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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10491-0.txt b/10491-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f18315 --- /dev/null +++ b/10491-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3328 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 *** + +PRACTICE +BOOK + + +LELAND POWERS SCHOOL + + + +1909 + + + + +IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. + + * * * * * + +My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of +copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & +Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which +is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company +for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, +entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for +the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts +from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are +used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin +& Company, publishers of their works. + +The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal +Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are +taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here +reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company. + +LELAND POWERS. + + + + +INDEX + + * * * * * + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, _Richard Burton_ + +BROOK, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CAVALIER TUNES _Robert Browning_ + I. Give a Rouse. + II. Boot and Saddle. + +COLUMBUS _Joaquin Miller_ + +COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CONSERVATIVE, A _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_ + +EACH AND ALL _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +ELAINE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +ELOQUENCE _Daniel Webster_ + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION + +FEZZIWIG BALL, THE _Charles Dickens_ + +FIVE LIVES _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +GREEN THINGS GROWING _Dinah Mulock Craik_ + +HERVÉ RIEL _Robert Browning_ + +IF WE HAD THE TIME _Richard Burton_ + +LADY OF SHALOTT, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +LAUGHING CHORUS, A + +LIFE AND SONG _Sidney Lanier_ + +LOCHINVAR _Sir Walter Scott_ + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE _S.T. Coleridge_ + +MY LAST DUCHESS _Robert Browning_ + +MY STAR _Robert Browning_ + +PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from _Robert Browning_ + I. Day. + II. The Year's at Spring. + +RHODORA, THE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from _Robert Browning_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV--"Falstaff's Recruits" _William Shakespeare_ + +SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN _Boucicault_ + +SELF-RELIANCE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +TALE, THE--From The Two Poets of Croisic _Robert Browning_ + +TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE _John Ruskin_ + +TRUTH AT LAST _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +WORK _John Ruskin_ + + + + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION. + + +The exercises under each chapter have _primarily_ the characteristics +of that chapter, and _secondarily_ the characteristics of the other +two chapters. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +VITALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Power, Largeness, +Freedom, Animation, Movement_. + + +1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids: + Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades." + + * * * * * + +2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! + Rise up and ride both fast and far! + The sea flows over bolt and bar." + + * * * * * + +3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with +the laws of man and the justice of heaven." + + * * * * * + +4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, + And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, + And heard the priest chant the Magnificat." + + * * * * * + +5. "Then the master, + With a gesture of command, + Waved his hand; + And at the word, + Loud and sudden there was heard + All around them and below + The sound of hammers, blow on blow, + Knocking away the shores and spurs. + And see! she stirs! + She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel + The thrill of life along her keel, + And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, + She leaps into the ocean's arms!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Under his spurning feet, the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind, + Like an ocean flying before the wind." + + * * * * * + +7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, + Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! + Now for a madcap galloping chase! + I'll make a commotion in every place!'" + + * * * * * + +8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!" + + * * * * * + +9. "It is done! + Clang of bell and roar of gun! + Send the tidings up and down. + How the belfries rock and reel! + How the great guns, peal on peal, + Fling the joy from town to town!" + + * * * * * + +10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! + How high you lift your heads into the sky! + How huge you are, how mighty and how free! + Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile + Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, + Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear + Of awe divine." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MENTALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Reflection_ OR +_Processes_ OF _Thought, Clearness, Definiteness_. + + +1. "Beyond the street a tower,--beyond the tower a moon,--beyond the moon +a star,--beyond the Star, what?" + + * * * * * + +2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; + Carve every word before you let it fall; + Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, + Try overhard to roll the British R; + Do put your accents in the proper spot; + Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' + And when you stick on conversation's burrs, + Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." + + * * * * * + +3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; + Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, + And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,-- + No more:" + + * * * * * + +4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first +characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls +itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's +sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of." + + * * * * * + +5. "_Brutus_. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. + + _Lucius_. I will, my lord. (_Exit_.) + + _Brutus_. It must be by his death: and for my part, + I know no cause to spurn at him, + But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- + How that might change his nature, there's the question. + It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; + And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- + And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, + That at his will he may do danger with." + + * * * * * + +6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word +was God. The same was in the beginning with God." + + * * * * * + +7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, +comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of +his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a _fine_ art, and +good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. +Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, +all beauty is in the long run only _fineness_ of truth, or what we +call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." + + * * * * * + +8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, +under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called +cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, +and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. +These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and +for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the +power of the others latent in him, and his own patent." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MORALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Purpose, Love, Harmony, +Poise, Values_. + +1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at +thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly +waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf +of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, +'In Heaven's name, No!'" + + * * * * * + + +2. "Flower in the crannied wall, + I pluck you out of the crannies;-- + Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, + Little flower--but if I could understand + What you are, root and all, and all in all, + I should know what God and man is." + + + * * * * * + +3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun +shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with +a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his +sunny heart." + + * * * * * + +4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am; though for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" + + * * * * * + +5. "Listen to the water-mill; + Through the livelong day, + How the clicking of its wheels + Wears the hours away! + Languidly the autumn wind + Stirs the forest leaves, + From the fields the reapers sing, + Binding up their sheaves; + And a proverb haunts my mind, + As a spell is cast; + 'The mill can never grind + With the water that is past.'" + + * * * * * + +6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good +steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called +evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead." + + * * * * * + +7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At +sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse +attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been +completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which +some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their +being washed off by the waves. + +"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. +The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of +shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its +sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been +over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie +whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the +waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end." + + * * * * * + +8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home." + + * * * * * + +9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the +mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the +world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God." + + + + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION. + + + +1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- + Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, + Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, + Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops." + + * * * * * + +2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + "Ah! few shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulcher." + + * * * * * + +3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! + Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near + More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! + Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! + Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! + Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!" + + * * * * * + +4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? + Came not faint whispers near? + No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh + Amid the foliage sere." + + * * * * * + +5. "Her giant form + O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, + Majestically calm, would go, + Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! + But gentler now the small waves glide, + Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. + So stately her bearing, so proud her array, + The main she will traverse for ever and aye. + Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. + Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly + Ripple the silence deep! + No; the swans that, circling nightly, + Through the silver waters sweep. + + "See I not, there, a white shimmer? + Something with pale silken shrine? + No; it is the column's glimmer, + 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine." + + * * * * * + +7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! + ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,' + And the Duchess claps her hands. + + "Slow and tired came the hunters; + Stopped in darkness in the court. + 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport, what sport.' + + "Slow they entered with their master; + In the hall they laid him down. + On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown." + + * * * * * + +8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, + Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,-- + Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, + Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,-- + Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, + Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; + Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, + Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words." + + + + +SELECTIONS. + + * * * * * + + + +HERVÉ RIEL. + + +On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, +Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! +And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, +Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, +Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + +'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; +First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; + Close on him fled, great and small, + Twenty-two good ships in all; + And they signalled to the place, + "Help the winners of a race! +Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + +Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; +"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: +"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, +Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, +Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, +Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, + And with flow at full beside? + Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. + Reach the mooring? Rather say, + While rock stands or water runs, + Not a ship will leave the bay!" + + Then was called a council straight. + Brief and bitter the debate: +"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow +All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, + For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- + Better run the ships aground!" + (Ended Damfreville his speech.) + "Not a minute more to wait! + Let the captains all and each +Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! + France must undergo her fate. + Give the word!"--But no such word + Was ever spoke or heard; +For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these +A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? + No such man of mark, and meet + With his betters to compete! +But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- +A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. + +And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel; +"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? +Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell +On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, +'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues? +Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? + Morn and eve, night and day, + Have I piloted your bay, +Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. +Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! +Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! + Only let me lead the line, + Have the biggest ship to steer, + Get this 'Formidable' clear, + Make the others follow mine, +And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, + Right to Solidor, past Grève, + And there lay them safe and sound; + And if one ship misbehave,-- + Keel so much as grate the ground, +Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. + + Not a minute more to wait. + "Steer us in, then, small and great! +Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. + "Captains, give the sailor place! + He is Admiral, in brief." + Still the north-wind, by God's grace! + See the noble fellow's face + As the big ship with a bound, + Clears the entry like a hound, +Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! + See, safe through shoal and rock, + How they follow in a flock. +Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, + Not a spar that comes to grief! + The peril, see, is past, + All are harbored to the last, +And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, + Up the English come, too late. + + So, the storm subsides to calm; + They see the green trees wave + On the heights o'erlooking Grève. + Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. + "Just our rapture to enhance, + Let the English rake the bay, + Gnash their teeth and glare askance + As they cannonade away! +Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" +Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! + Out burst all with one accord, + "This is Paradise for hell! + Let France, let France's king, + Thank the man that did the thing!" + What a shout, and all one word, + "Hervé Riel!" + As he stepped in front once more, + Not a symptom of surprise + In the frank blue Breton eyes, + Just the same man as before. + + Then said Damfreville, "My friend, + I must speak out at the end, + Though I find the speaking hard. + Praise is deeper than the lips; + You have saved the King his ships, + You must name your own reward. + Faith, our sun was near eclipse! + Demand whate'er you will, + France remains your debtor still +Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!" + + Then a beam of fun outbroke + On the bearded mouth that spoke, + As the honest heart laughed through + Those frank eyes of Breton blue: + "Since I needs must say my say, + Since on board the duty's done, +And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- + Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- + Since the others go ashore-- + Come! A good whole holiday! +Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" + That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. + Name and deed alike are lost: + Not a pillar nor a post + In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; + Not a head in white and black + On a single fishing-smack, +In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack +All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. + Go to Paris; rank on rank + Search the heroes flung pell-mell + On the Louvre, face and flank! +You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. + So, for better and for worse, + Hervé Riel, accept my verse! + In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more +Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore! + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +LOCHINVAR. + +I. + +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- +Through all the wild border his steed was the best! +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + + +II. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love and a dastard in war +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + + +III. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, +'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + + +IV. + +"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + + +V. + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; +"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. + + +VI. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret and her father did fume, +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + + +VII. + +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung +So light to the saddle before her he sprung: +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + + +VIII. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee; +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? + +SIR WALTER SCOTT. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES. + +1. "DAY." + +Day! +Faster and more fast; +O'er night's brim, day boils at last: +Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim +Where spurting and suppressed it lay, +For not a froth-flake touched the rim +Of yonder gap in the solid gray, +Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; +But forth one wavelet, then another curled, +Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, +Rose, reddened, and its seething breast +Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. + +Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, +A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, +The least of thy gazes or glances, +(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) +One of thy choices or one of thy chances, +(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) +--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, +Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hillside's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + +THE FEZZIWIG BALL. + +Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed +to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious +waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of +benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial +voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!" + +A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came +briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice. + +"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, +Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can +say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" + +Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't +have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. +Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life +forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel +was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry +and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. + +In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and +made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. +Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, +beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they +broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In +came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her +brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after +another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some +pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they +all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other +way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of +affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong +place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all +top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result +was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, +cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of +porter especially provided for that purpose. + +There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and +there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold +Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince +pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after +the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." +Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; +with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty +pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who +_would_ dance, and had no notion of walking. + +But if they had been twice as many,--four times,--old Fezziwig would have +been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, she +was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light +appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the +dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become +of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through +the dance,--advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, +corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,--Fezziwig +"cut,"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs. + +When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. +Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking +hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or +her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, +they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the +lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. + + * * * * * + + + +THE BROOK. + +I. + +I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, +And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + +II. + +By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges; +By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + +III. + +I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, +I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + +IV. + +With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, +And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + +V. + +I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + +VI. + +I wind about and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, +And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling. + + +VII. + +And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me as I travel +With many a silvery water-break + Above the golden gravel. + + +VIII. + +I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers, +I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + +IX. + +I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; +I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + +X. + +I murmur, under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses, +I linger by my shingly bars, + I loiter round my cresses. + + +XI. + +And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + * * * * * + + + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + +A LAUGHING CHORUS. + +[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, +Burdett & Company.] + + +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro. +And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the breath of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + + * * * * * + + + +CAVALIER TUNES. + + +1. GIVE A ROUSE. + +King Charles, and who'll do him right now? +King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? +Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, +King Charles! + +Who gave me the goods that went since? +Who raised me the house that sank once? +Who helped me to gold I spent since? +Who found me in wine you drank once? + + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + +To whom used my boy George quaff else, +By the old fool's side that begot him? +For whom did he cheer and laugh else, +While Noll's damned troopers shot him. + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +II. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + +Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! +Rescue my castle before the hot day +Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; +Many's the friend there, will listen and pray +"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!" + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, +Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array: +Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + +Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, +Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! +I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE. + +From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to +the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, +Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife. + + +How often in the summer tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan +Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne! + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who should say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path wheron I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn poet and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne! + + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +GREEN THINGS GROWING. + + +The green things growing, the green things growing, +The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! +I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, +Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. + +Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! +How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; +In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight +Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. + +I love, I love them so--my green things growing! +And I think that they love me, without false showing; +For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, +With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. + +And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, +Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing: +Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, +Many, many a summer of my green things growing! + +But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, +Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, +Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, +If I may change into green things growing. + +DINAH MULOCK CRAIK. + + * * * * * + + + +THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. + + +1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they +are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, +is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of +that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its +meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form +of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: +the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, +we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course +money doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it means +influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except +itself. + +2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is for +most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, we +would use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of +course, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good +of the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, +if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but +we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort +or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't +possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own. + +3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that +the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any +other--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money; +and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of +tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth +and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for +the Giver,--our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for +it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that +is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, +is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent; +but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is a +due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it. + +4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the +very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of +that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man +richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and +more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious +than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that +calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others +lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are these +not talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among the +most distinguished and influential of mental gifts? + +5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use +a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from +some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind +to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? +You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or +lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble +neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or +the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow +thrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, and +reach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them. + +6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness of +thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only, +has the much greater gift of being long-headed--you think it perfectly +just that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths +of all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or +use his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerce +of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the central +spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and +commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injustice +in this. + +7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable men +will at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree, +however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary and +intended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed by +energy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who are +best able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career, +should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be +wretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his +conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so. + +8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread upon +them, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way? +By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. That +is the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong and +wise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not that +he may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his own +household he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out of +his household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide and +support, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weak +and the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the men +who ought to have known better--of the poor who ought to be ashamed of +themselves. + +9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost her +son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has broken +his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something to +use your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness +of mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have made +him an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunity +which his dullness would have lost. + +10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved the +superiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is the +fitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibility +of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who have +it in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the +State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil, +just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, or +military command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it you +have in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation; +and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for the +State or not, depends upon you. + +11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, and +say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that has +baffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children; +water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to those +who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry +this life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: +"Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to +be throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that men +may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that +I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that I +may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor." And better than +such an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we were +born. + +12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who, +through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious office +which is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-used +was as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealth +well-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out +of the deep. A time will come--I do not think it is far from us--when this +golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flaming +meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of the +light and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable and +peaceful toil. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +LIFE AND SONG. + + +[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyrighted 1891, +and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.] + + +If life were caught by a clarionet, + And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, +Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, + And utter its heart in every deed, + +"Then would this breathing clarionet + Type what the poet fain would be; +For none o' the singers ever yet + Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, + +"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, + Or utterly bodied forth his life, +Or out of life and song has wrought + The perfect one of man and wife; + +"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song + Might each express the other's all, +Careless if life or art were long + Since both were one, to stand or fall: + +"So that the wonder struck the crowd, + Who shouted it about the land: +_His song was only living aloud, + His work, a singing with his hand_!" + +SIDNEY LANIER. + + * * * * * + + + +ELOQUENCE. + + +1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when +great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is +valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual +and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities +which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in +speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, +but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every +way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, +and in the occasion. + +2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may +aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the +outbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. +The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied +contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and +the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the +decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, +and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels +rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. + +3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear +conception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm +resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the +eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right +onward to his object,--this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something +greater and higher than all eloquence,--it is action, noble, sublime, +god-like action. + +DANIEL WEBSTER. + + * * * * * + + + +TRUTH AT LAST. + + +Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,-- +Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? +When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder +Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed +Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, +Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed +Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, +There was the end, where the crag dropped away? +Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, +Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell +That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, +Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. +As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, +And so went down.--'Tis something if at last, +Though only for a flash, a man may see +Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past, +From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +WORK. + + +1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the difference +between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests of +wise work:--that it must be honest, useful and cheerful. + +It is _Honest_. I hardly know anything more strange than that you +recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, you +have always some one to see what you call "fair-play." In boxing, you must +hit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is +"fair-_play_," your English hatred, "foul-_play_." Did it never +strike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-_work_," and +another and bitterer hatred,--"foul-_work_"? + +2. Then wise work is _Useful_. No man minds, or ought to mind, its +being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comes +to nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for +honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the next +breeze,--that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever ask +ourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming to +anything or not? + +3. Then wise work is _Cheerful_, as a child's work is. Everybody in +this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we +hear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he +"takes God's name in vain." But there's a twenty times worse way of taking +His name in vain than that. It is to _ask God for what we don't +want_. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the +worst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish for +His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than pray +for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what it +is. + +4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it. +Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "The +Kingdom of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not to come +outside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now +if we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into +it, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter into +it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a little +child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer little children to come +unto me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the Kingdom of +Heaven_." + +5. Of _such_, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such as +children. It is the _character_ of children we want and must gain. It +is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it is +cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for +nothing--being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whether +in its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's character +also. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty +of the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and +always ready for play--beautiful play. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK." + + +Our human speech is naught, +Our human testimony false, our fame +And human estimation words and wind. +Why take the artistic way to prove so much? +Because, it is the glory and good of Art, +That Art remains the one way possible +Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. +How look a brother in the face and say +"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, +Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, +And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!" +Say this as silvery as tongue can troll-- +The anger of the man may be endured, +The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him +Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, +That all this trouble comes of telling truth, +Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, +Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, +Nor recognizable by whom it left; +While falsehood would have done the work of truth. +But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men, +Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth +Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, +Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. +So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, +Beyond mere imagery on the wall,-- +So, note by note, bring music from your mind, +Deeper than ever the Adante dived,-- +So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, +Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. + + + * * * * * + +SELF-RELIANCE. + + +1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in +your private heart is true for all men,--that is genius. + +Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the +inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered +back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of +the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and +Milton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not +what men but what _they_ thought. + +2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which +flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament +of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because +it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; +they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. + +3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They +teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored +inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. +Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what +we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with +shame our own opinion from another. + +4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the +conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must +take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wide +universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but +through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to +till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he +knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. + +5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression +on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without +preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that +it might testify of that particular ray. + +6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine idea +which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and +of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his +work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put +his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done +otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not +deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no +invention, no hope. + +7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the +place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your +contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, +and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying +their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their +heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. + +8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same +transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, +not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers and +benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and the +Dark. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +RHODORA. + +ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER? + + +In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, +I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, +Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, +To please the desert and the sluggish brook. +The purple petals, fallen in the pool, +Made the black water with their beauty gay; +Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, +And court the flower that cheapens his array. +Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why +This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, +Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: +Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! +I never thought to ask, I never knew: +But in my simple ignorance, suppose +The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +EACH AND ALL. + + +Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, +Of thee from the hill-top looking down; +The heifer that lows in the upland farm, +Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; +The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, +Deems not that great Napoleon +Stops his horse, and lists with delight, +Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; +Nor knowest thou what argument +Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. +All are needed by each one; +Nothing is fair or good alone. + +I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, +Singing at dawn on the alder bough; +I brought him home, in his nest, at even; +He sings the song, but it cheers not now, +For I did not bring home the river and sky;-- +He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. + +The delicate shell lay on the shore; +The bubbles of the latest wave +Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, +And the bellowing of the savage sea +Greeted their safe escape to me. +I wiped away the weeds and foam, +I fetched my sea-born treasures home; +But the poor, unsightly, noisome things +Had left their beauty on the shore +With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. + +The lover watched his graceful maid, +As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, +Nor knew her beauty's best attire +Was woven still by the snow-white choir. +At last she came to his hermitage, +Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;-- +The gay enchantment was undone; +A gentle wife, but fairy none. + +Then I said, "I covet truth; +Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; +I leave it behind with the games of youth:"-- +As I spoke, beneath my feet +The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, +Running over the club-moss burrs; +I inhaled the violet's breath; +Around me stood the oaks and firs; +Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; +Over me soared the eternal sky, +Full of light and of deity; +Again I saw, again I heard, +The rolling river, the morning bird;-- +Beauty through my senses stole; +I yielded myself to the perfect whole. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON + + * * * * * + + + +COLUMBUS. + + +[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, +copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.] + +Behind him lay the gray Azores, + Behind the gates of Hercules; +Before him not the ghost of shores, + Before him only shoreless seas. +The good mate said, "Now must we pray, + For lo! the very stars are gone. +Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" + "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +"My men grow mutinous by day, + My men grow ghastly pale and weak." +The stout mate thought of home; a spray + Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, + If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" +"Why, you shall say at break of day, + 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, + Until at last the blanched mate said: +"Why, now, not even God would know + Should I and all my men fall dead. +These very winds forget their way, + For God from these dread seas has gone. +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- + He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" + +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: + "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. +He curls his lips, he lies in wait + With lifted teeth as if to bite! +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: + What shall we do when hope is gone?" +The words leapt like a leaping sword, + "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" + +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, + And peered through darkness. Ah, that night +Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- + A light! A light! A light! A light! +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! + It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, +He gained a world; he gave that world + Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" + +JOAQUIN MILLER. + + * * * * * + + + +MY LAST DUCHESS. + +FERRARA. + + +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. +"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace--all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked +Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked +My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this +"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat +The Count your Master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretence +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +"THE TALE." + + +What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time +--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or rhyme, +Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, +While your shoulder propped my head. + +Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, +That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, +Went where such like used to go, +Singing for a prize, you know. + +Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing, but play the lyre; +Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing; I desire, +Sir, you keep the fact in mind +For a purpose that's behind. + +There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, +--Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound +Sung or played amiss: such ears +Had old judges, it appears! + +None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune +Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, +Sure to smile "In vain one tries +Picking faults out: take the prize!" + +When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? +Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed +Such ill luck in store?