No outlet, 'iiiiil liji;litiiiiij^ tiiit was dclivcifil i Ay, that was tin- opori sky o'crlu'ad ! And you saw hy tlio flash on his foii'hwid, By the hoj)e in those t'Vt's wide and steady He was leagues in the drseit already, Driving the Hocks up the mountain Or, fatlike, couched hard hy the fountain To waylay the dale-gathering negiess : So guarasing experiment She rose, yi-t of pain not mueii heedful So long as the jji'iieess was needful-- As if s!'e had tried in a .'riicihlo To what "speeches like gold" wore reducihie And, tinding tlio tinest prove copper, Felt smoke in her face was but piop'r ; To know what she ha u n 11 u i 1/ "> Uumau nature behooves that I know it ! 136 The Glove. 10 IS 20 an She told mo, "Too long hiul I heard Of tho dt'i'd proved iiloiio by tlio wnrd : For my love — what T>o Tiorije woulii not dare I "With my Hcorii — what 3>o J^ir<{0 could ei>mj)arol And the eiidU'ss descriptions of death JIo would brave, when my lip formed a breath, I must reekoa as bravcnl or, of course, iJoultt his word and, mon^ovcr, jxTt'oreo For such gifts as no lady could spurn Must offer my love in rt'tuiii. When r lookctl on yuiir lion it brought All the diingeis i u onre to my thought : Eneountered by all sorts of men B«>f()i-e ho was hxlged in his den. From the p(»or slave wliose club or bare hands Dug the tiap, set tlio snare on the sands, With IK) king and no court to ajiplaud. By no shame sho Id he shrink overawed, Yet to capture the creature mad(! siiift Tliat h rude boys mig'.' laugh at the gift, To the Jiage who last leaped o'er tho 'ence Of the pit on no great<'r pretence Than to get baek tiie bonnet be dropped Lest his i)ay for a week should be stopped So wiser I judged it to make One trial wiiat 'death for my sake' Really meant while tiie power was yet mine, Than to wait until time should define Such a phrase not so simplv as I, Who took it to mean just 'to die.* The Mow a glove gives is but weak — Does the mark yet discolor my cheek 'f «t:Ji On TlIK EncJLISII LwciUAOE. 13( But wlifn the hoart siirtJ-rs a blow Will tli«' piiiri {MISS SI) soon, do you know?" I looki'd us awiiy sIio was Hwccping, And saw a youth ca^crlv kc«'piiiir As floso as h<' duiitl to tlio dooiwav. f No doubt th.it a jii»l>lt? should nioic wciylj Ilis life than Im-IUs ji jiIcImmiiii ; Ami yet, had oin- hriito Ix't-n Nfuican, (I judgo l»y a rcrtain cahn fervor 'I'liH youth stepped with forward to .servo Iier) lo He'd have .scarce Ihoiiyht you did hiui the worst turn If you whisjM red, "Friend, what you'd get, fust earn'" And when, siiortly at't.-r, she carrie«| Her sliaino fmui tlie court aii. .y married, To that marriage some happiness, niau^'re 15 The voico of the court, I tlared auirur. - KOIIKKT UKOWNINQ. ON THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. I HAVE i-fad of ;in omiiient ]ioi'soti who nsod ill lii.s jtrivute dovotions to give tliaiik.s t<> Heaven tlitit he was bom a Ffeiieliman ; for my pai-t I look ui)on it a.s a l)l('s.^iiig that, T20 was born an P^iiglishnian. Anion*,' othei- rea.sons, I tliink myself happy in my country a.s the Iaiigna«i:e of it is won, not (l<»uhtiiig h\\\ thoy will bo u<'«'»>|>t<'il)l»> to all my ciiruuis rotultMU Tlio English dt'lij^ht in siloiico moro than any otlier Eiir<)|u«un nation if Iho r«*niarks which fiuro nuulo on us l>y foi-»'ign»!rs ai»' titu'. Onr (lis(H)nrso is not kept up in ('onv«'rsiition, but falls into inoi'o jianscs and intervals than in our Ui'ighborinjij ronntrifs, ns it is observcnl that the matter of oni- writings is thi'own tnueh 10 closer t()ji:ether anst wjiy wo are able and «;ivo as quick i:.a birth to our conception as possible. This humor shows itself in sevoi-al remarks that we may make upon tho Englisli hniiruaiije. As first of all by its abounding in monosyl- lables, which gives us an opportunity of deliver- aoing our tlioughts in few sounds. This indeed takes off from the elegance of our tongue but at the same time express(»s our ideas iu the readiest numner, and consequently answers the first (h'sign of speech b<'tter tlum the multitude 25 of syllables which make the words of other languages tuoi'i! tunable and souorous. The sounds of our Ejiglish words are commonly like those of string music, short and transient, which I'ise and perish upou a single touch. Those ''r\M^i;^. ^'^' WM'^f-^^.^ On the Ekolihu LANfatAOF. 139 of otlicr liiiiiTMiip's uio liko tlio iiotfx of wiii«l instniiiuMits, s\vt>«'t atnl swelling an«l out into varit'ty <»f iii<»sylia))l.'s wo oft.-ii niake 5 tli«Mii so as iim«']i as li.'s i?i «»ii;- |m.w.'i- hy our rapidity of iM-oimiHMatiun, as i <,' -ii. -rally hap- |»«'iis in most of our long woni- vsim-ii aro do- riv«'(l from the Latin, wla-re wo conti-act tlio h'ligth of tho syUal.J.'s that givo them a grave lo and solemn air in th.'jr t)wn language to make them more {.roper for desj.ateh and mor- con- formable to the genius of oui- tongue. This we may find in a multitu' "incog.," and the like; and as all ridicu- lous words make their fiist ent.y into a lan- guage by familiar phrases I daivi not answer for these that they will not in time be looked 15 upon as a part of our tongue. We see some of our poets have been so in- discreet as to imitate Hudibras' doggerel ex- pressions in their serious comi)ositions by throw- ing out the signs of our substantives, which 20 are essential to the English language. Nay, this humor of shortening our language had once run so far that some of our celebrated authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Roger L'Estrange in particular, began to pnme their 25 words of all superfluous letters, as they termed them, in order to adjust the spelling to the pro- nunciation, which would have confoundcni all our etymologies and have quite destroyed our tongue. 142 On the English Language. We may here likewise obsei-ve that our pro- per luimes when familiarized in English gene- rally dwindle to monosyllal)les, whereas in other modern languages they recnnve a softer turn on 5 this occasion by the addition of a new syllable. "Ni<' " in Italian is "Ni<;<)lini," "Jack" hi French "Janot," and so of Mie rest. There is another particular in our language which is a great instance of our frugality of ?'. words, and that is the suppressing of several iMrtieles which must be produced in other tongues to make a sentence intelligil>le. This often perplexes the best wi-iters when they find the relatives "whom," "which," or "they" at 15 their mercy whether they may have admission or not, and will never be decided till we have something Jike an academy that by the best authorities and rules drawn from the analogy of languages shall settle all controversies be- i-otween grammar and idiom. I have only considered our language as it shows the genius and natural temper of the English, which is modest, thoughtful, and sin- cere, and which perhaps may recommend the 25 people though it has spoiled the tongue. We might perhaps carry the same thought into other languages and deduce a greater part of what is peculiar to the from the genius of the people who speak them. It is certain the Spelling and Derivation. 143 li?:ht talkative humor of the Freneli has not a little infected their tongue, wln.^h niiglit be shown by many instannes, as tJio genius of the ItaHans which is so much addicted to music and ceremony has moulded all their words and 5 phrases to those particular uses. TIk^ stateli- ness and gravity of the Spaniards shows itself to perfection in the solemnity of their language, and the blunt honest humor of the Germans sounds better in the roughness of the High Dutch than it would in a politer tongue. 10 —JOSEPH ADDISON. SPELLING AND DERIVATION. The omission of a letter or the addition of a letter may work, one as effectually as the other, to keep out of sight the true character and origin of a wo.-d. When for "bran-new," 15 It was "brand-new" with a final "d," how vigorous was the image here. The "brand" is the fire, and " bi-and-new," equivalent to "fire- new," is that wi „ h is fresh and bright as being uewly come from the forge and fire. As nowao spelt it conveys to us no image at all. Again, you have the word "scrip"— as a "scrip" of paper, railway "scrip." Is this the Saxon "scrip," a wallet, which has in some strange manner obtained these meanings so different 2$ and so remote! Have we here oQly two different E A Nte<^ 144 HrELLING AND DeUIVATION. ■9: !* 1 ent applications of ono and tlie same woi-d, or two liomonyniR, wlio^^" (liff(3ront woids tliougli spelt alike? It is sufricient to note how the first of these " .