--it happed +One of those same seven strings snapped. + +All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada"? Pooh!) +--Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew +With its little heart on fire +Lighted on the crippled lyre. + +So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string +Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling +Fiery heart forth, sound the note +Wanted by the throbbing throat? + +Ay and, ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, +Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed +Saves the singer from defeat +With her chirrup low and sweet. + +Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent +"Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? +Why, we took your lyre for harp, +So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + +Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? +That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son +Finds his Lotte's power too spent +For aiding soul development. + +No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, +Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir! I hope you understand!) +--Said "Some record there must be +Of this cricket's help to me!" + +So he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; +On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; +Never more apart you found +Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + +That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know +Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, +All so learned and so wise +And deserving of a prize! + +If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, +Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt +Sweet and low, when strength usurped +Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + +"For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- +With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made +'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain +Never to be heard again,-- + +"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place +Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass +Asked the treble to atone +For its somewhat sombre drone." + +But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls +To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him a girl's +"Love" comes aptly in when gruff +Grows his singing. (There, enough!) + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE. + + +Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star +In his steep course? So long he seems to pause +On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc! +The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base +Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, +Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, +How silently! Around thee, and above, +Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, +An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it +As with a wedge. But when I look again +It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, +Thy habitation from eternity. + +O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee +Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, +Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer +I worshipped the Invisible alone. +Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,-- +So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- +Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. +Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; +Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, +Into the mighty vision passing--there, +As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. + +Awake, my soul! not only passive praise +Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, +Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, +Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! +Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn! + +Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! +O, struggling with the darkness all the night, +And visited all night by troops of stars, +Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- +Companion of the morning-star at dawn, +Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn +Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise! +Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? +Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? +Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + +And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! +Who called you forth from night and utter death, +From dark and icy caverns called you forth, +Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks, +Forever shattered, and the same forever? +Who gave you your invulnerable life, +Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, +Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? +And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- +"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?" + +Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow +Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- +Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, +And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! +Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! +Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven +Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun +Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers +Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + +"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, +Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" +"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice +Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds +And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, +And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!" + +Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! +Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! +Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! +Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! +Ye signs and wonders of the elements! +Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! + +Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks +Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard +Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene +Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- +Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou +That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low +In adoration, upward from thy base +Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, +Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud +To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise! +Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! +Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, +Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, +Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, +And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, +Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. + +S.T. COLERIDGE. + + * * * * * + + + +MY STAR. + + +All that I know + Of a certain star +Is, it can throw + (Like the angled spar) +Now a dart of red, + Now a dart of blue, +Till my friends have said + They would fain see, too + +My star that dartles the red and the blue! +Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled; +They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. +What matter to me if their star is a world? +Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +A CONSERVATIVE. + + +The garden beds I wandered by + One bright and cheerful morn, +When I found a new-fledged butterfly + A-sitting on a thorn, +A black and crimson butterfly, + All doleful and forlorn. + +I thought that life could have no sting + To infant butterflies, +So I gazed on this unhappy thing + With wonder and surprise, +While sadly with his waving wing + He wiped his weeping eyes. + +Said I, "What can the matter be? + Why weepest thou so sore? +With garden fair and sunlight free + And flowers in goodly store--" +But he only turned away from me + And burst into a roar. + +Cried he, "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! +Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, +Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + +At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; +Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, +"You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + +"I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" +And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm; +"I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + +O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! +I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- +The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. + +CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN. + + * * * * * + + + +FIVE LIVES. + + +Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop +That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. +To the naked eye they lived invisible; +Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell +Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. + + One was a meditative monad, called a sage; +And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: +"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, +Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, +Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, +When I am very old, yon shimmering dome +Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" +Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt +No other mote of God had ever gained +Such giant grasp of universal truth. + + One was a transcendental monad; thin +And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused: +"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls! +Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool-- +"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought +In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, +And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. +Some taste they have like ours, some tendency +To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." +He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas +That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. + + One was a barren-minded monad, called +A positivist; and he knew positively: +"There is no world beyond this certain drop. +Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream +Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, +And higher and lower; life is life enough." +Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily +He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. + + One was a tattered monad, called a poet; +And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: +"Oh, the little female monad's lips! +Oh, the little female monad's eyes! +Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!" + + The last was a strong-minded monadess, +Who dashed amid the infusoria, +Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove +Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. + + But while they led their wondrous little lives +Æonian moments had gone wheeling by. +The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed; +A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. +The little ghost of an inaudible squeak +Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone; +Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox +Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, +Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +THE COMING OF ARTHUR. + +[_Abridged_.] + + +LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, +Had one fair daughter, and none other child; +And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, +Guinevere, and in her his one delight. + + For many a petty king ere Arthur came +Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war +Each upon other, wasted all the land; +And still from time to time the heathen host +Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. +And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, +Wherein the beast was ever more and more, +But man was less and less. . . . + + * * * * * + + And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, +Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, +And none or few to scare or chase the beast; +So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear +Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, +And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. + + * * * * * + + . . . . . And King Leodogran +Groan'd for the Roman legions here again +And Caesar's eagle. . . . . + + * * * * * + +He knew not whither he should turn for aid. + + But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, + . . . . . . . . . --the King +Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou! +For here between the man and beast we die.' + + And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, +But heard the call and came; and Guinevere +Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; +But since he neither wore on helm or shield +The golden symbol of his kinglihood, +But rode, a simple knight among his knights, +And many of these in richer arms than he, +She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, +One among many, tho' his face was bare. +But Arthur, looking downward as he past, +Felt the light of her eyes into his life +Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd +His tents beside the forest. Then he drave +The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd +The forest, letting in the sun, and made +Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight +And so returned. + + For while he linger'd there, +A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts +Of those great lords and barons of his realm +Flashed forth and into war; for most of these, +Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, +Made head against him crying: "Who is he +That should rule us? Who hath proven him +King Uther's son?" + + And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt +Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, +Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, +And thinking as he rode: "Her father said +That there between the man and beast they die. +Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts +Up to my throne and side by side with me? +What happiness to reign a lonely king? + + * * * * * + + . . . . But were I join'd with her, +Then might we live together as one life, +And reigning with one will in everything +Have power on this dark land to lighten it, +And power on this dead world to make it live." + + * * * * * + + When Arthur reached a field of battle bright +With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world +Was all so clear about him that he saw +The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, +And even in high day the morning star. + + * * * * * + + . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, +Made lightnings and great thunders over him, + And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, +And mightier of his hands with every blow, +And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. + + * * * * * + +So like a painted battle the war stood +Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, +And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. + + * * * * * + + Then quickly from the foughten field he sent + . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere + . . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran, +Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, +Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." + + Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart +Debating--"How should I that am a king, +However much he holp me at my need, +Give my one daughter saving to a king, +And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd +A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom +He trusted all things, and of him required +His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" + + * * * * * + +Then while the King debated with himself, + + * * * * * + + . . . . . there came to Cameliard, + + * * * * * + +Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; +Whom . . . . . . . . the King +Made feast for, as they sat at meat: + + * * * * * + +'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men +Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king-- +So many those that hate him, and so strong, +So few his knights, however brave they be-- +Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?' + + 'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, +Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; +For I was near him when the savage yells +Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat +Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, +"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will +Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones, +And simple words of great authority, +Bound them by so straight vows to his own self +That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some +Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, +Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes +Half blinded at the coming of a light. + +'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round +With large, divine, and comfortable words, +Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld +From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash +A momentary likeness of the King; + + * * * * * + + 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit +And hundred winters are but as the hands +Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. + + 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, +Who knew a subtler magic than his own-- +Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. +She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, +Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist +Of incense curl'd about her, and her face +Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; +But there was heard among the holy hymns +A voice as of the waters, for she dwells +Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms +May shake the world--and when the surface rolls, +Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' + + Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought +To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, +Fixing full eyes of question on her face, +'The swallow and the swift are near akin, +But thou art closer to this noble prince, +Being his own dear sister;' + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . 'What know I? +For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, +And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . + . . . . yea and dark was Uther too, +Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair +Beyond the race of Britons and of men. + + 'But let me tell thee now another tale: + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . on the night +When Uther in Tintagil past away +Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin +Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, + + * * * * * + +Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps +It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof +A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern +Bright with a shining people on the decks, +And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He + . . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall, +Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, +Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep +And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged +Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: +And down the wave and in the flame was borne +A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, +Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!" + + * * * * * + +And presently thereafter follow'd calm, +Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said, +"Is he who reigns." . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . And ever since the Lords +Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, +So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, +This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come-- +Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, +Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King," +A hundred voices cried: "Away with him! +No king of ours!" . . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, +And while the people clamor'd for a king, +Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords +Banded, and so brake out in open war. + + * * * * * + + . . . . and Merlin in our time +Hath spoken also, . . . . . +Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, +But pass, again to come, and then or now +Utterly smite the heathen under foot, +Till these and all men hail him for their king.' + + . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, +But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?' +Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, +Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, +Field after field, up to a height, the peak +Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, +Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope +The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, +Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, +In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, +Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze +And made it thicker; while the phantom king +Sent out at times a voice; and here or there +Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest +Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, +No son of Uther, and no king of ours;' +Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze +Descended, and the solid earth became +As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, +Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent + + * * * * * + +Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. + + Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved +And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth +And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates: +And Lancelot past away among the flowers-- +For then was latter April--and return'd-- +Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. +To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, +Chief of the church in Britain, and before +The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King +That morn was married, while in stainless white, +The fair beginners of a noble time, +And glorying in their vows and him, his knights +Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. +Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, +The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, +The sun of May descended on their King, +They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, +Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns +A voice as of the waters, while the two +Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. +And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. +Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!' +To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, +'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!' +And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake: +'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world +Other, and may the Queen be one with thee, +And all this Order of thy Table Round +Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!' + + * * * * * + +And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:-- + + '_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!! +Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away! +Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!" + + '_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? +Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, +Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + '_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard +That God hath told the King a secret word. +Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, +The king is king, and ever wills the highest. +Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_The King will follow Christ, and we the King, +In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. +Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!" + + +And Arthur and his knighthood for a space +Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King +Drew in the petty princedoms under him, +Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame +The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +ELAINE. + + +Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, +Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, +High in her chamber up a tower to the east +Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; +Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray +Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam; +Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it +A case of silk, and braided thereupon +All the devices blazon'd on the shield +In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, +A border fantasy of branch and flower, +And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. +Nor rested thus content, but day by day +Leaving her household and good father, climb'd +That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, +Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, +Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, +Now made a pretty history to herself +Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, +And every scratch a lance had made upon it, +Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; +That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; +That at Cearleon; this at Camelot; +And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there! +And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God +Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, +And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON + + * * * * * + + + +THE LADY OF SHALOTT. + +PART I. + + +On either side the river lie +Long fields of barley and of rye, +That clothe the wold and meet the sky; +And thro' the field the road runs by + To many-tower'd Camelot +And up and down the people go, +Gazing where the lilies blow +Round an island there below, + The Island of Shalott. + +Willows whiten, aspens quiver, +Little breezes, dusk and shiver +Thro' the wave that runs for ever +By the island in the river + Flowing down to Camelot. +Four gray walls, and four gray towers, +Overlook a space of flowers, +And the silent isle imbowers + The lady of Shalott. + +By the margin, willow-veil'd, +Slide the heavy barges trail'd +By slow horses; and unhail'd +The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd + Skimming down to Camelot: +But who hath seen her wave her hand? +Or at the casement seen her stand? +Or is she known in all the land, + The Lady of Shalott? + +Only reapers, reaping early +In among the bearded barley, +Hear a song that echoes cheerly, +From the river winding clearly, + Down to tower'd Camelot; +And by the moon the reaper weary, +Piling sheaves in uplands airy, +Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy + Lady of Shalott." + + +PART II. + +There she weaves by night and day +A magic web with colors gay. +She has heard a whisper say, +A curse is on her if she stay + To look down to Camelot. +She knows not what the curse may be, +And so she weaveth steadily, +And little other care hath she, + The Lady of Shalott. + +And moving thro' a mirror clear +That hangs before her all the year, +Shadows of the world appear. +There she sees the highway near + Winding down to Camelot; +There the river eddy whirls, +And there the surly village-churls, +And the red cloaks of market-girls, + Pass onward from Shalott. + +Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, +An abbot on an ambling pad, +Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, +Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, + Goes by to tower'd Camelot; +And sometimes thro' the mirror blue +The knights come riding two and two; +She hath no loyal knight and true, + The Lady of Shalott. + +But in her web she still delights +To weave the mirror's magic sights, +For often thro' the silent nights +A funeral, with plumes and lights, + And music, went to Camelot: +Or when the moon was overhead, +Came two young lovers lately wed: +"I am half sick of shadows" said + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART III. + +A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, +He rode between the barley sheaves, +The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, +And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot. +A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd +To a lady in his shield, +That sparkled on the yellow field, + Beside remote Shalott. + +The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, +Like to some branch of stars we see +Hung in the Golden Galaxy. +The bridle bells rang merrily + As he rode down to Camelot; +And from his blazon'd baldric slung +A mighty silver bugle hung, +And as he rode his armor rung, + Beside remote Shalott. + +All in the blue unclouded weather +Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. +The helmet and the helmet-feather +Burned like one burning flame together, + As he rode down to Camelot; +As often through the purple night, +Below the starry clusters bright, +Some bearded meteor, trailing light, + Moves over still Shalott. + +His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; +On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; +From underneath his helmet flow'd +His coal-black curls as on he rode, + As he rode down to Camelot. +From the bank and from the river +He flashed into the crystal mirror, +"Tirra lirra" by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot. + +She left the web, she left the loom, +She made three paces thro' the room, +She saw the water-lily bloom, +She saw the helmet and the plume, + She looked down to Camelot. +Out flew the web and floated wide; +The mirror cracked from side to side; +"The curse is come upon me," cried + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART IV. + +In the stormy east-wind straining, +The pale yellow woods are waning, +The broad stream in his banks complaining, +Heavily the low sky raining + Over tower'd Camelot; +Down she came and found a boat +Beneath a willow left afloat, +And round about the prow she wrote + The Lady of Shalott. + +And down the river's dim expanse +Like some bold seer in a trance, +Seeing all his own mischance-- +With a glassy countenance + Did she look to Camelot. +And at the closing of the day +She loosed the chain, and down she lay; +The broad stream bore her far away, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Lying, robed in snowy white +That loosely flew to left and right-- +The leaves upon her falling light-- +Thro' the noises of the night + She floated down to Camelot; +And as the boat-head wound along +The willowy hills and fields among, +They heard her singing her last song, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Heard a carol, mournful, holy, +Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, +Til' her blood was frozen slowly, +And her eyes were darken'd wholly, + Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. +For ere she reached upon the tide +The first house by the water-side, +Singing in her song she died. + The Lady of Shalott. + +Under tower and balcony, +By garden-wall and gallery, +A gleaming shape she floated by, +Dead-pale between the houses high, + Silent into Camelot. +Out upon the wharfs they came, +Knight and burgher, lord and dame, +And round the prow they read her name + _The Lady of Shalott_. + +Who is this? and what is here? +And in the lighted palace near +Died the sound of royal cheer; +And they crossed themselves for fear, + All the knights at Camelot: +But Lancelot mused a little space; +He said "She has a lovely face; +God in his mercy lend her grace, + The Lady of Shalott." + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +IF WE HAD THE TIME. + + +If I had the time to find a place +And sit me down full face to face + With my better self, that cannot show + In my daily life that rushes so: +It might be then I would see my soul +Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, + I might be nerved by the thought sublime,-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to let my heart +Speak out and take in my life a part, + To look about and to stretch a hand + To a comrade quartered in no-luck land; +Ah, God! If I might but just sit still +And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, + I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to learn from you +How much for comfort my word could do; + And I told you then of my sudden will + To kiss your feet when I did you ill; +If the tears aback of the coldness feigned +Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,-- + Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, + If we had the time! + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. +"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS." + + +_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the +King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After +drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug +sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and +proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through +which he passes. + +The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice +has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires +him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be +selected. + +These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow +standing near. + +Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice +Shallow. + +_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is +Justice Shallow? + +_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, +and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure +with me? + +_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir +John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. + +_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. +How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter +Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. +By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir +John. + +_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. +Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a +dozen sufficient men? + +_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you. + +_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let +me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry +sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do +so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you. + +_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young, +strong, and of good friends. + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you. + +_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are +mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. +Shall I prick him, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him. + +_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let +me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and +her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter +to go out than I. + +_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you +are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow? + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to +be a cold soldier. + +_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow? + +_Shadow_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou? + +_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. +Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer. + +_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart! + +_Falstaff_.--Where's he? + +_Wart_.--Here, sir! + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart? + +_Wart_.--Yea, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his +back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend +you well.--Francis Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble? + +_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes +in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? + +_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. + +_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous +Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous +mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master +Shallow. + +_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend +him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? + +_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green. + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. + +_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till +he roar again. + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,-- + +_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man. + +_Falstaff_.--What disease hast thou? + +_Bullcalf_.--A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have +away with thy cold. Is here all? + +_Shallow_.--Here is two more than your number. You must have but four +here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, I will go drink with you. + +(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_.) + +_Bullcalf_.--(_Approaching Bardolph_.) Good Master Corporate +Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French +crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; +and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am +unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; +else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much. + +_Bardolph_.--(_Pocketing the money_.) Go to; stand aside. + +_Feeble_.--By my troth, I care not. + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER. + + +_Introduction_.--The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. +Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A +temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for +something to turn up. + +Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is +holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of +the children are scattered about the floor. + +Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of +creditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:-- + +(_Mrs. Micawber_.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be +calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give +him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking +now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in, +Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in. + +_Heep_.--Is Mr. Micawber in? + +_Mrs. Mic_.--No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no +stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's +affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch +cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,--and +including the twins,--there is nothing to eat in the house. + +_Heep_.--How dreadful! (_Aside_.) The very man for my purpose. +(_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing. +Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.) + +_Micawber_.--(_Not seeing Heep_.) The clouds have gathered, the +storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of +Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in +my misery! + +_Mrs. Mic_.--I'll never desert my Micawber! + +_Mic_.--In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!" +But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving +materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_) +sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see +you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, +if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would +have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the +momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent +collision with a minion of the law,--in short, with a ribald turncock +attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been +cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum! + +_Heep_.--Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of +your indebtedness? + +_Mic_.--It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc., +some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny. + +_Heep_.--I'll pay it for you. + +_Mic_.--My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I +admit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_.) Enter +myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. +(_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_.) + +_Heep_.--Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to +giving me your I.O.U. for the amount. + +_Mic_.--Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any +species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me, +Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of +memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_.) I suppose this is +renewable on the usual term? + +_Heep_.--Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the +position of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield and +Heep. + +_Mic_.--What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no +hesitation in saying something has at last turned up! + +_Heep_.--You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to +speak a few words to your husband in private. + +_Mrs. Mic_.--Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper! + +_Mic_.--My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent! +Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, and +another score may be begun at the butcher's.--Heep, precede me. Emma, my +love. _Au Revoir_. + +(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_.) + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + + CHARACTERS. + + OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, + + HAM PEGGOTTY, + + DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +_Introduction_.--The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time +is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is +snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and +Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little +Em'ly home from her work,--and the old fisherman sits smoking his +evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth +and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and +David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him. + +_Old Peg_.--Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're +the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw +right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's +a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when +there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. +Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights a +candle and puts it on the table by the window_.) Theer we are! Theer we +are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin' +what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for +my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter +dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home +from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the +table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,--first, Em'ly sees it and +she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't +here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r +Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am. +(_Walks towards table_.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to +consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine. + +See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little +Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door to +meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_.) + +_Ham_.--She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even +now! She's gone! + +_Peggotty_.--Gone!! + +_Ham_.--Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I +pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her +come to disgrace and shame. + +_Peggotty_.--Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must have +proof--proof. + +_Ham_.--Read that writin'. + +_Peggotty_.--No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy. +Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand. + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away." + +_Peggotty_.--Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little +Em'ly fur away! Well? + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he brings +me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try +to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My +last love and last tears for Uncle." + +_Peggotty_.--Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man's +name. + +_Ham_.--It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know. + +_Peggotty_.--What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you? + +_Ham_.--Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain! + +_Peggotty_.--Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it, +Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat. + +_David_.--Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty? + +_Peggotty_.--I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm +going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as +I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, +and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly +throughout the wide wurrety! + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN. + + +_Introduction_.--This scene introduces the following +characters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, +true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his +desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his +sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest. + +It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle +on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond +of mine has been around this way. + +_Moya_.--Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of his +own? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His +father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way. + +_Moya_.--I thought your husband was drowned at sea? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--And bless him, so he was. + +_Moya_.--Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betther +never drhawed the breath o' life. + +_Moya_.--But you say he never was sober. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Niver! An' Conn takes afther him! + +_Moya_.--Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good +dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands. + +_Moya_.--Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken +yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--but +dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'. + +_Moya_.--Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a +gintleman is called a blackguard. + +(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_.) + +_Conn_.--(_At left_.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya, +Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as +he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems +to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_.) +Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word +that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes his +finger at his mother_.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very +minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But +she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck +for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a +kiss. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been +in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse. + +_Conn_.--Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his +paddock this minute. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'? + +_Conn_.--Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a +man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this +was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the +cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, +my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye +ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the +churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground! +Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide +me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to +her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their +yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox +went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to +the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field +came roaring past. + +The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye +divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth. +Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home, +now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her. + +Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was +over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; +"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried +me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of +the hounds, Squire Foley himself. + +He turned the color of his leather breeches. + +"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brown +mare?" + +"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!" + +"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire. + +"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!" + +_Moya_.--(_Laughing_.) And what did he say to that, Conn? + +_Conn_.--I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone +wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--You'll get a month in jail for this. + +_Conn_.--Well, it was worth it. + +BOUCICAULT. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 *** diff --git a/10491-h/10491-h.htm b/10491-h/10491-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f550175 --- /dev/null +++ b/10491-h/10491-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3695 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + + <title>Practice Book</title> + <meta name="Generator" + content="EditPlus" /> + <meta name="Author" + content="Leland Powers" /> + <meta name="Keywords" + content="" /> + <meta name="Description" + content="" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" + content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> + <style type="text/css"> + <![CDATA[ + <!-- + h1,h2,h3,h5 {text-align: center} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {color: blue} + table {border: 0 solid black; padding: 6px} + td {border: 0 solid black; text-align: left} + hr {border: thick solid red; width: 50%;} + img {border: none;} + body {background:#ececed; margin:10%; text-align:left} + --> + ]]> + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 ***</div> + + <h1>PRACTICE BOOK</h1> + + <h2>LELAND POWERS SCHOOL</h2> + + <h5>Copyright, 1909</h5> + + <h3>IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.</h3> + <hr /> + + <p>My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the + reprinting of copyrighted selections, I would here publicly + express. To Little, Brown & Company I am indebted for the use + of the extract called "Eloquence," which is taken from a + discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company for + the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, + entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard + Company for the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & + Company for the extracts from the works of John Ruskin. The + selections from Sill and Emerson are used by permission of, and + by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Company, + publishers of their works.