-i-ips " used to be written, snamely with a final "t," not "serip" but "script," and the question is answered. This " scrip " is a Latin, as the other is a Saxon word, and meant at fiist simply a written piece of paper — a circumstance whieh since the in omission of the final "t" may easily escape our knowledge. So long as " avenue " was spelt "advenue" the word suggested something, and the right something, about itself. In these cases it lias been the omission of a w letter which has clouded and concealed the etymology ; the intrusion of a letter sometimes does the same. Thus in early editions of th«' Paradise Lost, and in the writings of that age, you will find "scent," an odor, spelt "sent." 20 It was better so. There is no other noun sub- stantive " sent " with which it is in danger of being confounded, while its relation with "sentio"and with "resent," "dissent," "consent" and the like, is put out of sight by its novel spell- 25ing, the intrusive "c" serving only to mislead. The same thing was attempted with " site," " situate," " situation," spelt by many for a time " scite," " scituate," " scituatiou," but with these it did not continue. Again, "whole" in Spelling and Dekivation. 145 Wydif's Bil.l«., aiul souM'timos as far down as Spenser, is si)elt "li«,lo." The present ortlio- graphy may liave the advantage of at onee dis- tiuguishing the word from any other to the eyo, but at the same time the initial "w" hides its 5 relation to the verb "heal." The "whole" man is he whose liurt is "healed" or "covered." I a?n afraid that we owe to Tyndale the "hide- o, 8 interloping letter that begins the word." " Whoies,ome," onee spelt "holesome," has natu-10 rally followed the foi'tunes of " whole." Of "island," too, our present spelling is in- ferior to the old, inasmueh as it suggests a hybrid formation as though the word wei-e made up of the Latin "insula" and the Saxon .6 "land." It is quite true that "isle" is descended from "insula," "isola," "ih^'and hence probably the misspelling of "i.slan 146 Spelling and Derivation. I. i fJ- derivation, as has been the case witli the word just dealt with. It is there sou^'lit to l>riiiorn guttural strength. Raftered by firm-laid conujiiants, windowed by opening vowels, Thou securely art built free to the sun and the air ; Over thy feudal battlements trail the wild tcjidrilsof fancy Where in the early morn warbled our earliest birds. 15 Science looks out from thy watch-tower, love whispers in at thy lattice, While o'er thy bastions wit flashes its glittering sword. Not by coTuption rotted nor slowly by ages degraded Have the sharp consonants gone crumbling away from our words ; Virgin and clean is their edge like granite blocks chiselled by Egypt, it as when Shakespeare and Milton laid them in glorious verse. 20 Enomhh Speech. 151 Fittwl for rx.-ry nso like a prmf nmjoshCal rivor. Blending thy varions stroa.ns stately tl.ou flowe^t' along lJ«-a.inK the white winged ship of P.K'My over thy Jwmom Urlen with spicos that eotne out of the tropical isles, Faney's pleasuring yacht with its bright and (luttering'l iM'riiKins, r>.gic'.s frigates of war, and tlie toil worn Imrges of trade. How art thou freely olK'.lient unto the po,.t or speaker When in a happy hour thought into sp h he translates ! Caught on the word's sharp angles flash the bright hues of his fancy ; Grandly the th..ught rides the words as a g.HjKtH, Wandering lost iu thy maz«!, thy wilds ot magnificent growth ; Call thee incongruous, wild, ^ t rule and of reason defiant ; I in thy wildness a grand froHtloin of oharac-ter find. So with irregular outline tower up the sky-piercing mountains 10 Rearing o'er yawniiii: chasms lofty pres, Bearing the flowers in their clefts, losing their peaks in the clouds. »< Therefore it is that I praise tht» and never can cease from rejoicing, Thinking that good stout English is mine and my ancestors' tongue ; 15 Give mo its varying music, the flow of its free modulation, I will not covet the full roll of the gloiious Greek, Luscious and feeble Italian, I^itin sm frsiinal and st«t-"ly, French with its nasal lisp, nor n.man inverted and harsh : Tr?K KvuLiHir LANfji'AOE. ir>3 Not whilo our ortiim tan H,H.Hk w,i|, its ,„any- uw\ H.,fi- dcrful voiw'H, Play on tl.