</p> + + <p>The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental + Vocal Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few + exceptions, are taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis + B. Monroe, and are here reprinted through the courtesy of the + American Book Company.</p> + + <p>LELAND POWERS.</p><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3>INDEX</h3> + + <table summary="table of contents"> + <tr> + <td><a href="#across">ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE</a>,</td> + + <td><i>Richard Burton</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#brook">BROOK, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#cavalier">CAVALIER TUNE</a>S<br /> + I. Give a Rouse.<br /> + II. Boot and Saddle.</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#columbus">COLUMBUS</a></td> + + <td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#coming">COMING OF ARTHUR, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#conservative">CONSERVATIVE, A</a></td> + + <td><i>Charlotte Perkins Gilman</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#each">EACH AND ALL</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#elaine">ELAINE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#eloquence">ELOQUENCE</a></td> + + <td><i>Daniel Webster</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#exercises_vocal">EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL + EXPRESSION</a></td> + + <td> </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#exercises_transition">EXERCISES FOR + TRANSITION</a></td> + + <td> </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#fezziwig">FEZZIWIG BALL, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#five">FIVE LIVES</a></td> + + <td><i>Edward Rowland Sill</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#green">GREEN THINGS GROWING</a></td> + + <td><i>Dinah Mulock Craik</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#herve">HERVÉ RIEL</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#time">IF WE HAD THE TIME</a></td> + + <td><i>Richard Burton</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#lady">LADY OF SHALOTT, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#laughing">LAUGHING CHORUS, A</a></td> + + <td><br /></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#life">LIFE AND SONG</a></td> + + <td><i>Sidney Lanier</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#lochinvar">LOCHINVAR</a></td> + + <td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#mont">MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE</a></td> + + <td><i>S.T. Coleridge</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#duchess">MY LAST DUCHESS</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#star">MY STAR</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#pippa">PIPPA PASSES</a>, Extracts from<br /> + I. Day.<br /> + II. The Year's at Spring.</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#rhodora">RHODORA, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#ring">RING AND THE BOOK, THE</a>, Extract + from</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#copper_i">SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, + I</a>.</td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#copper_ii">SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, + II</a>.</td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#henry">SCENE FROM KING HENRY + IV</a>—"Falstaff's Recruits"</td> + + <td><i>William Shakespeare</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#shaughraun">SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN</a></td> + + <td><i>Boucicault</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#reliance">SELF-RELIANCE</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#tale">TALE, THE</a>—From The Two Poets of + Croisic</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#wealth">TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>John Ruskin</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#truth">TRUTH AT LAST</a></td> + + <td><i>Edward Rowland Sill</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#work">WORK</a></td> + + <td><i>John Ruskin</i></td> + </tr> + </table><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h2><a name="exercises_vocal" + id="exercises_vocal">EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL + EXPRESSION.</a></h2><br /> + <br /> + + + <p>The exercises under each chapter have <i>primarily</i> the + characteristics of that chapter, and <i>secondarily</i> the + characteristics of the other two chapters.</p><br /> + + <h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + <h3>VITALITY.</h3> + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF <i>Power, + Largeness, Freedom, Animation, Movement</i>.</p> + <pre> +1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids: + Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! + Rise up and ride both fast and far! + The sea flows over bolt and bar." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to + co-operate with the laws of man and the justice of heaven."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, + And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, + And heard the priest chant the Magnificat." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Then the master, + With a gesture of command, + Waved his hand; + And at the word, + Loud and sudden there was heard + All around them and below + The sound of hammers, blow on blow, + Knocking away the shores and spurs. + And see! she stirs! + She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel + The thrill of life along her keel, + And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, + She leaps into the ocean's arms!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "Under his spurning feet, the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind, + Like an ocean flying before the wind." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, + Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! + Now for a madcap galloping chase! + I'll make a commotion in every place!'" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +9. "It is done! + Clang of bell and roar of gun! + Send the tidings up and down. + How the belfries rock and reel! + How the great guns, peal on peal, + Fling the joy from town to town!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! + How high you lift your heads into the sky! + How huge you are, how mighty and how free! + Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile + Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, + Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear + Of awe divine." + +</pre> + <hr /> + + <h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + <h3>MENTALITY.</h3> + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF + <i>Reflection</i> OR <i>Processes</i> OF <i>Thought, Clearness, + Definiteness</i>.</p> + + <p>1. "Beyond the street a tower,—beyond the tower a + moon,—beyond the moon a star,—beyond the Star, + what?"</p> + <pre> +2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; + Carve every word before you let it fall; + Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, + Try overhard to roll the British R; + Do put your accents in the proper spot; + Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' + And when you stick on conversation's burrs, + Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; + Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, + And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,-- + No more:" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first +characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls +itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's +sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "<i>Brutus</i>. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. + +<i>Lucius</i>. I will, my lord. (<i>Exit</i>.) + +<i>Brutus</i>. It must be by his death: and for my part, + I know no cause to spurn at him, + But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- + How that might change his nature, there's the question. + It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; + And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- + And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, + That at his will he may do danger with." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word +was God. The same was in the beginning with God." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, +comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of +his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a <i>fine</i> art, and +good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. +Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, +all beauty is in the long run only <i>fineness</i> of truth, or what we +call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, +under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called +cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, +and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. +These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and +for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the +power of the others latent in him, and his own patent." +</pre> + + <h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + + <h3>MORALITY.</h3><br /> + + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF <i>Purpose, + Love, Harmony, Poise, Values</i>.</p> + + <p>1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich + trundling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite + bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long + for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call + halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, 'In Heaven's name, + No!'"</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "Flower in the crannied wall, + I pluck you out of the crannies;-- + Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, + Little flower--but if I could understand + What you are, root and all, and all in all, + I should know what God and man is." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam + of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the + dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as + though attracted by his sunny heart."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "<i>Portia</i> You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am; though for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Listen to the water-mill; + Through the livelong day, + How the clicking of its wheels + Wears the hours away! + Languidly the autumn wind + Stirs the forest leaves, + From the fields the reapers sing, + Binding up their sheaves; + And a proverb haunts my mind, + As a spell is cast; + 'The mill can never grind + With the water that is past.'" +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little + that is good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast + all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and + become lost and dead."</p> + <hr /> + + <p>7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a + distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the + surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast + of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were + the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had + fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed + off by the waves.</p> + + <p>"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be + ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many + months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long + sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, are the + crew? Their struggle has long been over. They have gone down + amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie whitening among + the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have + closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their + end."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all + generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever + thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting + to everlasting, thou art God."</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3><a name="exercises_transition" + id="exercises_transition">EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION.</a></h3> + <pre> +1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- + Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, + Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, + Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + "Ah! few shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulcher." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! + Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near + More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! + Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! + Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! + Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? + Came not faint whispers near? + No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh + Amid the foliage sere." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Her giant form + O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, + Majestically calm, would go, + Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! + But gentler now the small waves glide, + Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. + So stately her bearing, so proud her array, + The main she will traverse for ever and aye. + Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. + Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly + Ripple the silence deep! + No; the swans that, circling nightly, + Through the silver waters sweep. + + "See I not, there, a white shimmer? + Something with pale silken shrine? + No; it is the column's glimmer, + 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! + ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,' + And the Duchess claps her hands. + + "Slow and tired came the hunters; + Stopped in darkness in the court. + 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport, what sport.' + + "Slow they entered with their master; + In the hall they laid him down. + On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, + Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,-- + Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, + Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,-- + Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, + Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; + Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, + Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words." +</pre><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3>SELECTIONS.</h3> + <hr /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="herve" + id="herve">HERVÉ RIEL.</a></h4> + <pre> +On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, +Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! +And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, +Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, +Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + +'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; +First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; + Close on him fled, great and small, + Twenty-two good ships in all; + And they signalled to the place, + "Help the winners of a race! +Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + +Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; +"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: +"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, +Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, +Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, +Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, + And with flow at full beside? + Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. + Reach the mooring? Rather say, + While rock stands or water runs, + Not a ship will leave the bay!" + + Then was called a council straight. + Brief and bitter the debate: +"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow +All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, + For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- + Better run the ships aground!" + (Ended Damfreville his speech.) + "Not a minute more to wait! + Let the captains all and each +Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! + France must undergo her fate. + Give the word!"--But no such word + Was ever spoke or heard; +For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these +A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? + No such man of mark, and meet + With his betters to compete! +But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- +A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. + +And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel; +"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? +Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell +On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, +'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues? +Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? + Morn and eve, night and day, + Have I piloted your bay, +Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. +Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! +Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! + Only let me lead the line, + Have the biggest ship to steer, + Get this 'Formidable' clear, + Make the others follow mine, +And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, + Right to Solidor, past Grève, + And there lay them safe and sound; + And if one ship misbehave,-- + Keel so much as grate the ground, +Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. + + Not a minute more to wait. + "Steer us in, then, small and great! +Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. + "Captains, give the sailor place! + He is Admiral, in brief." + Still the north-wind, by God's grace! + See the noble fellow's face + As the big ship with a bound, + Clears the entry like a hound, +Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! + See, safe through shoal and rock, + How they follow in a flock. +Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, + Not a spar that comes to grief! + The peril, see, is past, + All are harbored to the last, +And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, + Up the English come, too late. + + So, the storm subsides to calm; + They see the green trees wave + On the heights o'erlooking Grève. + Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. + "Just our rapture to enhance, + Let the English rake the bay, + Gnash their teeth and glare askance + As they cannonade away! +Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" +Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! + Out burst all with one accord, + "This is Paradise for hell! + Let France, let France's king, + Thank the man that did the thing!" + What a shout, and all one word, + "Hervé Riel!" + As he stepped in front once more, + Not a symptom of surprise + In the frank blue Breton eyes, + Just the same man as before. + + Then said Damfreville, "My friend, + I must speak out at the end, + Though I find the speaking hard. + Praise is deeper than the lips; + You have saved the King his ships, + You must name your own reward. + Faith, our sun was near eclipse! + Demand whate'er you will, + France remains your debtor still +Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!" + + Then a beam of fun outbroke + On the bearded mouth that spoke, + As the honest heart laughed through + Those frank eyes of Breton blue: + "Since I needs must say my say, + Since on board the duty's done, +And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- + Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- + Since the others go ashore-- + Come! A good whole holiday! +Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" + That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. + Name and deed alike are lost: + Not a pillar nor a post + In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; + Not a head in white and black + On a single fishing-smack, +In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack +All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. + Go to Paris; rank on rank + Search the heroes flung pell-mell + On the Louvre, face and flank! +You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. + So, for better and for worse, + Hervé Riel, accept my verse! + In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more +Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore! + +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="lochinvar" + id="lochinvar">LOCHINVAR.</a></h4> + <pre> +I. + +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- +Through all the wild border his steed was the best! +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + + +II. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love and a dastard in war +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + + +III. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, +'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + + +IV. + +"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + + +V. + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; +"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. + + +VI. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret and her father did fume, +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + + +VII. + +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung +So light to the saddle before her he sprung: +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + + +VIII. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee; +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? +</pre> + + <p>SIR WALTER SCOTT.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="pippa" + id="pippa">EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.</a></h4> + <pre> +1. "DAY." + +Day! +Faster and more fast; +O'er night's brim, day boils at last: +Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim +Where spurting and suppressed it lay, +For not a froth-flake touched the rim +Of yonder gap in the solid gray, +Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; +But forth one wavelet, then another curled, +Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, +Rose, reddened, and its seething breast +Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. + +Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, +A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, +The least of thy gazes or glances, +(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) +One of thy choices or one of thy chances, +(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) +--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, +Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hillside's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="fezziwig" + id="fezziwig">THE FEZZIWIG BALL.</a></h4> + + <p>Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, + which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted + his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes + to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, + oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! + Dick!"</p> + + <p>A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young + man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.</p> + + <p>"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. + Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters + up, before a man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and + let's have lots of room here!"</p> + + <p>Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, + or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It + was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were + dismissed from public life forevermore; the floor was swept and + watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; + and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright a + ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.</p> + + <p>In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty + desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty + stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. + In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came + the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the + young men and women employed in the business. In came the + housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her + brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one + after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some + awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow + and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands + half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up + again; round and round in various stages of affectionate + grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; + new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all + top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this + result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to + Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged + his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that + purpose.</p> + + <p>There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more + dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a + great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold + Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer. But the + great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when + the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig + stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a + good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and + twenty pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; + people who <i>would</i> dance, and had no notion of walking.</p> + + <p>But if they had been twice as many,—four + times,—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them and so + would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to <i>her</i>, she was worthy to be his + partner in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to + issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the + dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would + become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had + gone all through the dance,—advance and retire, turn your + partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back + again to your place,—Fezziwig "cut,"—cut so deftly, + that he appeared to wink with his legs.</p> + + <p>When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. + and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the + door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or + she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody + had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; + and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to + their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="brook" + id="brook">THE BROOK.</a></h4> + <pre> +I. + +I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, +And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + +II. + +By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges; +By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + +III. + +I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, +I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + +IV. + +With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, +And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + +V. + +I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + +VI. + +I wind about and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, +And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling. + + +VII. + +And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me as I travel +With many a silvery water-break + Above the golden gravel. + + +VIII. + +I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers, +I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + +IX. + +I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; +I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + +X. + +I murmur, under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses, +I linger by my shingly bars, + I loiter round my cresses. + + +XI. + +And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="laughing" + id="laughing">A LAUGHING CHORUS.</a></h4> + + <p>[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, + 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company.]</p> + <pre> +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro. +And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the breath of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="cavalier" + id="cavalier">CAVALIER TUNES.</a></h4> + <pre> +1. GIVE A ROUSE. + +King Charles, and who'll do him right now? +King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? +Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, +King Charles! + +Who gave me the goods that went since? +Who raised me the house that sank once? +Who helped me to gold I spent since? +Who found me in wine you drank once? + + +<i>Cho</i>. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + +To whom used my boy George quaff else, +By the old fool's side that begot him? +For whom did he cheer and laugh else, +While Noll's damned troopers shot him. + +<i>Cho</i>. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +II. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + +Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! +Rescue my castle before the hot day +Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; +Many's the friend there, will listen and pray +"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!" + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, +Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array: +Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + +Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, +Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! +I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + +ROBERT BROWNING. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="across" + id="across"></a>ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.</h4> + + <p>From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields + a mile to the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage + of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.</p> + <pre> +How often in the summer tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan +Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne! + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who should say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path wheron I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn poet and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne! +</pre> + + <p>RICHARD BURTON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="green" + id="green">GREEN THINGS GROWING.</a></h4> + <pre> +The green things growing, the green things growing, +The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! +I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, +Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. + +Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! +How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; +In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight +Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. + +I love, I love them so--my green things growing! +And I think that they love me, without false showing; +For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, +With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. + +And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, +Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing: +Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, +Many, many a summer of my green things growing! + +But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, +Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, +Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, +If I may change into green things growing. +</pre> + + <p>DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="wealth" + id="wealth">THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH.</a></h4> + + <p>1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; + namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents + are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while + we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it + is considered metaphorical, we never accept its meaning in its + own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form of a + story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use + of: the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's + money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual application of + this, say that of course money doesn't mean money—it means + wit, it means intellect, it means influence in high quarters, it + means everything in the world except itself.</p> + + <p>2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off + there is for most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, + if we had wit, we would use it for the good of our + fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of course, if we had + influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good of the + church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, + if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the + nation; but we have no political power; we have no talents + entrusted to us of any sort or kind. It is true, we have a little + money, but the parable can't possibly mean anything so vulgar as + money; our money's our own.</p> + + <p>3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will + feel that the first and most literal application is just as + necessary a one as any other—that the story does very + specially mean what it says—plain money; and that the + reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of tacit + idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of + birth and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be + laid out for the Giver,—our wealth has not been given to + us; but we have worked for it, and have a right to spend it as we + choose. I think you will find that is the real substance of our + understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, is given by + God—it is a talent; strength is given by God—it is a + talent; but money is proper wages for our day's work—it is + not a talent, it is a due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, + if we have worked for it.</p> + + <p>4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it + not that the very power of making the money is itself only one of + the applications of that intellect or strength which we confess + to be talents. Why is one man richer than another? Because he is + more industrious, more persevering, and more sagacious. Well, who + made him more persevering and more sagacious than others? That + power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that calmness + of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others + lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others + fail—are these not talents?—are they not, in the + present state of the world, among the most distinguished and + influential of mental gifts?</p> + + <p>5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly + ashamed to use a superiority of body in order to thrust our + weaker companions aside from some place of advantage, we + unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind to thrust them back + from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? You would be + indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or + lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his + feeble neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the + back seats or the street. You would be equally indignant if you + saw a stout fellow thrust himself up to a table where some hungry + children are being fed, and reach his arm over their heads and + take their bread from them.</p> + + <p>6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has + stoutness of thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of + being long-armed only, has the much greater gift of being + long-headed—you think it perfectly just that he should use + his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths of all the + other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or use + his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the + commerce of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is + himself the central spider, making every thread vibrate with the + points of his claws, and commanding every avenue with the facets + of his eyes. You see no injustice in this.</p> + + <p>7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which + honorable men will at no very distant period disdain to be + guilty. In some degree, however, it is indeed not unjust; in some + degree it is necessary and intended. It is assuredly just that + idleness should be surpassed by energy; that the widest influence + should be possessed by those who are best able to wield it; and + that a wise man at the end of his career, should be better off + than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be wretched, + utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his + conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so.</p> + + <p>8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might + tread upon them, and starve them, and get the better of them in + every possible way? By no means. They were made that wise people + might take care of them. That is the true and plain fact + concerning the relations of every strong and wise man to the + world about him. He has his strength given him, not that he may + crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his + own household he is to be the guide and the support of his + children; out of his household he is still to be the father, that + is, the guide and support, of the weak and the poor; not merely + of the meritoriously weak and the innocently poor, but of the + guilty and punishably poor; of the men who ought to have known + better—of the poor who ought to be ashamed of + themselves.</p> + + <p>9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who + has lost her son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the + workman who has broken his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in + sickness. But it is something to use your time and strength in + war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness of mankind to keep + the erring workman in your service till you have made him an + unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the + opportunity which his dullness would have lost.</p> + + <p>10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully + achieved the superiority which is due to you, and acquired the + wealth which is the fitting reward of your sagacity, if you + solemnly accept the responsibility of it, as it is the helm and + guide of labor far and near. For you who have it in your hands, + are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the State. + It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or + evil, just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a + prince, or military command to a captain. And according to the + quantity of it you have in your hands, you are arbiters of the + will and work of the nation; and the whole issue, whether the + work of the State shall suffice for the State or not, depends + upon you.</p> + + <p>11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the + laborers, and say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue + this obstacle that has baffled our fathers; put away this plague + that consumes our children; water these dry places, plough these + desert ones, carry this food to those who are in hunger; carry + this light to those who are in darkness; carry this life to those + who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: "Here am I; + this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to be + throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that + men may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for + my feet, that I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, + dance before me, that I may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and + die in honor." And better than such an honorable death it were, + that the day had perished wherein we were born.</p> + + <p>12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our + rich men, who, through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit + the glorious office which is intended for their hands. I said, + just now, that wealth ill-used was as the net of the spider, + entangling and destroying; but wealth well-used, is as the net of + the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out of the deep. A + time will come—I do not think it is far from us—when + this golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as + the flaming meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with + them the joy of the light and the dew of the morning, as well as + the summons to honorable and peaceful toil.</p> + + <p>JOHN RUSKIN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="life" + id="life">LIFE AND SONG.</a></h4> + + <p>[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," + copyrighted 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.]</p> + <pre> +If life were caught by a clarionet, + And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, +Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, + And utter its heart in every deed, + +"Then would this breathing clarionet + Type what the poet fain would be; +For none o' the singers ever yet + Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, + +"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, + Or utterly bodied forth his life, +Or out of life and song has wrought + The perfect one of man and wife; + +"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song + Might each express the other's all, +Careless if life or art were long + Since both were one, to stand or fall: + +"So that the wonder struck the crowd, + Who shouted it about the land: +<i>His song was only living aloud, + His work, a singing with his hand</i>!" +</pre> + + <p>SIDNEY LANIER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="eloquence" + id="eloquence">ELOQUENCE.</a></h4> + + <p>1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous + occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions + excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than as it is + connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, + force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce + conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. + It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for + it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be + marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must + exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.</p> + + <p>2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of + declamation, all may aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It + comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of volcanic fires, + with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in + the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of + speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate + of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the + decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric + is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius + itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of + higher qualities.</p> + + <p>3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is + eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning deductions of logic, + the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, + speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every + feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his + object,—this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something + greater and higher than all eloquence,—it is action, noble, + sublime, god-like action.</p> + + <p>DANIEL WEBSTER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="truth" + id="truth">TRUTH AT LAST.</a></h4> + <pre> +Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,-- +Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? +When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder +Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed +Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, +Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed +Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, +There was the end, where the crag dropped away? +Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, +Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell +That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, +Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. +As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, +And so went down.--'Tis something if at last, +Though only for a flash, a man may see +Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past, +From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. +</pre> + + <p>EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="work" + id="work">WORK.</a></h4> + + <p>1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the + difference between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There + are three tests of wise work:—that it must be honest, + useful and cheerful.</p> + + <p>It is <i>Honest</i>. I hardly know anything more strange than + that you recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your + lightest games, you have always some one to see what you call + "fair-play." In boxing, you must hit fair; in racing, start fair. + Your English watchword is "fair-<i>play</i>," your English + hatred, "foul-<i>play</i>." Did it never strike you that you + wanted another watchword also, "fair-<i>work</i>," and another + and bitterer hatred,—"foul-<i>work</i>"?</p> + + <p>2. Then wise work is <i>Useful</i>. No man minds, or ought to + mind, its being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it + is hard and comes to nothing, when all our bees' business turns + to spiders', and for honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, + blown away by the next breeze,—that is the cruel thing for + the worker. Yet do we ever ask ourselves, personally, or even + nationally, whether our work is coming to anything or not?</p> + + <p>3. Then wise work is <i>Cheerful</i>, as a child's work is. + Everybody in this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy + Kingdom come." Now if we hear a man swearing in the streets we + think it very wrong, and say he "takes God's name in vain." But + there's a twenty times worse way of taking His name in vain than + that. It is to <i>ask God for what we don't want</i>. If you + don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the worst + mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish + for His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do + more than pray for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, + you must know what it is.</p> + + <p>4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not + to go to it. Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; + nobody knows how. "The Kingdom of God cometh not with + observation." Also, it is not to come outside of us, but in our + hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now if we want to + work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into it, + there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter + into it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive + it as a little child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer + little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, <i>for of + such is the Kingdom of Heaven</i>."</p> + + <p>5. Of <i>such</i>, observe. Not of children themselves, but of + such as children. It is the <i>character</i> of children we want + and must gain. It is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all + these characters it is cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, + it is careful for nothing—being full of love to every + creature, it is happy always, whether in its play or in its duty. + Well, that's the great worker's character also. Taking no thought + for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty of the day; + knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and always + ready for play—beautiful play.</p> + + <p>JOHN RUSKIN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="ring" + id="ring">EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK."</a></h4> + <pre> +Our human speech is naught, +Our human testimony false, our fame +And human estimation words and wind. +Why take the artistic way to prove so much? +Because, it is the glory and good of Art, +That Art remains the one way possible +Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. +How look a brother in the face and say +"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, +Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, +And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!" +Say this as silvery as tongue can troll-- +The anger of the man may be endured, +The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him +Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, +That all this trouble comes of telling truth, +Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, +Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, +Nor recognizable by whom it left; +While falsehood would have done the work of truth. +But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men, +Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth +Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, +Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. +So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, +Beyond mere imagery on the wall,-- +So, note by note, bring music from your mind, +Deeper than ever the Adante dived,-- +So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, +Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="reliance" + id="reliance">SELF-RELIANCE.</a></h4> + + <p>1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true + for you in your private heart is true for all men,—that is + genius.</p> + + <p>Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal + sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our + first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last + Judgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the + highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that they + all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not what men but + what <i>they</i> thought.</p> + + <p>2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light + which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre + of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without + notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we + recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a + certain alienated majesty.</p> + + <p>3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us + than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression + with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of + voices is on the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say + with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt + all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own + opinion from another.</p> + + <p>4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at + the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; + that he must take himself for better for worse as his portion; + that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of + nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on + that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power + which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what + that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.</p> + + <p>5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes + much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the + memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed + where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that + particular ray.</p> + + <p>6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that + divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted + as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully + imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by + cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into + his work and done his best; but what he has said or done + otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does + not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse + befriends; no invention, no hope.</p> + + <p>7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. + Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the + society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great + men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the + genius of their age, betraying their perception that the + absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through + their hands, predominating in all their being.</p> + + <p>8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the + same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a + protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but + guides, redeemers and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort + and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.</p> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="rhodora" + id="rhodora">RHODORA.</a></h4> + + <p>ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER?</p> + <pre> +In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, +I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, +Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, +To please the desert and the sluggish brook. +The purple petals, fallen in the pool, +Made the black water with their beauty gay; +Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, +And court the flower that cheapens his array. +Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why +This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, +Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: +Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! +I never thought to ask, I never knew: +But in my simple ignorance, suppose +The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. +</pre> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="each" + id="each">EACH AND ALL.</a></h4> + <pre> +Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, +Of thee from the hill-top looking down; +The heifer that lows in the upland farm, +Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; +The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, +Deems not that great Napoleon +Stops his horse, and lists with delight, +Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; +Nor knowest thou what argument +Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. +All are needed by each one; +Nothing is fair or good alone. + +I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, +Singing at dawn on the alder bough; +I brought him home, in his nest, at even; +He sings the song, but it cheers not now, +For I did not bring home the river and sky;-- +He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. + +The delicate shell lay on the shore; +The bubbles of the latest wave +Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, +And the bellowing of the savage sea +Greeted their safe escape to me. +I wiped away the weeds and foam, +I fetched my sea-born treasures home; +But the poor, unsightly, noisome things +Had left their beauty on the shore +With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. + +The lover watched his graceful maid, +As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, +Nor knew her beauty's best attire +Was woven still by the snow-white choir. +At last she came to his hermitage, +Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;-- +The gay enchantment was undone; +A gentle wife, but fairy none. + +Then I said, "I covet truth; +Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; +I leave it behind with the games of youth:"-- +As I spoke, beneath my feet +The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, +Running over the club-moss burrs; +I inhaled the violet's breath; +Around me stood the oaks and firs; +Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; +Over me soared the eternal sky, +Full of light and of deity; +Again I saw, again I heard, +The rolling river, the morning bird;-- +Beauty through my senses stole; +I yielded myself to the perfect whole. +</pre> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="columbus" + id="columbus">COLUMBUS.</a></h4> + + <p>[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, + copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San + Francisco.]</p> + <pre> +Behind him lay the gray Azores, + Behind the gates of Hercules; +Before him not the ghost of shores, + Before him only shoreless seas. +The good mate said, "Now must we pray, + For lo! the very stars are gone. +Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" + "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +"My men grow mutinous by day, + My men grow ghastly pale and weak." +The stout mate thought of home; a spray + Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, + If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" +"Why, you shall say at break of day, + 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, + Until at last the blanched mate said: +"Why, now, not even God would know + Should I and all my men fall dead. +These very winds forget their way, + For God from these dread seas has gone. +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- + He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" + +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: + "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. +He curls his lips, he lies in wait + With lifted teeth as if to bite! +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: + What shall we do when hope is gone?" +The words leapt like a leaping sword, + "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" + +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, + And peered through darkness. Ah, that night +Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- + A light! A light! A light! A light! +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! + It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, +He gained a world; he gave that world + Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" +</pre> + + <p>JOAQUIN MILLER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="duchess" + id="duchess">MY LAST DUCHESS.</a></h4> + + <p>ERRARA.</p> + <pre> +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. +"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace--all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked +Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked +My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this +"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat +The Count your Master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretence +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="tale" + id="tale">"THE TALE."</a></h4> + <pre> +What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time +--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or rhyme, +Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, +While your shoulder propped my head. + +Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, +That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, +Went where such like used to go, +Singing for a prize, you know. + +Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing, but play the lyre; +Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing; I desire, +Sir, you keep the fact in mind +For a purpose that's behind. + +There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, +--Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound +Sung or played amiss: such ears +Had old judges, it appears! + +None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune +Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, +Sure to smile "In vain one tries +Picking faults out: take the prize!" + +When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? +Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed +Such ill luck in store?--it happed +One of those same seven strings snapped. + +All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada"? Pooh!) +--Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew +With its little heart on fire +Lighted on the crippled lyre. + +So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string +Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling +Fiery heart forth, sound the note +Wanted by the throbbing throat? + +Ay and, ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, +Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed +Saves the singer from defeat +With her chirrup low and sweet. + +Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent +"Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? +Why, we took your lyre for harp, +So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + +Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? +That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son +Finds his Lotte's power too spent +For aiding soul development. + +No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, +Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir! I hope you understand!) +--Said "Some record there must be +Of this cricket's help to me!" + +So he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; +On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; +Never more apart you found +Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + +That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know +Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, +All so learned and so wise +And deserving of a prize! + +If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, +Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt +Sweet and low, when strength usurped +Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + +"For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- +With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made +'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain +Never to be heard again,-- + +"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place +Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass +Asked the treble to atone +For its somewhat sombre drone." + +But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls +To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him a girl's +"Love" comes aptly in when gruff +Grows his singing. (There, enough!) +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="mont" + id="mont">MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE.</a></h4> + <pre> +Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star +In his steep course? So long he seems to pause +On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc! +The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base +Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, +Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, +How silently! Around thee, and above, +Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, +An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it +As with a wedge. But when I look again +It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, +Thy habitation from eternity. + +O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee +Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, +Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer +I worshipped the Invisible alone. +Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,-- +So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- +Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. +Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; +Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, +Into the mighty vision passing--there, +As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. + +Awake, my soul! not only passive praise +Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, +Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, +Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! +Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn! + +Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! +O, struggling with the darkness all the night, +And visited all night by troops of stars, +Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- +Companion of the morning-star at dawn, +Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn +Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise! +Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? +Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? +Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + +And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! +Who called you forth from night and utter death, +From dark and icy caverns called you forth, +Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks, +Forever shattered, and the same forever? +Who gave you your invulnerable life, +Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, +Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? +And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- +"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?" + +Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow +Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- +Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, +And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! +Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! +Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven +Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun +Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers +Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + +"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, +Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" +"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice +Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds +And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, +And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!" + +Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! +Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! +Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! +Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! +Ye signs and wonders of the elements! +Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! + +Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks +Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard +Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene +Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- +Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou +That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low +In adoration, upward from thy base +Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, +Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud +To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise! +Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! +Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, +Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, +Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, +And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, +Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. +</pre> + + <p>S.T. COLERIDGE.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="star" + id="star">MY STAR.</a></h4> + <pre> +All that I know + Of a certain star +Is, it can throw + (Like the angled spar) +Now a dart of red, + Now a dart of blue, +Till my friends have said + They would fain see, too + +My star that dartles the red and the blue! +Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled; +They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. +What matter to me if their star is a world? +Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="conservative" + id="conservative">A CONSERVATIVE.</a></h4> + <pre> +The garden beds I wandered by + One bright and cheerful morn, +When I found a new-fledged butterfly + A-sitting on a thorn, +A black and crimson butterfly, + All doleful and forlorn. + +I thought that life could have no sting + To infant butterflies, +So I gazed on this unhappy thing + With wonder and surprise, +While sadly with his waving wing + He wiped his weeping eyes. + +Said I, "What can the matter be? + Why weepest thou so sore? +With garden fair and sunlight free + And flowers in goodly store--" +But he only turned away from me + And burst into a roar. + +Cried he, "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! +Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, +Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + +At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; +Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, +"You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + +"I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" +And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm; +"I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + +O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! +I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- +The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. +</pre> + + <p>CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="five" + id="five">FIVE LIVES.</a></h4> + <pre> +Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop +That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. +To the naked eye they lived invisible; +Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell +Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. + + One was a meditative monad, called a sage; +And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: +"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, +Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, +Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, +When I am very old, yon shimmering dome +Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" +Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt +No other mote of God had ever gained +Such giant grasp of universal truth. + + One was a transcendental monad; thin +And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused: +"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls! +Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool-- +"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought +In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, +And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. +Some taste they have like ours, some tendency +To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." +He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas +That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. + + One was a barren-minded monad, called +A positivist; and he knew positively: +"There is no world beyond this certain drop. +Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream +Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, +And higher and lower; life is life enough." +Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily +He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. + + One was a tattered monad, called a poet; +And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: +"Oh, the little female monad's lips! +Oh, the little female monad's eyes! +Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!" + + The last was a strong-minded monadess, +Who dashed amid the infusoria, +Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove +Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. + + But while they led their wondrous little lives +Æonian moments had gone wheeling by. +The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed; +A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. +The little ghost of an inaudible squeak +Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone; +Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox +Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, +Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. +</pre> + + <p>EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="coming" + id="coming">THE COMING OF ARTHUR.</a></h4> + + <p>[<i>Abridged</i>.]</p> + <pre> +LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, +Had one fair daughter, and none other child; +And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, +Guinevere, and in her his one delight. + + For many a petty king ere Arthur came +Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war +Each upon other, wasted all the land; +And still from time to time the heathen host +Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. +And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, +Wherein the beast was ever more and more, +But man was less and less. . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, +Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, +And none or few to scare or chase the beast; +So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear +Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, +And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . And King Leodogran +Groan'd for the Roman legions here again +And Caesar's eagle. . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +He knew not whither he should turn for aid. + + But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, + . . . . . . . . . --the King +Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou! +For here between the man and beast we die.' + + And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, +But heard the call and came; and Guinevere +Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; +But since he neither wore on helm or shield +The golden symbol of his kinglihood, +But rode, a simple knight among his knights, +And many of these in richer arms than he, +She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, +One among many, tho' his face was bare. +But Arthur, looking downward as he past, +Felt the light of her eyes into his life +Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd +His tents beside the forest. Then he drave +The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd +The forest, letting in the sun, and made +Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight +And so returned. + + For while he linger'd there, +A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts +Of those great lords and barons of his realm +Flashed forth and into war; for most of these, +Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, +Made head against him crying: "Who is he +That should rule us? Who hath proven him +King Uther's son?" + + And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt +Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, +Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, +And thinking as he rode: "Her father said +That there between the man and beast they die. +Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts +Up to my throne and side by side with me? +What happiness to reign a lonely king? + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . But were I join'd with her, +Then might we live together as one life, +And reigning with one will in everything +Have power on this dark land to lighten it, +And power on this dead world to make it live." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + When Arthur reached a field of battle bright +With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world +Was all so clear about him that he saw +The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, +And even in high day the morning star. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, +Made lightnings and great thunders over him, + And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, +And mightier of his hands with every blow, +And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +So like a painted battle the war stood +Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, +And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + Then quickly from the foughten field he sent + . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere + . . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran, +Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, +Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." + + Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart +Debating--"How should I that am a king, +However much he holp me at my need, +Give my one daughter saving to a king, +And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd +A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom +He trusted all things, and of him required +His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Then while the King debated with himself, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . there came to Cameliard, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; +Whom . . . . . . . . the King +Made feast for, as they sat at meat: + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men +Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king-- +So many those that hate him, and so strong, +So few his knights, however brave they be-- +Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?' + + 'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, +Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; +For I was near him when the savage yells +Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat +Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, +"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will +Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones, +And simple words of great authority, +Bound them by so straight vows to his own self +That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some +Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, +Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes +Half blinded at the coming of a light. + +'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round +With large, divine, and comfortable words, +Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld +From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash +A momentary likeness of the King; + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit +And hundred winters are but as the hands +Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. + + 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, +Who knew a subtler magic than his own-- +Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. +She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, +Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist +Of incense curl'd about her, and her face +Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; +But there was heard among the holy hymns +A voice as of the waters, for she dwells +Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms +May shake the world--and when the surface rolls, +Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' + + Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought +To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, +Fixing full eyes of question on her face, +'The swallow and the swift are near akin, +But thou art closer to this noble prince, +Being his own dear sister;' + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . . . 'What know I? +For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, +And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . + . . . . yea and dark was Uther too, +Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair +Beyond the race of Britons and of men. + + 'But let me tell thee now another tale: + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . . . on the night +When Uther in Tintagil past away +Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin +Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps +It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof +A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern +Bright with a shining people on the decks, +And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He + . . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall, +Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, +Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep +And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged +Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: +And down the wave and in the flame was borne +A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, +Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +And presently thereafter follow'd calm, +Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said, +"Is he who reigns." . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . And ever since the Lords +Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, +So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, +This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come-- +Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, +Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King," +A hundred voices cried: "Away with him! +No king of ours!" . . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, +And while the people clamor'd for a king, +Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords +Banded, and so brake out in open war. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . and Merlin in our time +Hath spoken also, . . . . . +Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, +But pass, again to come, and then or now +Utterly smite the heathen under foot, +Till these and all men hail him for their king.' + + . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, +But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?' +Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, +Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, +Field after field, up to a height, the peak +Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, +Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope +The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, +Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, +In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, +Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze +And made it thicker; while the phantom king +Sent out at times a voice; and here or there +Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest +Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, +No son of Uther, and no king of ours;' +Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze +Descended, and the solid earth became +As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, +Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. + + Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved +And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth +And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates: +And Lancelot past away among the flowers-- +For then was latter April--and return'd-- +Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. +To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, +Chief of the church in Britain, and before +The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King +That morn was married, while in stainless white, +The fair beginners of a noble time, +And glorying in their vows and him, his knights +Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. +Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, +The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, +The sun of May descended on their King, +They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, +Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns +A voice as of the waters, while the two +Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. +And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. +Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!' +To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, +'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!' +And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake: +'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world +Other, and may the Queen be one with thee, +And all this Order of thy Table Round +Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!' + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:-- + + '<i>Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!! +Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away! +Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign</i>!" + + '<i>Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? +Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, +Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + + '<i>Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard +That God hath told the King a secret word. +Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + '<i>Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, +The king is king, and ever wills the highest. +Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + '<i>The King will follow Christ, and we the King, +In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. +Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign</i>!" + + +And Arthur and his knighthood for a space +Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King +Drew in the petty princedoms under him, +Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame +The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="elaine" + id="elaine">ELAINE.</a></h4> + <pre> +Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, +Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, +High in her chamber up a tower to the east +Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; +Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray +Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam; +Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it +A case of silk, and braided thereupon +All the devices blazon'd on the shield +In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, +A border fantasy of branch and flower, +And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. +Nor rested thus content, but day by day +Leaving her household and good father, climb'd +That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, +Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, +Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, +Now made a pretty history to herself +Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, +And every scratch a lance had made upon it, +Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; +That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; +That at Cearleon; this at Camelot; +And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there! +And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God +Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, +And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="lady" + id="lady">THE LADY OF SHALOTT.</a></h4> + + <p>PART I.</p> + <pre> +On either side the river lie +Long fields of barley and of rye, +That clothe the wold and meet the sky; +And thro' the field the road runs by + To many-tower'd Camelot +And up and down the people go, +Gazing where the lilies blow +Round an island there below, + The Island of Shalott. + +Willows whiten, aspens quiver, +Little breezes, dusk and shiver +Thro' the wave that runs for ever +By the island in the river + Flowing down to Camelot. +Four gray walls, and four gray towers, +Overlook a space of flowers, +And the silent isle imbowers + The lady of Shalott. + +By the margin, willow-veil'd, +Slide the heavy barges trail'd +By slow horses; and unhail'd +The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd + Skimming down to Camelot: +But who hath seen her wave her hand? +Or at the casement seen her stand? +Or is she known in all the land, + The Lady of Shalott? + +Only reapers, reaping early +In among the bearded barley, +Hear a song that echoes cheerly, +From the river winding clearly, + Down to tower'd Camelot; +And by the moon the reaper weary, +Piling sheaves in uplands airy, +Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy + Lady of Shalott." + + +PART II. + +There she weaves by night and day +A magic web with colors gay. +She has heard a whisper say, +A curse is on her if she stay + To look down to Camelot. +She knows not what the curse may be, +And so she weaveth steadily, +And little other care hath she, + The Lady of Shalott. + +And moving thro' a mirror clear +That hangs before her all the year, +Shadows of the world appear. +There she sees the highway near + Winding down to Camelot; +There the river eddy whirls, +And there the surly village-churls, +And the red cloaks of market-girls, + Pass onward from Shalott. + +Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, +An abbot on an ambling pad, +Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, +Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, + Goes by to tower'd Camelot; +And sometimes thro' the mirror blue +The knights come riding two and two; +She hath no loyal knight and true, + The Lady of Shalott. + +But in her web she still delights +To weave the mirror's magic sights, +For often thro' the silent nights +A funeral, with plumes and lights, + And music, went to Camelot: +Or when the moon was overhead, +Came two young lovers lately wed: +"I am half sick of shadows" said + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART III. + +A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, +He rode between the barley sheaves, +The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, +And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot. +A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd +To a lady in his shield, +That sparkled on the yellow field, + Beside remote Shalott. + +The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, +Like to some branch of stars we see +Hung in the Golden Galaxy. +The bridle bells rang merrily + As he rode down to Camelot; +And from his blazon'd baldric slung +A mighty silver bugle hung, +And as he rode his armor rung, + Beside remote Shalott. + +All in the blue unclouded weather +Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. +The helmet and the helmet-feather +Burned like one burning flame together, + As he rode down to Camelot; +As often through the purple night, +Below the starry clusters bright, +Some bearded meteor, trailing light, + Moves over still Shalott. + +His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; +On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; +From underneath his helmet flow'd +His coal-black curls as on he rode, + As he rode down to Camelot. +From the bank and from the river +He flashed into the crystal mirror, +"Tirra lirra" by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot. + +She left the web, she left the loom, +She made three paces thro' the room, +She saw the water-lily bloom, +She saw the helmet and the plume, + She looked down to Camelot. +Out flew the web and floated wide; +The mirror cracked from side to side; +"The curse is come upon me," cried + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART IV. + +In the stormy east-wind straining, +The pale yellow woods are waning, +The broad stream in his banks complaining, +Heavily the low sky raining + Over tower'd Camelot; +Down she came and found a boat +Beneath a willow left afloat, +And round about the prow she wrote + The Lady of Shalott. + +And down the river's dim expanse +Like some bold seer in a trance, +Seeing all his own mischance-- +With a glassy countenance + Did she look to Camelot. +And at the closing of the day +She loosed the chain, and down she lay; +The broad stream bore her far away, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Lying, robed in snowy white +That loosely flew to left and right-- +The leaves upon her falling light-- +Thro' the noises of the night + She floated down to Camelot; +And as the boat-head wound along +The willowy hills and fields among, +They heard her singing her last song, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Heard a carol, mournful, holy, +Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, +Til' her blood was frozen slowly, +And her eyes were darken'd wholly, + Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. +For ere she reached upon the tide +The first house by the water-side, +Singing in her song she died. + The Lady of Shalott. + +Under tower and balcony, +By garden-wall and gallery, +A gleaming shape she floated by, +Dead-pale between the houses high, + Silent into Camelot. +Out upon the wharfs they came, +Knight and burgher, lord and dame, +And round the prow they read her name +<i>The Lady of Shalott</i>. + +Who is this? and what is here? +And in the lighted palace near +Died the sound of royal cheer; +And they crossed themselves for fear, + All the knights at Camelot: +But Lancelot mused a little space; +He said "She has a lovely face; +God in his mercy lend her grace, + The Lady of Shalott." +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="time" + id="time">IF WE HAD THE TIME.</a></h4> + <pre> +If I had the time to find a place +And sit me down full face to face + With my better self, that cannot show + In my daily life that rushes so: +It might be then I would see my soul +Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, + I might be nerved by the thought sublime,-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to let my heart +Speak out and take in my life a part, + To look about and to stretch a hand + To a comrade quartered in no-luck land; +Ah, God! If I might but just sit still +And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, + I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to learn from you +How much for comfort my word could do; + And I told you then of my sudden will + To kiss your feet when I did you ill; +If the tears aback of the coldness feigned +Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,-- + Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, + If we had the time! +</pre> + + <p>RICHARD BURTON.</p> + + <h4><a name="henry" + id="henry">A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.<br /> + "FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."</a></h4> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—Sir John Falstaff has received a + commission from the King to raise a company of soldiers to fight + in the King's battles. After drafting a number of well-to-do + farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug sums of money rather + than to serve under him, he pockets their money and proceeds to + fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through which + he passes.</p> + + <p>The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. + The Justice has received word from Sir John that he is about to + visit him, and desires him to call together a number of the + villagers from which recruits may be selected.</p> + + <p>These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice + Shallow standing near.</p> + + <p>Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses + Justice Shallow.</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I + beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire + of this county, and one of the King's justices of the peace. What + is your good pleasure with me?</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—My captain, sir, commends him to you; + my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a + most gallant leader.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—He greets me well, sir. I knew him a + good backsword man. How doth the good Knight now? Look! here + comes good Sir John. <i>(Enter Falstaff</i>.) Give me your good + hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth you look well + and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir John.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I am glad to see you well, good Master + Robert Shallow. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you + provided me with half a dozen sufficient men?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Marry have we, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Let me see them, I beseech you.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Where's the roll? Where's the roll? + Where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, + so, so, so, so; yea, marry sir.—Ralph Mouldy! Let them + appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; + where is Mouldy?</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—Here, an't please you.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—What think you, Sir John? A good limbed + fellow: young, strong, and of good friends.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Is thy name Mouldy?</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—Yea, an't please you.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—'Tis the more time thou wert used.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! + Things that are mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, + Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, Sir John?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yes, prick him.</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—I was pricked well enough before, an' you + could have let me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one + to do her husbandry and her drudgery; you need not to have + pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know + you where you are? For the next, Sir John; let me + see.—Simon Shadow?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yea, marry, let me have him to sit + under. He's like to be a cold soldier.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Where's Shadow?</p> + + <p><i>Shadow</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Shadow, whose son art thou?</p> + + <p><i>Shadow</i>.—My mother's son, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy + father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Thomas Wart!</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Where's he?</p> + + <p><i>Wart</i>.—Here, sir!</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Is thy name Wart?</p> + + <p><i>Wart</i>.—Yea, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Thou art a very ragged wart.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir + John?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—It were superfluous; for his apparel is + built upon his back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick + him no more.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can + do it; I commend you well.—Francis Feeble.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What trade art thou, Feeble?</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I'm a woman's tailor, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou + make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a + woman's petticoat?</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I will do my good will, sir; you can have + no more.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Well said, good woman's tailor! Well + said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful + dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor + well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I would Wart might have gone, too, + sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I would thou wert a man's tailor, that + thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, + most forcible Feeble.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—It shall suffice, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. + Who is next?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick + me Bullcalf till he roar again.</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—O Lord! Good my lord + captain,—</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What, dost thou roar before thou art + pricked?</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What disease hast thou?</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a + gown. We will have away with thy cold. Is here all?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Here is two more than your number. You + must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me + to dinner.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Come, I will go drink with you.</p> + + <p>(<i>Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—(<i>Approaching Bardolph</i>.) Good + Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry + ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd + as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; and yet for mine own part, sir, + I do not care; but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine + own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did + not care, for my own part, so much.</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—(<i>Pocketing the money</i>.) Go to; + stand aside.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—By my troth, I care not.</p> + + <p>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="copper_i" + id="copper_i">A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.</a></h4> + + <p>AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER.</p> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—The scene opens in the lodgings of + Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering + under, what he terms, "A temporary pressure of pecuniary + liabilities," and is out looking for something to turn up.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which + she is holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, + and various of the children are scattered about the floor.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling + of creditors;—at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe + in her arms:—</p> + + <p>(<i>Mrs. Micawber</i>.) Well, I wonder how many more times + they will be calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. + Micawber's creditors won't give him time, they must take the + consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking now! I believe + that's Mr. Heep's knock. It <i>is</i> Mr. Heep! Come in, Mr. + Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Is Mr. Micawber in?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone + out. We make no stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind + telling you Mr. Micawber's affairs have reached a crisis. With + the exception of a heel of Dutch cheese, which is not adapted to + the wants of a young family,—and including the + twins,—there is nothing to eat in the house.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—How dreadful! (<i>Aside</i>.) The very man + for my purpose. (<i>Explanation</i>. At this moment there is a + noise heard on the landing. Micawber himself rushes into the + room, slamming the door behind him.)</p> + + <p><i>Micawber</i>.—(<i>Not seeing Heep</i>.) The clouds + have gathered, the storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has + fallen on the devoted head of Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, + the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in my misery!</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—I'll never desert my Micawber!</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must + be so, Cato!" But no man is without a friend when he is possessed + of courage and shaving materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my + razors! (<i>Recovers himself</i>) sh—sh! We are not alone! + (<i>Gayly</i>) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see you, my young + friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, if I + had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would + have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will + pardon the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made + sensitive by a recent collision with a minion of the + law,—in short, with a ribald turncock attached to the + waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been cut off. + Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of + laudanum!</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell + me the amount of your indebtedness?</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—It is only a small matter for nutriment, + beef, mutton, etc., some trifle, seven and six pence + ha'penny.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—I'll pay it for you.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—My dear friend! You overpower me with + obligation! Shall I admit the officer? (<i>Turns and goes to the + door, opens it</i>.) Enter myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of + a solvent debtor and a lady. (<i>Heeps pays the officer and + dismisses him</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no + objection to giving me your I.O.U. for the amount.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—Certainly not. I am always ready to put my + name to any species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings + upward. Excuse me, Heep, I'll write it. (<i>Goes through motion + of writing it on leaf of memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to + Heep</i>.) I suppose this is renewable on the usual term?</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Better. You can work it out. I come to + offer you the position of clerk in my partner's office—the + firm of Wickfield and Heep.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I + may have no hesitation in saying something has at last turned + up!</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I + should like to speak a few words to your husband in private.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and + prosper!</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an + unlimited extent! Ah, the sun has again risen—the clouds + have passed—the sky is clear, and another score may be + begun at the butcher's.—Heep, precede me. Emma, my love. + <i>Au Revoir</i>.</p> + + <p>(<i>A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber</i>.)</p> + <hr /> + + <h4><a name="copper_ii" + id="copper_ii">A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.</a></h4> + <pre> + CHARACTERS. + + OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, + + HAM PEGGOTTY, + + DAVID COPPERFIELD. +</pre> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—The scene is the interior of the + "Old Ark"; the time is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet + inside the old ark all is snug and comfortable. The fire is + burning brightly on the hearth, and Mother Gummidge sits by it + knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little Em'ly home from her + work,—and the old fisherman sits smoking his evening pipe + by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth and + Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard + and David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him.