« soft fluto of lovo, blow th« luu.l t.uii.iH.t of war, «ing with tho liigh «,.M.juialrn,, or, .Iniwin^, its fuU cJiujta.se 8' niiu o To eelebrak, the trimnj,.,, of u.,r ow„ g.H.l Sax.,,, tongue; For, . stronger fur than ho«t.s that manh with haitu-tlaKM unfurh'il. It g«x.H with Fhukmom, Tho, :.iHT, an.) Tkut.i to rou.se and r^ile flit! wtald. .Stout Albion i.-arns its househol.l lays on every Murf-wurn shore, And Scotlan.l h.-ars its echoin- far as Orkney's I,reaker> Hid roar Fnm Jura's tTuifs and AFona's hills ii, (\, gale A id warms with eUjuence and s..n.' li,, h,.iu,- .' - fail. e. Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame f take heed nor once disgrace With deadly pen or spoiling sword our noble tongue and race. Go forth prepared in every clime to love and help eachifi other counsel strife would V I- smite— a brother. you |:i 156 The Apology of Socrates. Go forth and jointly speed tlie time by grMwI men prayod for long Wlion Christian states prown just and wise will scorn revenge and wrong, When Eartli's oppressed and savage tribes sliall cease to pine or roani, All taught to prize these English words — Faith, Free- dom, Heavex, and Home. —J. O. LV0N8. THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES. 5 You will, O Athenians, gain little time by incurring from those who wish to defame the city the reproach of having put a wise man, Socrates, to death : for they who wish to I take to 1)0 tho cause of this ? I will toll you : what has happened to mo iimst bo a good, and it is impossible that those of us who tliiiik death 3 to be an evil are correct in their oi>inion. What has hapi)ened is strong pioot' of this, for the usual sign would c«'i-tainly have opposjnl rae if I had not been about to obtain some good. 10 On another vievy of tho matter we shall find reason for the hope that death is a })0()n. To die signifies one t)f two things: either the dead pass into a state of nothingness and entire unconsciousness, or theie is a change and 15 transfer of the soul from this to some other place. Now if there is no consciousness, but a condition like tlio sleep of him who is not affected l)y dreams, de; h will l»e a wonder- ful gain. For if one were to select a night in 20 which he slept so soundly as to have had no dream at all, and wore to tell us how many days and nights he had passed more pleasantly than it, I think that even tho great . ; >j himself, not to say a i)rivate person, w -lUl (ind them 2.5 easy to number in comparison Wilii the other days and nights. If, therefore, death is like this I say it is a gain, for all futurity would thus appear no longer than a single night. But if, ou tho other hand, death is a trans- The Apology of Socrates. 161 fer to another plaoo, and if all the dead are there, what good, O judges, oun bo greater than this? For if a person, after having been delivered from those who pretend to be judges here, is to find ou his arrival in Hades a those true judges who are said to admmister justice there— Minos and Rhadamauthus and Aeacus and Triptolemus and other demigods who were righteous in this life— wiU this be a pad transition? Wliat would one not give tow hold converse with Orph(His and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? If this be true let me at least die over and over again, for to me a place of sojoui-n would be of wonderful interest where I should meet with Palamedes, withw Ajax the son of Telanion, and with other ancient heroes who died through unjust sentences. To compare my sufferings witL theirs would, in my opinion, be no unpleasing occupation; but the greatest delight would be to spend my 20 time in questioning and examining there as I have done here, and in discovering who is wise and who fancies himself to be so but is not. What -would not one give, judges, to have a chance to question him who led the great 25 army against 'i'roy, or Odysseus, or Sisyphus, or thousands of others both men and women whom one might mention I To converse and associate with these and to ask them questions M > 162 The Apolooy of Kocuates. would 1)0 infinito happiness, uiid assuroart when fate shall sum- ,5 mon him. You and