</p> + + <p><i>Old Peg</i>.—Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, + Mas'r Davy, you're the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of + yours if it's wet and draw right up to the fire. Don't you mind + Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's a-thinkin' of the old 'un. + She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when there's a storm + a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. Well, now, + I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (<i>He lights a + candle and puts it on the table by the window</i>.) Theer we are! + Theer we are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, + you're a-wonderin' what that little candle is for, ain't yer? + Well, I'll tell yer. It's for my little Em'ly. You see, the path + ain't o'er light or cheerful arter dark, so when I'm home here + along the time that Little Em'ly comes home from her work, I + allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the table in + the winder, and it serves two purposes,—first, Em'ly sees + it and she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," + fur if I ain't here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now + you're laughin' at me, Mas'r Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a + babby. Well, I don't know but I am. (<i>Walks towards table</i>.) + Not a babby to look at, but a babby to consider on. A babby in + the form of a Sea Porky-pine.</p> + + <p>See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say—"Em'ly's + lookin' at me! Little Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she + is! (<i>He goes to the door to meet her; the door opens and Ham + comes staggering in</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and + will die fur even now! She's gone!</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Gone!!</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Gone! She's run away! And think how she's + run away when I pray my good and gracious God to strike her down + dead, sooner than let her come to disgrace and shame.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must + have proof—proof.</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Read that writin'.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—No! I won't read that + writin'—read it you, Mas'r Davy. Slow, please. I don't know + as I can understand.</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—(<i>Reads</i>) "When you see this I shall + be far away."</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur + away! My Little Em'ly fur away! Well?</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—(<i>Reads</i>) "Never to come back again + unless he brings me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we + were to be married, but try to think of me as if I had died long + ago, and was buried somewhere. My last love and last tears for + Uncle."</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Who's the man? What's his name? I want + to know the man's name.</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, + that I know.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—What! You don't mean his name's + Steerforth, do you?</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a + cursed villain!</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help + me on with it, Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat.</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—I'm a goin' to seek fur my little + Em'ly. First, I'm going to stave in that theer boat and sink it + where I'd a drownded him, as I'm a living soul; if I'd a known + what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, and thought I was doin' + right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly throughout the + wide wurrety!</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="shaughraun" + id="shaughraun">A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.</a></h4> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—This scene introduces the following + characters:—Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, + devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually + in a scrape from his desire to help a friend and his love of fun; + his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of + the parish priest.</p> + + <p>It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put + the kettle on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, + enters.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see + if that vagabond of mine has been around this way.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't + he a home of his own?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—The Shebeen is his home when he is not + in jail. His father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same + way.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—I thought your husband was drowned at + sea?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—And bless him, so he was.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' + drink.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—The best of men he was, when he was + sober—a betther never drhawed the breath o' life.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—But you say he never was sober.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Niver! An' Conn takes afther him!</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther + Conn.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin + him! You a good dacent gurl, and desarve the best of + husbands.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Them's the only ones that gets the worst. + More betoken yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Conn niver did an honest day's work in + his life—but dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' + sportin', and love-makin'.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Sure, that's how the quality pass their + lives.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—That's it. A poor man that sports the + sowl of a gintleman is called a blackguard.</p> + + <p>(<i>At this moment Conn appears in the doorway</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—(<i>At left</i>.) Some one is talkin' about + me! Ah, Moya, Darlin', come here. (<i>Business as if he reached + out his hands to Moya as he comes forward to meet her, and passes + her over to his left so he seems to stand in center between Moya + on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right</i>.) Was the old Mother + thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word that comes + out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (<i>Laughing as he shakes his + finger at his mother</i>.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it + this very minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two + arms about ye. But she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an + old him that's got a duck for a chicken. Howld your whist now + Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a kiss.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? + The polls have been in the cabin today about ye. They say you + stole Squire Foley's horse.</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and + sound in his paddock this minute.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—But he says you stole it for the day to + go huntin'?</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to + run away wid a man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never + die in sin, but this was the way of it. I was standin' by owld + Foley's gate, whin I heard the cry of the hounds coming across + the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, my dear, spread out like + the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye ever seen a + sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the + churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the + ground! Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over + the gate besoide me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to + her. Divil a word I said to her, nor she to me, for the hounds + had lost their scent, we knew by their yelp and whine as they + hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox went by us. I + leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to the + whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole + field came roaring past.</p> + + <p>The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," + says I, "ye divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head + an' into her mouth. Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was + quiet in a minute. "Come home, now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw + my leg across her.</p> + + <p>Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than—Whoo! Holy + Rocket! she was over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds + loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; "Come back you thafe of the world, + where you takin' me to?" as she carried me through the huntin' + field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of the hounds, + Squire Foley himself.</p> + + <p>He turned the color of his leather breeches.</p> + + <p>"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my + brown mare?"</p> + + <p>"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!"</p> + + <p>"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire.</p> + + <p>"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!"</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—(<i>Laughing</i>.) And what did he say to + that, Conn?</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just + then we took a stone wall together an' I left him behind in the + ditch.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—You'll get a month in jail for + this.</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Well, it was worth it.</p>BOUCICAULT. + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10491 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3da0c1b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10491 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10491) diff --git a/old/10491-8.txt b/old/10491-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c310b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10491-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3746 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Practice Book + +Author: Leland Powers + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10491] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +PRACTICE +BOOK + + +LELAND POWERS SCHOOL + + + +1909 + + + + +IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. + + * * * * * + +My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of +copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & +Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which +is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company +for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, +entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for +the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts +from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are +used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin +& Company, publishers of their works. + +The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal +Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are +taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here +reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company. + +LELAND POWERS. + + + + +INDEX + + * * * * * + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, _Richard Burton_ + +BROOK, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CAVALIER TUNES _Robert Browning_ + I. Give a Rouse. + II. Boot and Saddle. + +COLUMBUS _Joaquin Miller_ + +COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CONSERVATIVE, A _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_ + +EACH AND ALL _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +ELAINE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +ELOQUENCE _Daniel Webster_ + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION + +FEZZIWIG BALL, THE _Charles Dickens_ + +FIVE LIVES _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +GREEN THINGS GROWING _Dinah Mulock Craik_ + +HERVÉ RIEL _Robert Browning_ + +IF WE HAD THE TIME _Richard Burton_ + +LADY OF SHALOTT, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +LAUGHING CHORUS, A + +LIFE AND SONG _Sidney Lanier_ + +LOCHINVAR _Sir Walter Scott_ + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE _S.T. Coleridge_ + +MY LAST DUCHESS _Robert Browning_ + +MY STAR _Robert Browning_ + +PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from _Robert Browning_ + I. Day. + II. The Year's at Spring. + +RHODORA, THE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from _Robert Browning_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV--"Falstaff's Recruits" _William Shakespeare_ + +SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN _Boucicault_ + +SELF-RELIANCE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +TALE, THE--From The Two Poets of Croisic _Robert Browning_ + +TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE _John Ruskin_ + +TRUTH AT LAST _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +WORK _John Ruskin_ + + + + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION. + + +The exercises under each chapter have _primarily_ the characteristics +of that chapter, and _secondarily_ the characteristics of the other +two chapters. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +VITALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Power, Largeness, +Freedom, Animation, Movement_. + + +1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids: + Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades." + + * * * * * + +2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! + Rise up and ride both fast and far! + The sea flows over bolt and bar." + + * * * * * + +3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with +the laws of man and the justice of heaven." + + * * * * * + +4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, + And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, + And heard the priest chant the Magnificat." + + * * * * * + +5. "Then the master, + With a gesture of command, + Waved his hand; + And at the word, + Loud and sudden there was heard + All around them and below + The sound of hammers, blow on blow, + Knocking away the shores and spurs. + And see! she stirs! + She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel + The thrill of life along her keel, + And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, + She leaps into the ocean's arms!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Under his spurning feet, the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind, + Like an ocean flying before the wind." + + * * * * * + +7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, + Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! + Now for a madcap galloping chase! + I'll make a commotion in every place!'" + + * * * * * + +8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!" + + * * * * * + +9. "It is done! + Clang of bell and roar of gun! + Send the tidings up and down. + How the belfries rock and reel! + How the great guns, peal on peal, + Fling the joy from town to town!" + + * * * * * + +10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! + How high you lift your heads into the sky! + How huge you are, how mighty and how free! + Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile + Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, + Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear + Of awe divine." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MENTALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Reflection_ OR +_Processes_ OF _Thought, Clearness, Definiteness_. + + +1. "Beyond the street a tower,--beyond the tower a moon,--beyond the moon +a star,--beyond the Star, what?" + + * * * * * + +2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; + Carve every word before you let it fall; + Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, + Try overhard to roll the British R; + Do put your accents in the proper spot; + Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' + And when you stick on conversation's burrs, + Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." + + * * * * * + +3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; + Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, + And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,-- + No more:" + + * * * * * + +4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first +characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls +itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's +sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of." + + * * * * * + +5. "_Brutus_. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. + + _Lucius_. I will, my lord. (_Exit_.) + + _Brutus_. It must be by his death: and for my part, + I know no cause to spurn at him, + But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- + How that might change his nature, there's the question. + It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; + And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- + And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, + That at his will he may do danger with." + + * * * * * + +6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word +was God. The same was in the beginning with God." + + * * * * * + +7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, +comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of +his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a _fine_ art, and +good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. +Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, +all beauty is in the long run only _fineness_ of truth, or what we +call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." + + * * * * * + +8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, +under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called +cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, +and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. +These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and +for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the +power of the others latent in him, and his own patent." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MORALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Purpose, Love, Harmony, +Poise, Values_. + +1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at +thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly +waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf +of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, +'In Heaven's name, No!'" + + * * * * * + + +2. "Flower in the crannied wall, + I pluck you out of the crannies;-- + Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, + Little flower--but if I could understand + What you are, root and all, and all in all, + I should know what God and man is." + + + * * * * * + +3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun +shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with +a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his +sunny heart." + + * * * * * + +4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am; though for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" + + * * * * * + +5. "Listen to the water-mill; + Through the livelong day, + How the clicking of its wheels + Wears the hours away! + Languidly the autumn wind + Stirs the forest leaves, + From the fields the reapers sing, + Binding up their sheaves; + And a proverb haunts my mind, + As a spell is cast; + 'The mill can never grind + With the water that is past.'" + + * * * * * + +6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good +steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called +evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead." + + * * * * * + +7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At +sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse +attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been +completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which +some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their +being washed off by the waves. + +"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. +The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of +shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its +sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been +over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie +whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the +waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end." + + * * * * * + +8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home." + + * * * * * + +9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the +mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the +world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God." + + + + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION. + + + +1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- + Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, + Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, + Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops." + + * * * * * + +2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + "Ah! few shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulcher." + + * * * * * + +3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! + Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near + More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! + Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! + Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! + Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!" + + * * * * * + +4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? + Came not faint whispers near? + No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh + Amid the foliage sere." + + * * * * * + +5. "Her giant form + O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, + Majestically calm, would go, + Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! + But gentler now the small waves glide, + Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. + So stately her bearing, so proud her array, + The main she will traverse for ever and aye. + Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. + Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly + Ripple the silence deep! + No; the swans that, circling nightly, + Through the silver waters sweep. + + "See I not, there, a white shimmer? + Something with pale silken shrine? + No; it is the column's glimmer, + 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine." + + * * * * * + +7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! + ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,' + And the Duchess claps her hands. + + "Slow and tired came the hunters; + Stopped in darkness in the court. + 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport, what sport.' + + "Slow they entered with their master; + In the hall they laid him down. + On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown." + + * * * * * + +8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, + Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,-- + Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, + Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,-- + Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, + Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; + Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, + Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words." + + + + +SELECTIONS. + + * * * * * + + + +HERVÉ RIEL. + + +On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, +Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! +And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, +Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, +Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + +'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; +First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; + Close on him fled, great and small, + Twenty-two good ships in all; + And they signalled to the place, + "Help the winners of a race! +Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + +Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; +"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: +"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, +Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, +Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, +Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, + And with flow at full beside? + Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. + Reach the mooring? Rather say, + While rock stands or water runs, + Not a ship will leave the bay!" + + Then was called a council straight. + Brief and bitter the debate: +"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow +All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, + For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- + Better run the ships aground!" + (Ended Damfreville his speech.) + "Not a minute more to wait! + Let the captains all and each +Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! + France must undergo her fate. + Give the word!"--But no such word + Was ever spoke or heard; +For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these +A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? + No such man of mark, and meet + With his betters to compete! +But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- +A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. + +And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel; +"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? +Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell +On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, +'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues? +Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? + Morn and eve, night and day, + Have I piloted your bay, +Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. +Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! +Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! + Only let me lead the line, + Have the biggest ship to steer, + Get this 'Formidable' clear, + Make the others follow mine, +And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, + Right to Solidor, past Grève, + And there lay them safe and sound; + And if one ship misbehave,-- + Keel so much as grate the ground, +Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. + + Not a minute more to wait. + "Steer us in, then, small and great! +Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. + "Captains, give the sailor place! + He is Admiral, in brief." + Still the north-wind, by God's grace! + See the noble fellow's face + As the big ship with a bound, + Clears the entry like a hound, +Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! + See, safe through shoal and rock, + How they follow in a flock. +Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, + Not a spar that comes to grief! + The peril, see, is past, + All are harbored to the last, +And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, + Up the English come, too late. + + So, the storm subsides to calm; + They see the green trees wave + On the heights o'erlooking Grève. + Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. + "Just our rapture to enhance, + Let the English rake the bay, + Gnash their teeth and glare askance + As they cannonade away! +Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" +Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! + Out burst all with one accord, + "This is Paradise for hell! + Let France, let France's king, + Thank the man that did the thing!" + What a shout, and all one word, + "Hervé Riel!" + As he stepped in front once more, + Not a symptom of surprise + In the frank blue Breton eyes, + Just the same man as before. + + Then said Damfreville, "My friend, + I must speak out at the end, + Though I find the speaking hard. + Praise is deeper than the lips; + You have saved the King his ships, + You must name your own reward. + Faith, our sun was near eclipse! + Demand whate'er you will, + France remains your debtor still +Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!" + + Then a beam of fun outbroke + On the bearded mouth that spoke, + As the honest heart laughed through + Those frank eyes of Breton blue: + "Since I needs must say my say, + Since on board the duty's done, +And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- + Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- + Since the others go ashore-- + Come! A good whole holiday! +Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" + That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. + Name and deed alike are lost: + Not a pillar nor a post + In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; + Not a head in white and black + On a single fishing-smack, +In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack +All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. + Go to Paris; rank on rank + Search the heroes flung pell-mell + On the Louvre, face and flank! +You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. + So, for better and for worse, + Hervé Riel, accept my verse! + In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more +Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore! + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +LOCHINVAR. + +I. + +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- +Through all the wild border his steed was the best! +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + + +II. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love and a dastard in war +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + + +III. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, +'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + + +IV. + +"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + + +V. + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; +"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. + + +VI. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret and her father did fume, +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + + +VII. + +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung +So light to the saddle before her he sprung: +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + + +VIII. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee; +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? + +SIR WALTER SCOTT. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES. + +1. "DAY." + +Day! +Faster and more fast; +O'er night's brim, day boils at last: +Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim +Where spurting and suppressed it lay, +For not a froth-flake touched the rim +Of yonder gap in the solid gray, +Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; +But forth one wavelet, then another curled, +Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, +Rose, reddened, and its seething breast +Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. + +Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, +A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, +The least of thy gazes or glances, +(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) +One of thy choices or one of thy chances, +(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) +--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, +Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hillside's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + +THE FEZZIWIG BALL. + +Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed +to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious +waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of +benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial +voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!" + +A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came +briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice. + +"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, +Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can +say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" + +Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't +have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. +Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life +forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel +was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry +and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. + +In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and +made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. +Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, +beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they +broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In +came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her +brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after +another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some +pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they +all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other +way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of +affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong +place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all +top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result +was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, +cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of +porter especially provided for that purpose. + +There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and +there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold +Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince +pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after +the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." +Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; +with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty +pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who +_would_ dance, and had no notion of walking. + +But if they had been twice as many,--four times,--old Fezziwig would have +been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, she +was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light +appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the +dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become +of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through +the dance,--advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, +corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,--Fezziwig +"cut,"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs. + +When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. +Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking +hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or +her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, +they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the +lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. + + * * * * * + + + +THE BROOK. + +I. + +I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, +And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + +II. + +By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges; +By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + +III. + +I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, +I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + +IV. + +With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, +And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + +V. + +I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + +VI. + +I wind about and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, +And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling. + + +VII. + +And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me as I travel +With many a silvery water-break + Above the golden gravel. + + +VIII. + +I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers, +I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + +IX. + +I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; +I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + +X. + +I murmur, under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses, +I linger by my shingly bars, + I loiter round my cresses. + + +XI. + +And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + * * * * * + + + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + +A LAUGHING CHORUS. + +[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, +Burdett & Company.] + + +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro. +And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the breath of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + + * * * * * + + + +CAVALIER TUNES. + + +1. GIVE A ROUSE. + +King Charles, and who'll do him right now? +King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? +Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, +King Charles! + +Who gave me the goods that went since? +Who raised me the house that sank once? +Who helped me to gold I spent since? +Who found me in wine you drank once? + + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + +To whom used my boy George quaff else, +By the old fool's side that begot him? +For whom did he cheer and laugh else, +While Noll's damned troopers shot him. + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +II. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + +Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! +Rescue my castle before the hot day +Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; +Many's the friend there, will listen and pray +"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!" + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, +Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array: +Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + +Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, +Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! +I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE. + +From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to +the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, +Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife. + + +How often in the summer tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan +Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne! + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who should say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path wheron I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn poet and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne! + + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +GREEN THINGS GROWING. + + +The green things growing, the green things growing, +The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! +I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, +Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. + +Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! +How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; +In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight +Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. + +I love, I love them so--my green things growing! +And I think that they love me, without false showing; +For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, +With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. + +And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, +Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing: +Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, +Many, many a summer of my green things growing! + +But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, +Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, +Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, +If I may change into green things growing. + +DINAH MULOCK CRAIK. + + * * * * * + + + +THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. + + +1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they +are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, +is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of +that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its +meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form +of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: +the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, +we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course +money doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it means +influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except +itself. + +2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is for +most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, we +would use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of +course, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good +of the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, +if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but +we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort +or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't +possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own. + +3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that +the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any +other--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money; +and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of +tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth +and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for +the Giver,--our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for +it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that +is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, +is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent; +but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is a +due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it. + +4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the +very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of +that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man +richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and +more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious +than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that +calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others +lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are these +not talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among the +most distinguished and influential of mental gifts? + +5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use +a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from +some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind +to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? +You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or +lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble +neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or +the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow +thrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, and +reach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them. + +6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness of +thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only, +has the much greater gift of being long-headed--you think it perfectly +just that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths +of all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or +use his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerce +of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the central +spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and +commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injustice +in this. + +7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable men +will at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree, +however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary and +intended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed by +energy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who are +best able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career, +should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be +wretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his +conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so. + +8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread upon +them, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way? +By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. That +is the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong and +wise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not that +he may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his own +household he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out of +his household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide and +support, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weak +and the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the men +who ought to have known better--of the poor who ought to be ashamed of +themselves. + +9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost her +son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has broken +his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something to +use your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness +of mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have made +him an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunity +which his dullness would have lost. + +10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved the +superiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is the +fitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibility +of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who have +it in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the +State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil, +just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, or +military command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it you +have in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation; +and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for the +State or not, depends upon you. + +11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, and +say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that has +baffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children; +water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to those +who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry +this life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: +"Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to +be throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that men +may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that +I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that I +may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor." And better than +such an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we were +born. + +12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who, +through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious office +which is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-used +was as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealth +well-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out +of the deep. A time will come--I do not think it is far from us--when this +golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flaming +meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of the +light and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable and +peaceful toil. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +LIFE AND SONG. + + +[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyrighted 1891, +and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.] + + +If life were caught by a clarionet, + And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, +Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, + And utter its heart in every deed, + +"Then would this breathing clarionet + Type what the poet fain would be; +For none o' the singers ever yet + Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, + +"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, + Or utterly bodied forth his life, +Or out of life and song has wrought + The perfect one of man and wife; + +"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song + Might each express the other's all, +Careless if life or art were long + Since both were one, to stand or fall: + +"So that the wonder struck the crowd, + Who shouted it about the land: +_His song was only living aloud, + His work, a singing with his hand_!" + +SIDNEY LANIER. + + * * * * * + + + +ELOQUENCE. + + +1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when +great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is +valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual +and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities +which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in +speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, +but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every +way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, +and in the occasion. + +2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may +aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the +outbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. +The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied +contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and +the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the +decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, +and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels +rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. + +3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear +conception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm +resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the +eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right +onward to his object,--this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something +greater and higher than all eloquence,--it is action, noble, sublime, +god-like action. + +DANIEL WEBSTER. + + * * * * * + + + +TRUTH AT LAST. + + +Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,-- +Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? +When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder +Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed +Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, +Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed +Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, +There was the end, where the crag dropped away? +Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, +Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell +That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, +Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. +As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, +And so went down.--'Tis something if at last, +Though only for a flash, a man may see +Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past, +From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +WORK. + + +1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the difference +between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests of +wise work:--that it must be honest, useful and cheerful. + +It is _Honest_. I hardly know anything more strange than that you +recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, you +have always some one to see what you call "fair-play." In boxing, you must +hit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is +"fair-_play_," your English hatred, "foul-_play_." Did it never +strike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-_work_," and +another and bitterer hatred,--"foul-_work_"? + +2. Then wise work is _Useful_. No man minds, or ought to mind, its +being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comes +to nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for +honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the next +breeze,--that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever ask +ourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming to +anything or not? + +3. Then wise work is _Cheerful_, as a child's work is. Everybody in +this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we +hear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he +"takes God's name in vain." But there's a twenty times worse way of taking +His name in vain than that. It is to _ask God for what we don't +want_. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the +worst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish for +His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than pray +for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what it +is. + +4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it. +Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "The +Kingdom of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not to come +outside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now +if we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into +it, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter into +it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a little +child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer little children to come +unto me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the Kingdom of +Heaven_." + +5. Of _such_, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such as +children. It is the _character_ of children we want and must gain. It +is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it is +cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for +nothing--being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whether +in its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's character +also. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty +of the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and +always ready for play--beautiful play. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK." + + +Our human speech is naught, +Our human testimony false, our fame +And human estimation words and wind. +Why take the artistic way to prove so much? +Because, it is the glory and good of Art, +That Art remains the one way possible +Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. +How look a brother in the face and say +"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, +Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, +And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!" +Say this as silvery as tongue can troll-- +The anger of the man may be endured, +The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him +Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, +That all this trouble comes of telling truth, +Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, +Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, +Nor recognizable by whom it left; +While falsehood would have done the work of truth. +But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men, +Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth +Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, +Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. +So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, +Beyond mere imagery on the wall,-- +So, note by note, bring music from your mind, +Deeper than ever the Adante dived,-- +So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, +Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. + + + * * * * * + +SELF-RELIANCE. + + +1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in +your private heart is true for all men,--that is genius. + +Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the +inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered +back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of +the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and +Milton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not +what men but what _they_ thought. + +2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which +flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament +of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because +it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; +they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. + +3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They +teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored +inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. +Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what +we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with +shame our own opinion from another. + +4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the +conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must +take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wide +universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but +through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to +till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he +knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. + +5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression +on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without +preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that +it might testify of that particular ray. + +6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine idea +which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and +of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his +work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put +his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done +otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not +deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no +invention, no hope. + +7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the +place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your +contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, +and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying +their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their +heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. + +8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same +transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, +not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers and +benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and the +Dark. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +RHODORA. + +ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER? + + +In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, +I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, +Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, +To please the desert and the sluggish brook. +The purple petals, fallen in the pool, +Made the black water with their beauty gay; +Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, +And court the flower that cheapens his array. +Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why +This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, +Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: +Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! +I never thought to ask, I never knew: +But in my simple ignorance, suppose +The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +EACH AND ALL. + + +Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, +Of thee from the hill-top looking down; +The heifer that lows in the upland farm, +Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; +The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, +Deems not that great Napoleon +Stops his horse, and lists with delight, +Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; +Nor knowest thou what argument +Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. +All are needed by each one; +Nothing is fair or good alone. + +I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, +Singing at dawn on the alder bough; +I brought him home, in his nest, at even; +He sings the song, but it cheers not now, +For I did not bring home the river and sky;-- +He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. + +The delicate shell lay on the shore; +The bubbles of the latest wave +Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, +And the bellowing of the savage sea +Greeted their safe escape to me. +I wiped away the weeds and foam, +I fetched my sea-born treasures home; +But the poor, unsightly, noisome things +Had left their beauty on the shore +With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. + +The lover watched his graceful maid, +As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, +Nor knew her beauty's best attire +Was woven still by the snow-white choir. +At last she came to his hermitage, +Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;-- +The gay enchantment was undone; +A gentle wife, but fairy none. + +Then I said, "I covet truth; +Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; +I leave it behind with the games of youth:"-- +As I spoke, beneath my feet +The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, +Running over the club-moss burrs; +I inhaled the violet's breath; +Around me stood the oaks and firs; +Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; +Over me soared the eternal sky, +Full of light and of deity; +Again I saw, again I heard, +The rolling river, the morning bird;-- +Beauty through my senses stole; +I yielded myself to the perfect whole. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON + + * * * * * + + + +COLUMBUS. + + +[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, +copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.] + +Behind him lay the gray Azores, + Behind the gates of Hercules; +Before him not the ghost of shores, + Before him only shoreless seas. +The good mate said, "Now must we pray, + For lo! the very stars are gone. +Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" + "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +"My men grow mutinous by day, + My men grow ghastly pale and weak." +The stout mate thought of home; a spray + Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, + If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" +"Why, you shall say at break of day, + 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, + Until at last the blanched mate said: +"Why, now, not even God would know + Should I and all my men fall dead. +These very winds forget their way, + For God from these dread seas has gone. +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- + He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" + +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: + "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. +He curls his lips, he lies in wait + With lifted teeth as if to bite! +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: + What shall we do when hope is gone?" +The words leapt like a leaping sword, + "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" + +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, + And peered through darkness. Ah, that night +Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- + A light! A light! A light! A light! +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! + It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, +He gained a world; he gave that world + Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" + +JOAQUIN MILLER. + + * * * * * + + + +MY LAST DUCHESS. + +FERRARA. + + +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. +"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace--all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked +Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked +My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this +"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat +The Count your Master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretence +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +"THE TALE." + + +What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time +--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or rhyme, +Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, +While your shoulder propped my head. + +Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, +That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, +Went where such like used to go, +Singing for a prize, you know. + +Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing, but play the lyre; +Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing; I desire, +Sir, you keep the fact in mind +For a purpose that's behind. + +There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, +--Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound +Sung or played amiss: such ears +Had old judges, it appears! + +None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune +Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, +Sure to smile "In vain one tries +Picking faults out: take the prize!" + +When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? +Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed +Such ill luck in store?--it happed +One of those same seven strings snapped. + +All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada"? Pooh!) +--Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew +With its little heart on fire +Lighted on the crippled lyre. + +So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string +Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling +Fiery heart forth, sound the note +Wanted by the throbbing throat? + +Ay and, ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, +Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed +Saves the singer from defeat +With her chirrup low and sweet. + +Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent +"Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? +Why, we took your lyre for harp, +So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + +Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? +That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son +Finds his Lotte's power too spent +For aiding soul development. + +No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, +Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir! I hope you understand!) +--Said "Some record there must be +Of this cricket's help to me!" + +So he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; +On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; +Never more apart you found +Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + +That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know +Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, +All so learned and so wise +And deserving of a prize! + +If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, +Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt +Sweet and low, when strength usurped +Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + +"For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- +With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made +'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain +Never to be heard again,-- + +"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place +Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass +Asked the treble to atone +For its somewhat sombre drone." + +But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls +To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him a girl's +"Love" comes aptly in when gruff +Grows his singing. (There, enough!) + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE. + + +Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star +In his steep course? So long he seems to pause +On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc! +The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base +Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, +Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, +How silently! Around thee, and above, +Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, +An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it +As with a wedge. But when I look again +It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, +Thy habitation from eternity. + +O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee +Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, +Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer +I worshipped the Invisible alone. +Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,-- +So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- +Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. +Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; +Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, +Into the mighty vision passing--there, +As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. + +Awake, my soul! not only passive praise +Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, +Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, +Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! +Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn! + +Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! +O, struggling with the darkness all the night, +And visited all night by troops of stars, +Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- +Companion of the morning-star at dawn, +Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn +Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise! +Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? +Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? +Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + +And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! +Who called you forth from night and utter death, +From dark and icy caverns called you forth, +Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks, +Forever shattered, and the same forever? +Who gave you your invulnerable life, +Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, +Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? +And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- +"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?" + +Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow +Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- +Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, +And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! +Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! +Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven +Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun +Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers +Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + +"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, +Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" +"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice +Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds +And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, +And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!" + +Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! +Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! +Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! +Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! +Ye signs and wonders of the elements! +Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! + +Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks +Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard +Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene +Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- +Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou +That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low +In adoration, upward from thy base +Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, +Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud +To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise! +Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! +Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, +Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, +Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, +And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, +Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. + +S.T. COLERIDGE. + + * * * * * + + + +MY STAR. + + +All that I know + Of a certain star +Is, it can throw + (Like the angled spar) +Now a dart of red, + Now a dart of blue, +Till my friends have said + They would fain see, too + +My star that dartles the red and the blue! +Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled; +They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. +What matter to me if their star is a world? +Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +A CONSERVATIVE. + + +The garden beds I wandered by + One bright and cheerful morn, +When I found a new-fledged butterfly + A-sitting on a thorn, +A black and crimson butterfly, + All doleful and forlorn. + +I thought that life could have no sting + To infant butterflies, +So I gazed on this unhappy thing + With wonder and surprise, +While sadly with his waving wing + He wiped his weeping eyes. + +Said I, "What can the matter be? + Why weepest thou so sore? +With garden fair and sunlight free + And flowers in goodly store--" +But he only turned away from me + And burst into a roar. + +Cried he, "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! +Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, +Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + +At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; +Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, +"You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + +"I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" +And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm; +"I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + +O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! +I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- +The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. + +CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN. + + * * * * * + + + +FIVE LIVES. + + +Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop +That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. +To the naked eye they lived invisible; +Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell +Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. + + One was a meditative monad, called a sage; +And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: +"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, +Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, +Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, +When I am very old, yon shimmering dome +Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" +Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt +No other mote of God had ever gained +Such giant grasp of universal truth. + + One was a transcendental monad; thin +And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused: +"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls! +Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool-- +"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought +In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, +And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. +Some taste they have like ours, some tendency +To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." +He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas +That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. + + One was a barren-minded monad, called +A positivist; and he knew positively: +"There is no world beyond this certain drop. +Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream +Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, +And higher and lower; life is life enough." +Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily +He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. + + One was a tattered monad, called a poet; +And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: +"Oh, the little female monad's lips! +Oh, the little female monad's eyes! +Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!" + + The last was a strong-minded monadess, +Who dashed amid the infusoria, +Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove +Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. + + But while they led their wondrous little lives +Æonian moments had gone wheeling by. +The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed; +A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. +The little ghost of an inaudible squeak +Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone; +Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox +Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, +Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +THE COMING OF ARTHUR. + +[_Abridged_.] + + +LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, +Had one fair daughter, and none other child; +And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, +Guinevere, and in her his one delight. + + For many a petty king ere Arthur came +Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war +Each upon other, wasted all the land; +And still from time to time the heathen host +Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. +And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, +Wherein the beast was ever more and more, +But man was less and less. . . . + + * * * * * + + And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, +Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, +And none or few to scare or chase the beast; +So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear +Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, +And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. + + * * * * * + + . . . . . And King Leodogran +Groan'd for the Roman legions here again +And Caesar's eagle. . . . . + + * * * * * + +He knew not whither he should turn for aid. + + But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, + . . . . . . . . . --the King +Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou! +For here between the man and beast we die.' + + And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, +But heard the call and came; and Guinevere +Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; +But since he neither wore on helm or shield +The golden symbol of his kinglihood, +But rode, a simple knight among his knights, +And many of these in richer arms than he, +She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, +One among many, tho' his face was bare. +But Arthur, looking downward as he past, +Felt the light of her eyes into his life +Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd +His tents beside the forest. Then he drave +The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd +The forest, letting in the sun, and made +Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight +And so returned. + + For while he linger'd there, +A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts +Of those great lords and barons of his realm +Flashed forth and into war; for most of these, +Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, +Made head against him crying: "Who is he +That should rule us? Who hath proven him +King Uther's son?" + + And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt +Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, +Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, +And thinking as he rode: "Her father said +That there between the man and beast they die. +Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts +Up to my throne and side by side with me? +What happiness to reign a lonely king? + + * * * * * + + . . . . But were I join'd with her, +Then might we live together as one life, +And reigning with one will in everything +Have power on this dark land to lighten it, +And power on this dead world to make it live." + + * * * * * + + When Arthur reached a field of battle bright +With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world +Was all so clear about him that he saw +The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, +And even in high day the morning star. + + * * * * * + + . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, +Made lightnings and great thunders over him, + And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, +And mightier of his hands with every blow, +And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. + + * * * * * + +So like a painted battle the war stood +Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, +And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. + + * * * * * + + Then quickly from the foughten field he sent + . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere + . . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran, +Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, +Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." + + Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart +Debating--"How should I that am a king, +However much he holp me at my need, +Give my one daughter saving to a king, +And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd +A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom +He trusted all things, and of him required +His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" + + * * * * * + +Then while the King debated with himself, + + * * * * * + + . . . . . there came to Cameliard, + + * * * * * + +Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; +Whom . . . . . . . . the King +Made feast for, as they sat at meat: + + * * * * * + +'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men +Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king-- +So many those that hate him, and so strong, +So few his knights, however brave they be-- +Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?' + + 'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, +Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; +For I was near him when the savage yells +Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat +Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, +"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will +Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones, +And simple words of great authority, +Bound them by so straight vows to his own self +That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some +Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, +Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes +Half blinded at the coming of a light. + +'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round +With large, divine, and comfortable words, +Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld +From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash +A momentary likeness of the King; + + * * * * * + + 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit +And hundred winters are but as the hands +Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. + + 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, +Who knew a subtler magic than his own-- +Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. +She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, +Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist +Of incense curl'd about her, and her face +Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; +But there was heard among the holy hymns +A voice as of the waters, for she dwells +Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms +May shake the world--and when the surface rolls, +Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' + + Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought +To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, +Fixing full eyes of question on her face, +'The swallow and the swift are near akin, +But thou art closer to this noble prince, +Being his own dear sister;' + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . 'What know I? +For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, +And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . + . . . . yea and dark was Uther too, +Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair +Beyond the race of Britons and of men. + + 'But let me tell thee now another tale: + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . on the night +When Uther in Tintagil past away +Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin +Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, + + * * * * * + +Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps +It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof +A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern +Bright with a shining people on the decks, +And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He + . . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall, +Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, +Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep +And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged +Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: +And down the wave and in the flame was borne +A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, +Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!" + + * * * * * + +And presently thereafter follow'd calm, +Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said, +"Is he who reigns." . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . And ever since the Lords +Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, +So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, +This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come-- +Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, +Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King," +A hundred voices cried: "Away with him! +No king of ours!" . . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, +And while the people clamor'd for a king, +Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords +Banded, and so brake out in open war. + + * * * * * + + . . . . and Merlin in our time +Hath spoken also, . . . . . +Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, +But pass, again to come, and then or now +Utterly smite the heathen under foot, +Till these and all men hail him for their king.' + + . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, +But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?' +Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, +Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, +Field after field, up to a height, the peak +Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, +Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope +The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, +Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, +In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, +Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze +And made it thicker; while the phantom king +Sent out at times a voice; and here or there +Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest +Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, +No son of Uther, and no king of ours;' +Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze +Descended, and the solid earth became +As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, +Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent + + * * * * * + +Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. + + Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved +And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth +And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates: +And Lancelot past away among the flowers-- +For then was latter April--and return'd-- +Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. +To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, +Chief of the church in Britain, and before +The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King +That morn was married, while in stainless white, +The fair beginners of a noble time, +And glorying in their vows and him, his knights +Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. +Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, +The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, +The sun of May descended on their King, +They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, +Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns +A voice as of the waters, while the two +Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. +And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. +Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!' +To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, +'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!' +And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake: +'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world +Other, and may the Queen be one with thee, +And all this Order of thy Table Round +Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!' + + * * * * * + +And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:-- + + '_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!! +Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away! +Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!" + + '_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? +Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, +Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + '_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard +That God hath told the King a secret word. +Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, +The king is king, and ever wills the highest. +Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_The King will follow Christ, and we the King, +In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. +Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!" + + +And Arthur and his knighthood for a space +Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King +Drew in the petty princedoms under him, +Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame +The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +ELAINE. + + +Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, +Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, +High in her chamber up a tower to the east +Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; +Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray +Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam; +Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it +A case of silk, and braided thereupon +All the devices blazon'd on the shield +In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, +A border fantasy of branch and flower, +And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. +Nor rested thus content, but day by day +Leaving her household and good father, climb'd +That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, +Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, +Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, +Now made a pretty history to herself +Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, +And every scratch a lance had made upon it, +Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; +That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; +That at Cearleon; this at Camelot; +And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there! +And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God +Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, +And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON + + * * * * * + + + +THE LADY OF SHALOTT. + +PART I. + + +On either side the river lie +Long fields of barley and of rye, +That clothe the wold and meet the sky; +And thro' the field the road runs by + To many-tower'd Camelot +And up and down the people go, +Gazing where the lilies blow +Round an island there below, + The Island of Shalott. + +Willows whiten, aspens quiver, +Little breezes, dusk and shiver +Thro' the wave that runs for ever +By the island in the river + Flowing down to Camelot. +Four gray walls, and four gray towers, +Overlook a space of flowers, +And the silent isle imbowers + The lady of Shalott. + +By the margin, willow-veil'd, +Slide the heavy barges trail'd +By slow horses; and unhail'd +The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd + Skimming down to Camelot: +But who hath seen her wave her hand? +Or at the casement seen her stand? +Or is she known in all the land, + The Lady of Shalott? + +Only reapers, reaping early +In among the bearded barley, +Hear a song that echoes cheerly, +From the river winding clearly, + Down to tower'd Camelot; +And by the moon the reaper weary, +Piling sheaves in uplands airy, +Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy + Lady of Shalott." + + +PART II. + +There she weaves by night and day +A magic web with colors gay. +She has heard a whisper say, +A curse is on her if she stay + To look down to Camelot. +She knows not what the curse may be, +And so she weaveth steadily, +And little other care hath she, + The Lady of Shalott. + +And moving thro' a mirror clear +That hangs before her all the year, +Shadows of the world appear. +There she sees the highway near + Winding down to Camelot; +There the river eddy whirls, +And there the surly village-churls, +And the red cloaks of market-girls, + Pass onward from Shalott. + +Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, +An abbot on an ambling pad, +Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, +Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, + Goes by to tower'd Camelot; +And sometimes thro' the mirror blue +The knights come riding two and two; +She hath no loyal knight and true, + The Lady of Shalott. + +But in her web she still delights +To weave the mirror's magic sights, +For often thro' the silent nights +A funeral, with plumes and lights, + And music, went to Camelot: +Or when the moon was overhead, +Came two young lovers lately wed: +"I am half sick of shadows" said + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART III. + +A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, +He rode between the barley sheaves, +The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, +And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot. +A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd +To a lady in his shield, +That sparkled on the yellow field, + Beside remote Shalott. + +The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, +Like to some branch of stars we see +Hung in the Golden Galaxy. +The bridle bells rang merrily + As he rode down to Camelot; +And from his blazon'd baldric slung +A mighty silver bugle hung, +And as he rode his armor rung, + Beside remote Shalott. + +All in the blue unclouded weather +Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. +The helmet and the helmet-feather +Burned like one burning flame together, + As he rode down to Camelot; +As often through the purple night, +Below the starry clusters bright, +Some bearded meteor, trailing light, + Moves over still Shalott. + +His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; +On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; +From underneath his helmet flow'd +His coal-black curls as on he rode, + As he rode down to Camelot. +From the bank and from the river +He flashed into the crystal mirror, +"Tirra lirra" by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot. + +She left the web, she left the loom, +She made three paces thro' the room, +She saw the water-lily bloom, +She saw the helmet and the plume, + She looked down to Camelot. +Out flew the web and floated wide; +The mirror cracked from side to side; +"The curse is come upon me," cried + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART IV. + +In the stormy east-wind straining, +The pale yellow woods are waning, +The broad stream in his banks complaining, +Heavily the low sky raining + Over tower'd Camelot; +Down she came and found a boat +Beneath a willow left afloat, +And round about the prow she wrote + The Lady of Shalott. + +And down the river's dim expanse +Like some bold seer in a trance, +Seeing all his own mischance-- +With a glassy countenance + Did she look to Camelot. +And at the closing of the day +She loosed the chain, and down she lay; +The broad stream bore her far away, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Lying, robed in snowy white +That loosely flew to left and right-- +The leaves upon her falling light-- +Thro' the noises of the night + She floated down to Camelot; +And as the boat-head wound along +The willowy hills and fields among, +They heard her singing her last song, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Heard a carol, mournful, holy, +Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, +Til' her blood was frozen slowly, +And her eyes were darken'd wholly, + Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. +For ere she reached upon the tide +The first house by the water-side, +Singing in her song she died. + The Lady of Shalott. + +Under tower and balcony, +By garden-wall and gallery, +A gleaming shape she floated by, +Dead-pale between the houses high, + Silent into Camelot. +Out upon the wharfs they came, +Knight and burgher, lord and dame, +And round the prow they read her name + _The Lady of Shalott_. + +Who is this? and what is here? +And in the lighted palace near +Died the sound of royal cheer; +And they crossed themselves for fear, + All the knights at Camelot: +But Lancelot mused a little space; +He said "She has a lovely face; +God in his mercy lend her grace, + The Lady of Shalott." + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +IF WE HAD THE TIME. + + +If I had the time to find a place +And sit me down full face to face + With my better self, that cannot show + In my daily life that rushes so: +It might be then I would see my soul +Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, + I might be nerved by the thought sublime,-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to let my heart +Speak out and take in my life a part, + To look about and to stretch a hand + To a comrade quartered in no-luck land; +Ah, God! If I might but just sit still +And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, + I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to learn from you +How much for comfort my word could do; + And I told you then of my sudden will + To kiss your feet when I did you ill; +If the tears aback of the coldness feigned +Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,-- + Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, + If we had the time! + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. +"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS." + + +_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the +King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After +drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug +sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and +proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through +which he passes. + +The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice +has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires +him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be +selected. + +These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow +standing near. + +Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice +Shallow. + +_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is +Justice Shallow? + +_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, +and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure +with me? + +_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir +John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. + +_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. +How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter +Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. +By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir +John. + +_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. +Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a +dozen sufficient men? + +_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you. + +_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let +me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry +sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do +so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you. + +_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young, +strong, and of good friends. + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you. + +_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are +mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. +Shall I prick him, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him. + +_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let +me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and +her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter +to go out than I. + +_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you +are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow? + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to +be a cold soldier. + +_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow? + +_Shadow_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou? + +_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. +Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer. + +_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart! + +_Falstaff_.--Where's he? + +_Wart_.--Here, sir! + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart? + +_Wart_.--Yea, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his +back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend +you well.--Francis Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble? + +_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes +in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? + +_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. + +_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous +Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous +mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master +Shallow. + +_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend +him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? + +_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green. + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. + +_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till +he roar again. + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,-- + +_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man. + +_Falstaff_.--What disease hast thou? + +_Bullcalf_.--A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have +away with thy cold. Is here all? + +_Shallow_.--Here is two more than your number. You must have but four +here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, I will go drink with you. + +(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_.) + +_Bullcalf_.--(_Approaching Bardolph_.) Good Master Corporate +Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French +crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; +and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am +unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; +else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much. + +_Bardolph_.--(_Pocketing the money_.) Go to; stand aside. + +_Feeble_.--By my troth, I care not. + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER. + + +_Introduction_.--The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. +Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A +temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for +something to turn up. + +Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is +holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of +the children are scattered about the floor. + +Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of +creditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:-- + +(_Mrs. Micawber_.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be +calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give +him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking +now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in, +Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in. + +_Heep_.--Is Mr. Micawber in? + +_Mrs. Mic_.--No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no +stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's +affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch +cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,--and +including the twins,--there is nothing to eat in the house. + +_Heep_.--How dreadful! (_Aside_.) The very man for my purpose. +(_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing. +Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.) + +_Micawber_.--(_Not seeing Heep_.) The clouds have gathered, the +storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of +Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in +my misery! + +_Mrs. Mic_.--I'll never desert my Micawber! + +_Mic_.--In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!" +But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving +materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_) +sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see +you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, +if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would +have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the +momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent +collision with a minion of the law,--in short, with a ribald turncock +attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been +cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum! + +_Heep_.--Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of +your indebtedness? + +_Mic_.--It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc., +some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny. + +_Heep_.--I'll pay it for you. + +_Mic_.--My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I +admit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_.) Enter +myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. +(_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_.) + +_Heep_.--Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to +giving me your I.O.U. for the amount. + +_Mic_.--Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any +species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me, +Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of +memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_.) I suppose this is +renewable on the usual term? + +_Heep_.--Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the +position of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield and +Heep. + +_Mic_.--What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no +hesitation in saying something has at last turned up! + +_Heep_.--You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to +speak a few words to your husband in private. + +_Mrs. Mic_.--Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper! + +_Mic_.--My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent! +Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, and +another score may be begun at the butcher's.--Heep, precede me. Emma, my +love. _Au Revoir_. + +(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_.) + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + + CHARACTERS. + + OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, + + HAM PEGGOTTY, + + DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +_Introduction_.--The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time +is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is +snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and +Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little +Em'ly home from her work,--and the old fisherman sits smoking his +evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth +and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and +David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him. + +_Old Peg_.--Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're +the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw +right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's +a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when +there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. +Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights a +candle and puts it on the table by the window_.) Theer we are! Theer we +are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin' +what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for +my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter +dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home +from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the +table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,--first, Em'ly sees it and +she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't +here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r +Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am. +(_Walks towards table_.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to +consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine. + +See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little +Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door to +meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_.) + +_Ham_.--She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even +now! She's gone! + +_Peggotty_.--Gone!! + +_Ham_.--Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I +pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her +come to disgrace and shame. + +_Peggotty_.--Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must have +proof--proof. + +_Ham_.--Read that writin'. + +_Peggotty_.--No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy. +Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand. + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away." + +_Peggotty_.--Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little +Em'ly fur away! Well? + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he brings +me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try +to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My +last love and last tears for Uncle." + +_Peggotty_.--Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man's +name. + +_Ham_.--It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know. + +_Peggotty_.--What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you? + +_Ham_.--Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain! + +_Peggotty_.--Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it, +Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat. + +_David_.--Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty? + +_Peggotty_.--I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm +going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as +I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, +and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly +throughout the wide wurrety! + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN. + + +_Introduction_.--This scene introduces the following +characters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, +true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his +desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his +sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest. + +It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle +on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond +of mine has been around this way. + +_Moya_.--Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of his +own? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His +father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way. + +_Moya_.--I thought your husband was drowned at sea? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--And bless him, so he was. + +_Moya_.--Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betther +never drhawed the breath o' life. + +_Moya_.--But you say he never was sober. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Niver! An' Conn takes afther him! + +_Moya_.--Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good +dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands. + +_Moya_.--Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken +yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--but +dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'. + +_Moya_.--Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a +gintleman is called a blackguard. + +(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_.) + +_Conn_.--(_At left_.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya, +Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as +he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems +to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_.) +Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word +that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes his +finger at his mother_.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very +minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But +she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck +for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a +kiss. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been +in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse. + +_Conn_.--Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his +paddock this minute. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'? + +_Conn_.--Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a +man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this +was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the +cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, +my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye +ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the +churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground! +Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide +me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to +her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their +yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox +went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to +the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field +came roaring past. + +The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye +divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth. +Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home, +now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her. + +Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was +over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; +"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried +me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of +the hounds, Squire Foley himself. + +He turned the color of his leather breeches. + +"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brown +mare?" + +"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!" + +"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire. + +"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!" + +_Moya_.--(_Laughing_.) And what did he say to that, Conn? + +_Conn_.--I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone +wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--You'll get a month in jail for this. + +_Conn_.--Well, it was worth it. + +BOUCICAULT. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 10491-8.txt or 10491-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10491/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Practice Book + +Author: Leland Powers + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10491] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>PRACTICE BOOK</h1> + + <h2>LELAND POWERS SCHOOL</h2> + + <h5>Copyright, 1909</h5> + + <h3>IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.</h3> + <hr /> + + <p>My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the + reprinting of copyrighted selections, I would here publicly + express. To Little, Brown & Company I am indebted for the use + of the extract called "Eloquence," which is taken from a + discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company for + the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, + entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard + Company for the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & + Company for the extracts from the works of John Ruskin. The + selections from Sill and Emerson are used by permission of, and + by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Company, + publishers of their works.</p> + + <p>The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental + Vocal Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few + exceptions, are taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis + B. Monroe, and are here reprinted through the courtesy of the + American Book Company.</p> + + <p>LELAND POWERS.</p><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3>INDEX</h3> + + <table summary="table of contents"> + <tr> + <td><a href="#across">ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE</a>,</td> + + <td><i>Richard Burton</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#brook">BROOK, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#cavalier">CAVALIER TUNE</a>S<br /> + I. Give a Rouse.<br /> + II. Boot and Saddle.</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#columbus">COLUMBUS</a></td> + + <td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#coming">COMING OF ARTHUR, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#conservative">CONSERVATIVE, A</a></td> + + <td><i>Charlotte Perkins Gilman</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#each">EACH AND ALL</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#elaine">ELAINE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#eloquence">ELOQUENCE</a></td> + + <td><i>Daniel Webster</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#exercises_vocal">EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL + EXPRESSION</a></td> + + <td> </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#exercises_transition">EXERCISES FOR + TRANSITION</a></td> + + <td> </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#fezziwig">FEZZIWIG BALL, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#five">FIVE LIVES</a></td> + + <td><i>Edward Rowland Sill</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#green">GREEN THINGS GROWING</a></td> + + <td><i>Dinah Mulock Craik</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#herve">HERVÉ RIEL</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#time">IF WE HAD THE TIME</a></td> + + <td><i>Richard Burton</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#lady">LADY OF SHALOTT, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#laughing">LAUGHING CHORUS, A</a></td> + + <td><br /></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#life">LIFE AND SONG</a></td> + + <td><i>Sidney Lanier</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#lochinvar">LOCHINVAR</a></td> + + <td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#mont">MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE</a></td> + + <td><i>S.T. Coleridge</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#duchess">MY LAST DUCHESS</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#star">MY STAR</a></td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#pippa">PIPPA PASSES</a>, Extracts from<br /> + I. Day.<br /> + II. The Year's at Spring.</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#rhodora">RHODORA, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#ring">RING AND THE BOOK, THE</a>, Extract + from</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#copper_i">SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, + I</a>.</td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#copper_ii">SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, + II</a>.</td> + + <td><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#henry">SCENE FROM KING HENRY + IV</a>—"Falstaff's Recruits"</td> + + <td><i>William Shakespeare</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#shaughraun">SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN</a></td> + + <td><i>Boucicault</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#reliance">SELF-RELIANCE</a></td> + + <td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#tale">TALE, THE</a>—From The Two Poets of + Croisic</td> + + <td><i>Robert Browning</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#wealth">TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE</a></td> + + <td><i>John Ruskin</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#truth">TRUTH AT LAST</a></td> + + <td><i>Edward Rowland Sill</i></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><a href="#work">WORK</a></td> + + <td><i>John Ruskin</i></td> + </tr> + </table><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h2><a name="exercises_vocal" + id="exercises_vocal">EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL + EXPRESSION.</a></h2><br /> + <br /> + + + <p>The exercises under each chapter have <i>primarily</i> the + characteristics of that chapter, and <i>secondarily</i> the + characteristics of the other two chapters.</p><br /> + + <h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + <h3>VITALITY.</h3> + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF <i>Power, + Largeness, Freedom, Animation, Movement</i>.</p> + <pre> +1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids: + Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! + Rise up and ride both fast and far! + The sea flows over bolt and bar." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to + co-operate with the laws of man and the justice of heaven."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, + And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, + And heard the priest chant the Magnificat." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Then the master, + With a gesture of command, + Waved his hand; + And at the word, + Loud and sudden there was heard + All around them and below + The sound of hammers, blow on blow, + Knocking away the shores and spurs. + And see! she stirs! + She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel + The thrill of life along her keel, + And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, + She leaps into the ocean's arms!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "Under his spurning feet, the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind, + Like an ocean flying before the wind." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, + Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! + Now for a madcap galloping chase! + I'll make a commotion in every place!'" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +9. "It is done! + Clang of bell and roar of gun! + Send the tidings up and down. + How the belfries rock and reel! + How the great guns, peal on peal, + Fling the joy from town to town!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! + How high you lift your heads into the sky! + How huge you are, how mighty and how free! + Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile + Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, + Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear + Of awe divine." + +</pre> + <hr /> + + <h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + <h3>MENTALITY.</h3> + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF + <i>Reflection</i> OR <i>Processes</i> OF <i>Thought, Clearness, + Definiteness</i>.</p> + + <p>1. "Beyond the street a tower,—beyond the tower a + moon,—beyond the moon a star,—beyond the Star, + what?"</p> + <pre> +2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; + Carve every word before you let it fall; + Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, + Try overhard to roll the British R; + Do put your accents in the proper spot; + Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' + And when you stick on conversation's burrs, + Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; + Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, + And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,-- + No more:" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first +characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls +itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's +sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "<i>Brutus</i>. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. + +<i>Lucius</i>. I will, my lord. (<i>Exit</i>.) + +<i>Brutus</i>. It must be by his death: and for my part, + I know no cause to spurn at him, + But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- + How that might change his nature, there's the question. + It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; + And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- + And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, + That at his will he may do danger with." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word +was God. The same was in the beginning with God." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, +comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of +his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a <i>fine</i> art, and +good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. +Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, +all beauty is in the long run only <i>fineness</i> of truth, or what we +call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +<br />8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, +under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called +cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, +and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. +These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and +for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the +power of the others latent in him, and his own patent." +</pre> + + <h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + + <h3>MORALITY.</h3><br /> + + + <p>MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF <i>Purpose, + Love, Harmony, Poise, Values</i>.</p> + + <p>1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich + trundling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite + bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long + for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call + halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, 'In Heaven's name, + No!'"</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "Flower in the crannied wall, + I pluck you out of the crannies;-- + Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, + Little flower--but if I could understand + What you are, root and all, and all in all, + I should know what God and man is." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam + of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the + dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as + though attracted by his sunny heart."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "<i>Portia</i> You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am; though for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Listen to the water-mill; + Through the livelong day, + How the clicking of its wheels + Wears the hours away! + Languidly the autumn wind + Stirs the forest leaves, + From the fields the reapers sing, + Binding up their sheaves; + And a proverb haunts my mind, + As a spell is cast; + 'The mill can never grind + With the water that is past.'" +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little + that is good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast + all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and + become lost and dead."</p> + <hr /> + + <p>7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a + distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the + surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast + of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were + the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had + fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed + off by the waves.</p> + + <p>"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be + ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many + months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long + sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, are the + crew? Their struggle has long been over. They have gone down + amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie whitening among + the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have + closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their + end."</p> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home." +</pre> + <hr /> + + <p>9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all + generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever + thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting + to everlasting, thou art God."</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3><a name="exercises_transition" + id="exercises_transition">EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION.</a></h3> + <pre> +1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- + Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, + Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, + Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + "Ah! few shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulcher." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! + Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near + More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! + Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! + Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! + Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? + Came not faint whispers near? + No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh + Amid the foliage sere." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +5. "Her giant form + O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, + Majestically calm, would go, + Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! + But gentler now the small waves glide, + Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. + So stately her bearing, so proud her array, + The main she will traverse for ever and aye. + Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. + Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly + Ripple the silence deep! + No; the swans that, circling nightly, + Through the silver waters sweep. + + "See I not, there, a white shimmer? + Something with pale silken shrine? + No; it is the column's glimmer, + 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! + ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,' + And the Duchess claps her hands. + + "Slow and tired came the hunters; + Stopped in darkness in the court. + 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport, what sport.' + + "Slow they entered with their master; + In the hall they laid him down. + On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, + Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,-- + Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, + Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,-- + Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, + Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; + Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, + Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words." +</pre><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h3>SELECTIONS.</h3> + <hr /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="herve" + id="herve">HERVÉ RIEL.</a></h4> + <pre> +On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, +Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! +And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, +Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, +Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + +'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; +First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; + Close on him fled, great and small, + Twenty-two good ships in all; + And they signalled to the place, + "Help the winners of a race! +Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + +Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; +"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: +"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, +Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, +Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, +Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, + And with flow at full beside? + Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. + Reach the mooring? Rather say, + While rock stands or water runs, + Not a ship will leave the bay!" + + Then was called a council straight. + Brief and bitter the debate: +"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow +All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, + For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- + Better run the ships aground!" + (Ended Damfreville his speech.) + "Not a minute more to wait! + Let the captains all and each +Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! + France must undergo her fate. + Give the word!"--But no such word + Was ever spoke or heard; +For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these +A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? + No such man of mark, and meet + With his betters to compete! +But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- +A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. + +And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel; +"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? +Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell +On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, +'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues? +Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? + Morn and eve, night and day, + Have I piloted your bay, +Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. +Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! +Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! + Only let me lead the line, + Have the biggest ship to steer, + Get this 'Formidable' clear, + Make the others follow mine, +And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, + Right to Solidor, past Grève, + And there lay them safe and sound; + And if one ship misbehave,-- + Keel so much as grate the ground, +Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel. + + Not a minute more to wait. + "Steer us in, then, small and great! +Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. + "Captains, give the sailor place! + He is Admiral, in brief." + Still the north-wind, by God's grace! + See the noble fellow's face + As the big ship with a bound, + Clears the entry like a hound, +Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! + See, safe through shoal and rock, + How they follow in a flock. +Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, + Not a spar that comes to grief! + The peril, see, is past, + All are harbored to the last, +And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, + Up the English come, too late. + + So, the storm subsides to calm; + They see the green trees wave + On the heights o'erlooking Grève. + Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. + "Just our rapture to enhance, + Let the English rake the bay, + Gnash their teeth and glare askance + As they cannonade away! +Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" +Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! + Out burst all with one accord, + "This is Paradise for hell! + Let France, let France's king, + Thank the man that did the thing!" + What a shout, and all one word, + "Hervé Riel!" + As he stepped in front once more, + Not a symptom of surprise + In the frank blue Breton eyes, + Just the same man as before. + + Then said Damfreville, "My friend, + I must speak out at the end, + Though I find the speaking hard. + Praise is deeper than the lips; + You have saved the King his ships, + You must name your own reward. + Faith, our sun was near eclipse! + Demand whate'er you will, + France remains your debtor still +Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!" + + Then a beam of fun outbroke + On the bearded mouth that spoke, + As the honest heart laughed through + Those frank eyes of Breton blue: + "Since I needs must say my say, + Since on board the duty's done, +And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- + Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- + Since the others go ashore-- + Come! A good whole holiday! +Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" + That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. + Name and deed alike are lost: + Not a pillar nor a post + In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; + Not a head in white and black + On a single fishing-smack, +In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack +All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. + Go to Paris; rank on rank + Search the heroes flung pell-mell + On the Louvre, face and flank! +You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. + So, for better and for worse, + Hervé Riel, accept my verse! + In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more +Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore! + +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="lochinvar" + id="lochinvar">LOCHINVAR.</a></h4> + <pre> +I. + +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- +Through all the wild border his steed was the best! +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + + +II. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love and a dastard in war +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + + +III. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, +'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + + +IV. + +"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + + +V. + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; +"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. + + +VI. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret and her father did fume, +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + + +VII. + +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung +So light to the saddle before her he sprung: +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + + +VIII. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee; +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? +</pre> + + <p>SIR WALTER SCOTT.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="pippa" + id="pippa">EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.</a></h4> + <pre> +1. "DAY." + +Day! +Faster and more fast; +O'er night's brim, day boils at last: +Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim +Where spurting and suppressed it lay, +For not a froth-flake touched the rim +Of yonder gap in the solid gray, +Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; +But forth one wavelet, then another curled, +Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, +Rose, reddened, and its seething breast +Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. + +Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, +A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, +The least of thy gazes or glances, +(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) +One of thy choices or one of thy chances, +(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) +--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, +Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hillside's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="fezziwig" + id="fezziwig">THE FEZZIWIG BALL.</a></h4> + + <p>Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, + which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted + his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes + to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, + oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! + Dick!"</p> + + <p>A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young + man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.</p> + + <p>"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. + Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters + up, before a man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and + let's have lots of room here!"</p> + + <p>Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, + or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It + was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were + dismissed from public life forevermore; the floor was swept and + watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; + and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright a + ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.</p> + + <p>In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty + desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty + stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. + In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came + the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the + young men and women employed in the business. In came the + housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her + brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one + after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some + awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow + and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands + half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up + again; round and round in various stages of affectionate + grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; + new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all + top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this + result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to + Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged + his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that + purpose.</p> + + <p>There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more + dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a + great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold + Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer. But the + great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when + the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig + stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a + good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and + twenty pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; + people who <i>would</i> dance, and had no notion of walking.</p> + + <p>But if they had been twice as many,—four + times,—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them and so + would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to <i>her</i>, she was worthy to be his + partner in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to + issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the + dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would + become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had + gone all through the dance,—advance and retire, turn your + partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back + again to your place,—Fezziwig "cut,"—cut so deftly, + that he appeared to wink with his legs.</p> + + <p>When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. + and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the + door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or + she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody + had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; + and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to + their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="brook" + id="brook">THE BROOK.</a></h4> + <pre> +I. + +I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, +And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + +II. + +By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges; +By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + +III. + +I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, +I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + +IV. + +With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, +And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + +V. + +I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + +VI. + +I wind about and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, +And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling. + + +VII. + +And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me as I travel +With many a silvery water-break + Above the golden gravel. + + +VIII. + +I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers, +I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + +IX. + +I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; +I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + +X. + +I murmur, under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses, +I linger by my shingly bars, + I loiter round my cresses. + + +XI. + +And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="laughing" + id="laughing">A LAUGHING CHORUS.</a></h4> + + <p>[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, + 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company.]</p> + <pre> +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro. +And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the breath of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="cavalier" + id="cavalier">CAVALIER TUNES.</a></h4> + <pre> +1. GIVE A ROUSE. + +King Charles, and who'll do him right now? +King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? +Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, +King Charles! + +Who gave me the goods that went since? +Who raised me the house that sank once? +Who helped me to gold I spent since? +Who found me in wine you drank once? + + +<i>Cho</i>. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + +To whom used my boy George quaff else, +By the old fool's side that begot him? +For whom did he cheer and laugh else, +While Noll's damned troopers shot him. + +<i>Cho</i>. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +II. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + +Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! +Rescue my castle before the hot day +Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; +Many's the friend there, will listen and pray +"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!" + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, +Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array: +Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + +Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, +Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! +I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + +<i>Cho</i>. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + +ROBERT BROWNING. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="across" + id="across"></a>ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE.</h4> + + <p>From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields + a mile to the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage + of Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife.</p> + <pre> +How often in the summer tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan +Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne! + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who should say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path wheron I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn poet and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne! +</pre> + + <p>RICHARD BURTON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="green" + id="green">GREEN THINGS GROWING.</a></h4> + <pre> +The green things growing, the green things growing, +The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! +I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, +Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. + +Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! +How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; +In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight +Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. + +I love, I love them so--my green things growing! +And I think that they love me, without false showing; +For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, +With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. + +And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, +Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing: +Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, +Many, many a summer of my green things growing! + +But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, +Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, +Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, +If I may change into green things growing. +</pre> + + <p>DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="wealth" + id="wealth">THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH.</a></h4> + + <p>1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; + namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents + are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that while + we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so long as it + is considered metaphorical, we never accept its meaning in its + own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form of a + story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use + of: the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's + money. Well, we in our poetical and spiritual application of + this, say that of course money doesn't mean money—it means + wit, it means intellect, it means influence in high quarters, it + means everything in the world except itself.</p> + + <p>2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off + there is for most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, + if we had wit, we would use it for the good of our + fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of course, if we had + influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good of the + church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, + if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the + nation; but we have no political power; we have no talents + entrusted to us of any sort or kind. It is true, we have a little + money, but the parable can't possibly mean anything so vulgar as + money; our money's our own.</p> + + <p>3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will + feel that the first and most literal application is just as + necessary a one as any other—that the story does very + specially mean what it says—plain money; and that the + reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of tacit + idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of + birth and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be + laid out for the Giver,—our wealth has not been given to + us; but we have worked for it, and have a right to spend it as we + choose. I think you will find that is the real substance of our + understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, is given by + God—it is a talent; strength is given by God—it is a + talent; but money is proper wages for our day's work—it is + not a talent, it is a due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, + if we have worked for it.</p> + + <p>4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it + not that the very power of making the money is itself only one of + the applications of that intellect or strength which we confess + to be talents. Why is one man richer than another? Because he is + more industrious, more persevering, and more sagacious. Well, who + made him more persevering and more sagacious than others? That + power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that calmness + of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others + lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others + fail—are these not talents?—are they not, in the + present state of the world, among the most distinguished and + influential of mental gifts?</p> + + <p>5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly + ashamed to use a superiority of body in order to thrust our + weaker companions aside from some place of advantage, we + unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind to thrust them back + from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? You would be + indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or + lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his + feeble neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the + back seats or the street. You would be equally indignant if you + saw a stout fellow thrust himself up to a table where some hungry + children are being fed, and reach his arm over their heads and + take their bread from them.</p> + + <p>6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has + stoutness of thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of + being long-armed only, has the much greater gift of being + long-headed—you think it perfectly just that he should use + his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths of all the + other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or use + his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the + commerce of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is + himself the central spider, making every thread vibrate with the + points of his claws, and commanding every avenue with the facets + of his eyes. You see no injustice in this.</p> + + <p>7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which + honorable men will at no very distant period disdain to be + guilty. In some degree, however, it is indeed not unjust; in some + degree it is necessary and intended. It is assuredly just that + idleness should be surpassed by energy; that the widest influence + should be possessed by those who are best able to wield it; and + that a wise man at the end of his career, should be better off + than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be wretched, + utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his + conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so.</p> + + <p>8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might + tread upon them, and starve them, and get the better of them in + every possible way? By no means. They were made that wise people + might take care of them. That is the true and plain fact + concerning the relations of every strong and wise man to the + world about him. He has his strength given him, not that he may + crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his + own household he is to be the guide and the support of his + children; out of his household he is still to be the father, that + is, the guide and support, of the weak and the poor; not merely + of the meritoriously weak and the innocently poor, but of the + guilty and punishably poor; of the men who ought to have known + better—of the poor who ought to be ashamed of + themselves.</p> + + <p>9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who + has lost her son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the + workman who has broken his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in + sickness. But it is something to use your time and strength in + war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness of mankind to keep + the erring workman in your service till you have made him an + unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the + opportunity which his dullness would have lost.</p> + + <p>10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully + achieved the superiority which is due to you, and acquired the + wealth which is the fitting reward of your sagacity, if you + solemnly accept the responsibility of it, as it is the helm and + guide of labor far and near. For you who have it in your hands, + are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the State. + It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or + evil, just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a + prince, or military command to a captain. And according to the + quantity of it you have in your hands, you are arbiters of the + will and work of the nation; and the whole issue, whether the + work of the State shall suffice for the State or not, depends + upon you.</p> + + <p>11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the + laborers, and say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue + this obstacle that has baffled our fathers; put away this plague + that consumes our children; water these dry places, plough these + desert ones, carry this food to those who are in hunger; carry + this light to those who are in darkness; carry this life to those + who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: "Here am I; + this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to be + throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that + men may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for + my feet, that I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, + dance before me, that I may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and + die in honor." And better than such an honorable death it were, + that the day had perished wherein we were born.</p> + + <p>12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our + rich men, who, through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit + the glorious office which is intended for their hands. I said, + just now, that wealth ill-used was as the net of the spider, + entangling and destroying; but wealth well-used, is as the net of + the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out of the deep. A + time will come—I do not think it is far from us—when + this golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as + the flaming meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with + them the joy of the light and the dew of the morning, as well as + the summons to honorable and peaceful toil.</p> + + <p>JOHN RUSKIN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="life" + id="life">LIFE AND SONG.</a></h4> + + <p>[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," + copyrighted 1891, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.]</p> + <pre> +If life were caught by a clarionet, + And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, +Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, + And utter its heart in every deed, + +"Then would this breathing clarionet + Type what the poet fain would be; +For none o' the singers ever yet + Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, + +"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, + Or utterly bodied forth his life, +Or out of life and song has wrought + The perfect one of man and wife; + +"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song + Might each express the other's all, +Careless if life or art were long + Since both were one, to stand or fall: + +"So that the wonder struck the crowd, + Who shouted it about the land: +<i>His song was only living aloud, + His work, a singing with his hand</i>!" +</pre> + + <p>SIDNEY LANIER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="eloquence" + id="eloquence">ELOQUENCE.</a></h4> + + <p>1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous + occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions + excited, nothing is valuable in speech farther than as it is + connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, + force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce + conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. + It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for + it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be + marshalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must + exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.</p> + + <p>2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of + declamation, all may aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It + comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of volcanic fires, + with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in + the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of + speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate + of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the + decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric + is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius + itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of + higher qualities.