all others will have to depart each at his own time; 'me,' as a tragedian would say, 'the voice of destiny now summons.' " men he had thus spoken, Crito said, "8020 be It, Socrates, but what commands have you 10 give any of us, either about your children or about any other matter regarding which we may best serve you ? " "Nothing new, Crito," he answered, «only« that, as I have always said, by taking care of ii t i :i' h I 164 The Dfath of Socrates. yourselves yoii will render a service to both me and mine a.s well as yourselves, even though you do not now make any promises. But if you negloct yourselv«'s and will not ..adopt the manner of life of which I have lioth to-day and heretofore spoken, you will accomplish nothing however numerous and earnest your promises may be." " We will strive to do so," said Crito ; " but whow do you wish to be buried?" "Just as you please," he replied, "if only you can catch me, and I do not escnjw from you." And then smiling gently and looking round on us he said : " I (cannot persuade Crito, my 16 friends, that I am the same Socrates who has been conversing with you and putting his arguments in a systematic f<»rra. He thinks I am that Socrates whom he will soon see as a dead body, and he asks how he should bury 30 me. The arguments which I have made use of to prove that after I have drunk the poison I shall no longer remain with you but shall depart to some happy state of the blessed, thus endeavoring to ''onsole both you and myself, Mseem to have had no effect upon him. Be, there- fore, my sureties to him now as he was my surety to the judges, but in a very different way: he undertook that I would remain, but you must be sureties to him that when I die The Death op Socrateh. 165 I shall not remain but takf^ my dopartnre. Onto will thus more easily bear it, and when he sees my b<)rne to tho grave, or burie,l frioml, Hs you aiv skiih'.l iu tli..,so nuittors tull mo what 1 must <1(-." "Nothiri^r," 1... „j,i.]^ "oxcopt to walk i.l)Out after you hav.- .h-.iuk th.' ],ois..n until yours l<>«s f.M.l iM^avy; th.-u lio clowu aiul it will 'tako effect. " At the saino tJKi.' ho lianrlod the oup to 8oerates who, taking it .'hoorrully without tromor or chai.gM of couuteuanee and looking lo steadfastly at the man o« his custom was, hiCiuired: "What say you to pounng a libatioii from this eup to any of the gods f Is it allowable o?- not ? " "Wo ]>roparo. Soorato^. oj.ly so mueli as weii think the right (piantity to < — To be a brother to the insensible rock. And to the sluggish clod which tlij rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould. Yet not Lo thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant woild — with kings, The powerful of the earth — tlie wise, the good — Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between, The \enerable woods, rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green, and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — Are but the solemn decorations all Or the great tomb of man. Thanatopsis. 171 The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are sJiining on tiie sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the trilje.s That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound Save his own dashings-yet the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid thf ra down In their last sleep- the dead reign there alone. So Shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments and shall come And make their l>ed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of laen— The youth in life's green spring and he who gcjes In the full strength of years, matron and maid. The bowed with ago, the ii.fant in the smiles And beauty of its innocent age cut off— Shall one by one be gathered to thy side By those who in their turn shall follow them. So live that, when thy summons comes to join The ianumerable caravan which movea U 20 23 it !■ 172 Address to an Egyptian Mummy. To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him and lies down to pleasant dreams. — Wn.l.lAM Ct'LLKN BRVANT. ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, 10 When the Memnonium was in all its glory And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous Of which the very ruins are tremendous! Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted dummy 15 Thou hast a tongue, come let us hear its tune ; Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, mummy ! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon: Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones and flesii and limbs and features. 80 Tell us— for doubtless thou canst recollect- To wliom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect Of either pyramid that bears his name ? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? 25 Had Thebes a hundred gates as sung by Homer 'i 10 Addeess to an Egyptian Mummy. 173 Perchance that very hand now pinioned flat Has hob-a.nobb'd with Pharoah glass to glass Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat, Or doflfd thine own to let Queen Dido pass, Oi held by Solomon's own invitation A torch at the great temple's dedication. ' I need not ask thee if that hand when arm'd Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled For thou wert dead and buried and embalm'd Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckld ; Antiquity appears to have begun Ix)ng after thy primeval race was run. Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue Might tell us what those .sightless orbs have seen How the world look'd when it wa.s fresh and young And the great Deluge still had left it green • Or WM it then so old that history's pages Contain'd no record of its early ages ? Still silent? incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thv vows • But prithee tell us something of thyself— Reveal the "secrets of thy prison-hou.se >" Since m the world of .spirits thou hast sh^mber'd What hast thou seen-what strange adventures number'd? Since first thy form was in this box extended ^ We have above ground .seen some strange mutations: liie Roman empire has begun and ended New worlds have risen-we have los't old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled Whilst not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. „ IS so fil il >:■■- 174 Address to an Eoyptian Mfmmy. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head Wlien the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, Marched aru.its o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, Overtlirew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, 5 And shook tlie Pyramids with fear and wonder When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd The nature of thy private life unfold ; A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast 10 And tears adown that dusky cheek have roll'd ; Have children cliinb'd those knees and kiss'd that face? What was thy name and station, age and race? Statue of fle^h — immortal of the dead ! Imperishable type of evanescence ! 15 Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow lied And standest undecay'd within our presence, Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning. When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning! Why should this worthless tegument endure 20 If its undying g-.'est be lost for ever ? Oh, let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure In living virtue that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom ! -HORACE KMITII. " The d.-irkest chiy in any miin's earthly career is that wherein he firs.i fancies that there is .some easier way of gaining a dol- lar than by sc]uarely earning it. He has lost the olue to his way tl,roHgh this mortal labyrinth and must henceforth wander as chuncu may dictate." '-OrteUji. r.T-a-x-T*" r^ MOETAUTY. 175 MORTALITY Oh, why should tho spirit of mortal be proud t Like a fast-flitting nieteor, a swift-Hying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave' Man passes from life to hi.s rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, | Be scattered around, and together \>e laid ; And the young and the old and the low and tho high Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. The child that a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affection that proved, n The husband that mother and infant that blessed. Each— all are away to their dwelling of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure-her triumphs are by ; And the memories of those that have lovetl her and 15 praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne. The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave ' Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. The peasant whose lot was to sow and lo reap, The herdsman that climlx-d with his goats up tl.e steep, The beggar that wandered in search of his bread Have faded away like the graas that we tread. 20 \i .** I I' '1i At ^ ^li 1 Ij.: it i 176 Mortality. The saint that enjoyed the communion of Heaven, The sinner that dan-d to rouiuin uiiforgiven, The wise and tlie foolish, the guilty and just Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. a So the multitude go like the flower and the weed That wither away to le*^ othei i succeed ; So the multitude come, ev»)ii those we behold, To repeat every tale that hath often been told. For we are the same things that our fathers have been ; 10 We see the same sights that our fathers have seen ; We drink the same stream and we feel the same sun And we run the same course that our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; From the death we are shrinking from they too would shrink ; IsTo the life we are olingintj to they too would cling, But it speeds for us all like a bird on the wing. They loved but the story we cannot unfold ; They scorned but the heart of the haughty is cold ; They grieved but no wail from their slumbers will come; 20 They joyed but the voice of their gladaess is dumb; They died — ah ! they died ! and we things that are now, Who walk on the rurt xhci ies over their brow, Whc make in ti.fir J-cHiiigs a transient abode, Meet the things that thev met on their pilgrimage-road. 25 Yea! hope and despo.'; Igr;;., ijjf"<^ure and pain. Are mingled together iise siuiah < aad rain; And the ^mile and the t.ear and the song and the dirge Still follow each other like sur'-^ upon surge. The Imitation of Christ. 177 T.H the w„.k of u„ .^.e, 'tis tl,„ ,l,,u.,^l.t of a brnath From tla, hlo.so.n of Ih-uUI. to ti . puLiu-sH of d.-Hfl, From tl,« gi|,l...l s.!oo,i to tl.o Imr an.I tho shroud:' Oh. why should the spirit of inortnl Ih3 prou.U — WIU.I.',M KNOX. THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. "TTr that followpth ,no walketh not i„ darkness." 5 ««ua the I..rd. TIh>so un, tho wonls of Christ, hy which we an. tau^^ht. to i.uitate His life ,.,.d manners if we w.mld bo truly enlightened an.l ,ielivere,l from all blin.l- ness of heart. I.-t, therefore, our chief endeavor be to meditate upon the life of Jesus Christ. ,0 The doctrine of Christ exceedeth all the doctrines of holy men, an.l he that hath the spirit will fin.l therein the hidden manna. But it falieth out that many, an>eit they often hea. tae Gos,H>l of Christ, are yet but l.ttle aifect.d Ix^causei. Miey lutv( not the Spir->, of Christ. Whos,K.ver, th-n, would fully and feelingly understand the words of Christ must endeavor to conform his life wholly to tho life of Christ. Su^e!y great words do not make a mar. holy and just* l».t a virtuous life maketh him dear to God. If thou knewest the whole Bible by heart an.l the sayings of all the philosophers what would it pro.it thee without the love of God and without grace? Vanity of vanities all is vanity, except to love God 25 and Him only to serve. This is the highest wisdom : by contempt of the wond to tend toward the kingdom of Heaven, 178 The Imitation op Ciiuist. It is therefore vunity to «fk aft»;r |>»'nsliiii;? riches and tu trutit iii theui. It is ulso vanity to Ntrivo after hoiiorH hikI to clitiilt to high flegnje. a It is vanity to defiiro to Iiv<' lori;,' it'i'l not t^» cure ti» live well. It is vanity to niiiid only this present life and not to make provision for those tiling-^ which an- to come. It i" vanity to hive that which spi.-fhly jia»-ctli away 10 and not to hapten thither where evt rhi^lin^ ji>y awaitctli thee. Ghiry not in wealth if thou have it, nor in frirnd-* becaii.se tney are powerful, hut in («o..,ui,n On Ht. J„lm*s evo ut v,..s,H.r.s pp. u.lly sat And hmnl tl.o pri-sts chaub tlu, Mag,.ifirat, • And as I.e list..,,,-!, nW and o'..,- ayain Rep,.af.'d liko a burden or refrain, He can«ht the wonLs, «« I),.,H,suit i^tente, lie sedo, et exaltavit humil..s," And .sh.wly lifting up his i