</p> + + <p>3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is + eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning deductions of logic, + the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, + speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every + feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his + object,—this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something + greater and higher than all eloquence,—it is action, noble, + sublime, god-like action.</p> + + <p>DANIEL WEBSTER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="truth" + id="truth">TRUTH AT LAST.</a></h4> + <pre> +Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,-- +Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? +When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder +Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed +Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, +Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed +Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, +There was the end, where the crag dropped away? +Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, +Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell +That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, +Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. +As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, +And so went down.--'Tis something if at last, +Though only for a flash, a man may see +Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past, +From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. +</pre> + + <p>EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="work" + id="work">WORK.</a></h4> + + <p>1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the + difference between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There + are three tests of wise work:—that it must be honest, + useful and cheerful.</p> + + <p>It is <i>Honest</i>. I hardly know anything more strange than + that you recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your + lightest games, you have always some one to see what you call + "fair-play." In boxing, you must hit fair; in racing, start fair. + Your English watchword is "fair-<i>play</i>," your English + hatred, "foul-<i>play</i>." Did it never strike you that you + wanted another watchword also, "fair-<i>work</i>," and another + and bitterer hatred,—"foul-<i>work</i>"?</p> + + <p>2. Then wise work is <i>Useful</i>. No man minds, or ought to + mind, its being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it + is hard and comes to nothing, when all our bees' business turns + to spiders', and for honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, + blown away by the next breeze,—that is the cruel thing for + the worker. Yet do we ever ask ourselves, personally, or even + nationally, whether our work is coming to anything or not?</p> + + <p>3. Then wise work is <i>Cheerful</i>, as a child's work is. + Everybody in this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy + Kingdom come." Now if we hear a man swearing in the streets we + think it very wrong, and say he "takes God's name in vain." But + there's a twenty times worse way of taking His name in vain than + that. It is to <i>ask God for what we don't want</i>. If you + don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the worst + mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish + for His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do + more than pray for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, + you must know what it is.</p> + + <p>4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not + to go to it. Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; + nobody knows how. "The Kingdom of God cometh not with + observation." Also, it is not to come outside of us, but in our + hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now if we want to + work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into it, + there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter + into it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive + it as a little child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer + little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, <i>for of + such is the Kingdom of Heaven</i>."</p> + + <p>5. Of <i>such</i>, observe. Not of children themselves, but of + such as children. It is the <i>character</i> of children we want + and must gain. It is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all + these characters it is cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, + it is careful for nothing—being full of love to every + creature, it is happy always, whether in its play or in its duty. + Well, that's the great worker's character also. Taking no thought + for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty of the day; + knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and always + ready for play—beautiful play.</p> + + <p>JOHN RUSKIN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="ring" + id="ring">EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK."</a></h4> + <pre> +Our human speech is naught, +Our human testimony false, our fame +And human estimation words and wind. +Why take the artistic way to prove so much? +Because, it is the glory and good of Art, +That Art remains the one way possible +Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. +How look a brother in the face and say +"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, +Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, +And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!" +Say this as silvery as tongue can troll-- +The anger of the man may be endured, +The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him +Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, +That all this trouble comes of telling truth, +Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, +Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, +Nor recognizable by whom it left; +While falsehood would have done the work of truth. +But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men, +Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth +Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, +Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. +So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, +Beyond mere imagery on the wall,-- +So, note by note, bring music from your mind, +Deeper than ever the Adante dived,-- +So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, +Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. +</pre> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="reliance" + id="reliance">SELF-RELIANCE.</a></h4> + + <p>1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true + for you in your private heart is true for all men,—that is + genius.</p> + + <p>Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal + sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our + first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last + Judgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the + highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that they + all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not what men but + what <i>they</i> thought.</p> + + <p>2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light + which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre + of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without + notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we + recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a + certain alienated majesty.</p> + + <p>3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us + than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression + with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of + voices is on the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say + with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt + all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own + opinion from another.</p> + + <p>4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at + the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; + that he must take himself for better for worse as his portion; + that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of + nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on + that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power + which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what + that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.</p> + + <p>5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes + much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the + memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed + where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that + particular ray.</p> + + <p>6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that + divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted + as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully + imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by + cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into + his work and done his best; but what he has said or done + otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does + not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse + befriends; no invention, no hope.</p> + + <p>7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. + Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the + society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great + men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the + genius of their age, betraying their perception that the + absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through + their hands, predominating in all their being.</p> + + <p>8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the + same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a + protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but + guides, redeemers and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort + and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.</p> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="rhodora" + id="rhodora">RHODORA.</a></h4> + + <p>ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER?</p> + <pre> +In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, +I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, +Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, +To please the desert and the sluggish brook. +The purple petals, fallen in the pool, +Made the black water with their beauty gay; +Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, +And court the flower that cheapens his array. +Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why +This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, +Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: +Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! +I never thought to ask, I never knew: +But in my simple ignorance, suppose +The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. +</pre> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="each" + id="each">EACH AND ALL.</a></h4> + <pre> +Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, +Of thee from the hill-top looking down; +The heifer that lows in the upland farm, +Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; +The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, +Deems not that great Napoleon +Stops his horse, and lists with delight, +Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; +Nor knowest thou what argument +Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. +All are needed by each one; +Nothing is fair or good alone. + +I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, +Singing at dawn on the alder bough; +I brought him home, in his nest, at even; +He sings the song, but it cheers not now, +For I did not bring home the river and sky;-- +He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. + +The delicate shell lay on the shore; +The bubbles of the latest wave +Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, +And the bellowing of the savage sea +Greeted their safe escape to me. +I wiped away the weeds and foam, +I fetched my sea-born treasures home; +But the poor, unsightly, noisome things +Had left their beauty on the shore +With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. + +The lover watched his graceful maid, +As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, +Nor knew her beauty's best attire +Was woven still by the snow-white choir. +At last she came to his hermitage, +Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;-- +The gay enchantment was undone; +A gentle wife, but fairy none. + +Then I said, "I covet truth; +Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; +I leave it behind with the games of youth:"-- +As I spoke, beneath my feet +The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, +Running over the club-moss burrs; +I inhaled the violet's breath; +Around me stood the oaks and firs; +Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; +Over me soared the eternal sky, +Full of light and of deity; +Again I saw, again I heard, +The rolling river, the morning bird;-- +Beauty through my senses stole; +I yielded myself to the perfect whole. +</pre> + + <p>RALPH WALDO EMERSON</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="columbus" + id="columbus">COLUMBUS.</a></h4> + + <p>[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, + copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San + Francisco.]</p> + <pre> +Behind him lay the gray Azores, + Behind the gates of Hercules; +Before him not the ghost of shores, + Before him only shoreless seas. +The good mate said, "Now must we pray, + For lo! the very stars are gone. +Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" + "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +"My men grow mutinous by day, + My men grow ghastly pale and weak." +The stout mate thought of home; a spray + Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, + If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" +"Why, you shall say at break of day, + 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, + Until at last the blanched mate said: +"Why, now, not even God would know + Should I and all my men fall dead. +These very winds forget their way, + For God from these dread seas has gone. +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- + He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" + +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: + "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. +He curls his lips, he lies in wait + With lifted teeth as if to bite! +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: + What shall we do when hope is gone?" +The words leapt like a leaping sword, + "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" + +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, + And peered through darkness. Ah, that night +Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- + A light! A light! A light! A light! +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! + It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, +He gained a world; he gave that world + Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" +</pre> + + <p>JOAQUIN MILLER.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="duchess" + id="duchess">MY LAST DUCHESS.</a></h4> + + <p>ERRARA.</p> + <pre> +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. +"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace--all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked +Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked +My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this +"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat +The Count your Master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretence +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="tale" + id="tale">"THE TALE."</a></h4> + <pre> +What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time +--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or rhyme, +Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, +While your shoulder propped my head. + +Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, +That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, +Went where such like used to go, +Singing for a prize, you know. + +Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing, but play the lyre; +Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing; I desire, +Sir, you keep the fact in mind +For a purpose that's behind. + +There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, +--Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound +Sung or played amiss: such ears +Had old judges, it appears! + +None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune +Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, +Sure to smile "In vain one tries +Picking faults out: take the prize!" + +When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? +Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed +Such ill luck in store?--it happed +One of those same seven strings snapped. + +All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada"? Pooh!) +--Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew +With its little heart on fire +Lighted on the crippled lyre. + +So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string +Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling +Fiery heart forth, sound the note +Wanted by the throbbing throat? + +Ay and, ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, +Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed +Saves the singer from defeat +With her chirrup low and sweet. + +Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent +"Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? +Why, we took your lyre for harp, +So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + +Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? +That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son +Finds his Lotte's power too spent +For aiding soul development. + +No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, +Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir! I hope you understand!) +--Said "Some record there must be +Of this cricket's help to me!" + +So he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; +On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; +Never more apart you found +Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + +That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know +Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, +All so learned and so wise +And deserving of a prize! + +If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, +Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt +Sweet and low, when strength usurped +Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + +"For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- +With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made +'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain +Never to be heard again,-- + +"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place +Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass +Asked the treble to atone +For its somewhat sombre drone." + +But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls +To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him a girl's +"Love" comes aptly in when gruff +Grows his singing. (There, enough!) +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="mont" + id="mont">MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE.</a></h4> + <pre> +Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star +In his steep course? So long he seems to pause +On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc! +The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base +Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, +Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, +How silently! Around thee, and above, +Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, +An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it +As with a wedge. But when I look again +It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, +Thy habitation from eternity. + +O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee +Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, +Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer +I worshipped the Invisible alone. +Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,-- +So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- +Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. +Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; +Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, +Into the mighty vision passing--there, +As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. + +Awake, my soul! not only passive praise +Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, +Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, +Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! +Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn! + +Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! +O, struggling with the darkness all the night, +And visited all night by troops of stars, +Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- +Companion of the morning-star at dawn, +Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn +Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise! +Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? +Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? +Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + +And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! +Who called you forth from night and utter death, +From dark and icy caverns called you forth, +Down those precipitous, black, jaggëd rocks, +Forever shattered, and the same forever? +Who gave you your invulnerable life, +Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, +Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? +And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- +"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?" + +Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow +Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- +Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, +And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! +Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! +Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven +Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun +Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers +Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + +"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, +Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" +"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice +Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds +And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, +And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!" + +Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! +Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! +Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! +Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! +Ye signs and wonders of the elements! +Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! + +Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks +Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard +Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene +Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- +Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou +That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low +In adoration, upward from thy base +Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, +Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud +To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise! +Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! +Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, +Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, +Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, +And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, +Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. +</pre> + + <p>S.T. COLERIDGE.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="star" + id="star">MY STAR.</a></h4> + <pre> +All that I know + Of a certain star +Is, it can throw + (Like the angled spar) +Now a dart of red, + Now a dart of blue, +Till my friends have said + They would fain see, too + +My star that dartles the red and the blue! +Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled; +They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. +What matter to me if their star is a world? +Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. +</pre> + + <p>ROBERT BROWNING.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="conservative" + id="conservative">A CONSERVATIVE.</a></h4> + <pre> +The garden beds I wandered by + One bright and cheerful morn, +When I found a new-fledged butterfly + A-sitting on a thorn, +A black and crimson butterfly, + All doleful and forlorn. + +I thought that life could have no sting + To infant butterflies, +So I gazed on this unhappy thing + With wonder and surprise, +While sadly with his waving wing + He wiped his weeping eyes. + +Said I, "What can the matter be? + Why weepest thou so sore? +With garden fair and sunlight free + And flowers in goodly store--" +But he only turned away from me + And burst into a roar. + +Cried he, "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! +Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, +Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + +At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; +Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, +"You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + +"I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" +And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm; +"I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + +O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! +I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- +The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. +</pre> + + <p>CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="five" + id="five">FIVE LIVES.</a></h4> + <pre> +Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop +That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. +To the naked eye they lived invisible; +Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell +Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. + + One was a meditative monad, called a sage; +And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: +"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, +Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, +Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, +When I am very old, yon shimmering dome +Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" +Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt +No other mote of God had ever gained +Such giant grasp of universal truth. + + One was a transcendental monad; thin +And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused: +"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls! +Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool-- +"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought +In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, +And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. +Some taste they have like ours, some tendency +To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." +He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas +That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. + + One was a barren-minded monad, called +A positivist; and he knew positively: +"There is no world beyond this certain drop. +Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream +Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, +And higher and lower; life is life enough." +Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily +He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. + + One was a tattered monad, called a poet; +And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: +"Oh, the little female monad's lips! +Oh, the little female monad's eyes! +Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!" + + The last was a strong-minded monadess, +Who dashed amid the infusoria, +Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove +Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. + + But while they led their wondrous little lives +Æonian moments had gone wheeling by. +The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed; +A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. +The little ghost of an inaudible squeak +Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone; +Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox +Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, +Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. +</pre> + + <p>EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="coming" + id="coming">THE COMING OF ARTHUR.</a></h4> + + <p>[<i>Abridged</i>.]</p> + <pre> +LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, +Had one fair daughter, and none other child; +And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, +Guinevere, and in her his one delight. + + For many a petty king ere Arthur came +Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war +Each upon other, wasted all the land; +And still from time to time the heathen host +Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. +And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, +Wherein the beast was ever more and more, +But man was less and less. . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, +Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, +And none or few to scare or chase the beast; +So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear +Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, +And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . And King Leodogran +Groan'd for the Roman legions here again +And Caesar's eagle. . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +He knew not whither he should turn for aid. + + But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, + . . . . . . . . . --the King +Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou! +For here between the man and beast we die.' + + And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, +But heard the call and came; and Guinevere +Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; +But since he neither wore on helm or shield +The golden symbol of his kinglihood, +But rode, a simple knight among his knights, +And many of these in richer arms than he, +She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, +One among many, tho' his face was bare. +But Arthur, looking downward as he past, +Felt the light of her eyes into his life +Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd +His tents beside the forest. Then he drave +The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd +The forest, letting in the sun, and made +Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight +And so returned. + + For while he linger'd there, +A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts +Of those great lords and barons of his realm +Flashed forth and into war; for most of these, +Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, +Made head against him crying: "Who is he +That should rule us? Who hath proven him +King Uther's son?" + + And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt +Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, +Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, +And thinking as he rode: "Her father said +That there between the man and beast they die. +Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts +Up to my throne and side by side with me? +What happiness to reign a lonely king? + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . But were I join'd with her, +Then might we live together as one life, +And reigning with one will in everything +Have power on this dark land to lighten it, +And power on this dead world to make it live." + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + When Arthur reached a field of battle bright +With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world +Was all so clear about him that he saw +The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, +And even in high day the morning star. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, +Made lightnings and great thunders over him, + And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, +And mightier of his hands with every blow, +And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +So like a painted battle the war stood +Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, +And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + Then quickly from the foughten field he sent + . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere + . . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran, +Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, +Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." + + Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart +Debating--"How should I that am a king, +However much he holp me at my need, +Give my one daughter saving to a king, +And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd +A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom +He trusted all things, and of him required +His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Then while the King debated with himself, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . there came to Cameliard, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; +Whom . . . . . . . . the King +Made feast for, as they sat at meat: + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men +Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king-- +So many those that hate him, and so strong, +So few his knights, however brave they be-- +Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?' + + 'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, +Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; +For I was near him when the savage yells +Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat +Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, +"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will +Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones, +And simple words of great authority, +Bound them by so straight vows to his own self +That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some +Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, +Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes +Half blinded at the coming of a light. + +'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round +With large, divine, and comfortable words, +Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld +From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash +A momentary likeness of the King; + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit +And hundred winters are but as the hands +Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. + + 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, +Who knew a subtler magic than his own-- +Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. +She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, +Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist +Of incense curl'd about her, and her face +Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; +But there was heard among the holy hymns +A voice as of the waters, for she dwells +Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms +May shake the world--and when the surface rolls, +Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' + + Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought +To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, +Fixing full eyes of question on her face, +'The swallow and the swift are near akin, +But thou art closer to this noble prince, +Being his own dear sister;' + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . . . 'What know I? +For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, +And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . + . . . . yea and dark was Uther too, +Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair +Beyond the race of Britons and of men. + + 'But let me tell thee now another tale: + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . . . on the night +When Uther in Tintagil past away +Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin +Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps +It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof +A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern +Bright with a shining people on the decks, +And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He + . . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall, +Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, +Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep +And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged +Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: +And down the wave and in the flame was borne +A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, +Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!" + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +And presently thereafter follow'd calm, +Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said, +"Is he who reigns." . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . . . And ever since the Lords +Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, +So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, +This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come-- +Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, +Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King," +A hundred voices cried: "Away with him! +No king of ours!" . . . . . + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, +And while the people clamor'd for a king, +Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords +Banded, and so brake out in open war. + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + . . . . and Merlin in our time +Hath spoken also, . . . . . +Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, +But pass, again to come, and then or now +Utterly smite the heathen under foot, +Till these and all men hail him for their king.' + + . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, +But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?' +Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, +Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, +Field after field, up to a height, the peak +Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, +Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope +The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, +Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, +In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, +Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze +And made it thicker; while the phantom king +Sent out at times a voice; and here or there +Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest +Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, +No son of Uther, and no king of ours;' +Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze +Descended, and the solid earth became +As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, +Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. + + Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved +And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth +And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates: +And Lancelot past away among the flowers-- +For then was latter April--and return'd-- +Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. +To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, +Chief of the church in Britain, and before +The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King +That morn was married, while in stainless white, +The fair beginners of a noble time, +And glorying in their vows and him, his knights +Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. +Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, +The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, +The sun of May descended on their King, +They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, +Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns +A voice as of the waters, while the two +Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. +And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. +Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!' +To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, +'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!' +And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake: +'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world +Other, and may the Queen be one with thee, +And all this Order of thy Table Round +Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!' + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> +And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:-- + + '<i>Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!! +Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away! +Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign</i>!" + + '<i>Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? +Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, +Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + + '<i>Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard +That God hath told the King a secret word. +Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + '<i>Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, +The king is king, and ever wills the highest. +Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign</i>! + +</pre> + <hr /> + <pre> + '<i>The King will follow Christ, and we the King, +In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. +Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign</i>!" + + +And Arthur and his knighthood for a space +Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King +Drew in the petty princedoms under him, +Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame +The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="elaine" + id="elaine">ELAINE.</a></h4> + <pre> +Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, +Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, +High in her chamber up a tower to the east +Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; +Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray +Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam; +Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it +A case of silk, and braided thereupon +All the devices blazon'd on the shield +In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, +A border fantasy of branch and flower, +And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. +Nor rested thus content, but day by day +Leaving her household and good father, climb'd +That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, +Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, +Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, +Now made a pretty history to herself +Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, +And every scratch a lance had made upon it, +Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; +That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; +That at Cearleon; this at Camelot; +And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there! +And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God +Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, +And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="lady" + id="lady">THE LADY OF SHALOTT.</a></h4> + + <p>PART I.</p> + <pre> +On either side the river lie +Long fields of barley and of rye, +That clothe the wold and meet the sky; +And thro' the field the road runs by + To many-tower'd Camelot +And up and down the people go, +Gazing where the lilies blow +Round an island there below, + The Island of Shalott. + +Willows whiten, aspens quiver, +Little breezes, dusk and shiver +Thro' the wave that runs for ever +By the island in the river + Flowing down to Camelot. +Four gray walls, and four gray towers, +Overlook a space of flowers, +And the silent isle imbowers + The lady of Shalott. + +By the margin, willow-veil'd, +Slide the heavy barges trail'd +By slow horses; and unhail'd +The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd + Skimming down to Camelot: +But who hath seen her wave her hand? +Or at the casement seen her stand? +Or is she known in all the land, + The Lady of Shalott? + +Only reapers, reaping early +In among the bearded barley, +Hear a song that echoes cheerly, +From the river winding clearly, + Down to tower'd Camelot; +And by the moon the reaper weary, +Piling sheaves in uplands airy, +Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy + Lady of Shalott." + + +PART II. + +There she weaves by night and day +A magic web with colors gay. +She has heard a whisper say, +A curse is on her if she stay + To look down to Camelot. +She knows not what the curse may be, +And so she weaveth steadily, +And little other care hath she, + The Lady of Shalott. + +And moving thro' a mirror clear +That hangs before her all the year, +Shadows of the world appear. +There she sees the highway near + Winding down to Camelot; +There the river eddy whirls, +And there the surly village-churls, +And the red cloaks of market-girls, + Pass onward from Shalott. + +Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, +An abbot on an ambling pad, +Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, +Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, + Goes by to tower'd Camelot; +And sometimes thro' the mirror blue +The knights come riding two and two; +She hath no loyal knight and true, + The Lady of Shalott. + +But in her web she still delights +To weave the mirror's magic sights, +For often thro' the silent nights +A funeral, with plumes and lights, + And music, went to Camelot: +Or when the moon was overhead, +Came two young lovers lately wed: +"I am half sick of shadows" said + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART III. + +A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, +He rode between the barley sheaves, +The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, +And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot. +A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd +To a lady in his shield, +That sparkled on the yellow field, + Beside remote Shalott. + +The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, +Like to some branch of stars we see +Hung in the Golden Galaxy. +The bridle bells rang merrily + As he rode down to Camelot; +And from his blazon'd baldric slung +A mighty silver bugle hung, +And as he rode his armor rung, + Beside remote Shalott. + +All in the blue unclouded weather +Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. +The helmet and the helmet-feather +Burned like one burning flame together, + As he rode down to Camelot; +As often through the purple night, +Below the starry clusters bright, +Some bearded meteor, trailing light, + Moves over still Shalott. + +His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; +On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; +From underneath his helmet flow'd +His coal-black curls as on he rode, + As he rode down to Camelot. +From the bank and from the river +He flashed into the crystal mirror, +"Tirra lirra" by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot. + +She left the web, she left the loom, +She made three paces thro' the room, +She saw the water-lily bloom, +She saw the helmet and the plume, + She looked down to Camelot. +Out flew the web and floated wide; +The mirror cracked from side to side; +"The curse is come upon me," cried + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART IV. + +In the stormy east-wind straining, +The pale yellow woods are waning, +The broad stream in his banks complaining, +Heavily the low sky raining + Over tower'd Camelot; +Down she came and found a boat +Beneath a willow left afloat, +And round about the prow she wrote + The Lady of Shalott. + +And down the river's dim expanse +Like some bold seer in a trance, +Seeing all his own mischance-- +With a glassy countenance + Did she look to Camelot. +And at the closing of the day +She loosed the chain, and down she lay; +The broad stream bore her far away, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Lying, robed in snowy white +That loosely flew to left and right-- +The leaves upon her falling light-- +Thro' the noises of the night + She floated down to Camelot; +And as the boat-head wound along +The willowy hills and fields among, +They heard her singing her last song, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Heard a carol, mournful, holy, +Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, +Til' her blood was frozen slowly, +And her eyes were darken'd wholly, + Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. +For ere she reached upon the tide +The first house by the water-side, +Singing in her song she died. + The Lady of Shalott. + +Under tower and balcony, +By garden-wall and gallery, +A gleaming shape she floated by, +Dead-pale between the houses high, + Silent into Camelot. +Out upon the wharfs they came, +Knight and burgher, lord and dame, +And round the prow they read her name +<i>The Lady of Shalott</i>. + +Who is this? and what is here? +And in the lighted palace near +Died the sound of royal cheer; +And they crossed themselves for fear, + All the knights at Camelot: +But Lancelot mused a little space; +He said "She has a lovely face; +God in his mercy lend her grace, + The Lady of Shalott." +</pre> + + <p>ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="time" + id="time">IF WE HAD THE TIME.</a></h4> + <pre> +If I had the time to find a place +And sit me down full face to face + With my better self, that cannot show + In my daily life that rushes so: +It might be then I would see my soul +Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, + I might be nerved by the thought sublime,-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to let my heart +Speak out and take in my life a part, + To look about and to stretch a hand + To a comrade quartered in no-luck land; +Ah, God! If I might but just sit still +And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, + I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to learn from you +How much for comfort my word could do; + And I told you then of my sudden will + To kiss your feet when I did you ill; +If the tears aback of the coldness feigned +Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,-- + Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, + If we had the time! +</pre> + + <p>RICHARD BURTON.</p> + + <h4><a name="henry" + id="henry">A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV.<br /> + "FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS."</a></h4> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—Sir John Falstaff has received a + commission from the King to raise a company of soldiers to fight + in the King's battles. After drafting a number of well-to-do + farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug sums of money rather + than to serve under him, he pockets their money and proceeds to + fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through which + he passes.</p> + + <p>The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. + The Justice has received word from Sir John that he is about to + visit him, and desires him to call together a number of the + villagers from which recruits may be selected.</p> + + <p>These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice + Shallow standing near.</p> + + <p>Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses + Justice Shallow.</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I + beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire + of this county, and one of the King's justices of the peace. What + is your good pleasure with me?</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—My captain, sir, commends him to you; + my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a + most gallant leader.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—He greets me well, sir. I knew him a + good backsword man. How doth the good Knight now? Look! here + comes good Sir John. <i>(Enter Falstaff</i>.) Give me your good + hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth you look well + and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir John.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I am glad to see you well, good Master + Robert Shallow. Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you + provided me with half a dozen sufficient men?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Marry have we, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Let me see them, I beseech you.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Where's the roll? Where's the roll? + Where's the roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, + so, so, so, so; yea, marry sir.—Ralph Mouldy! Let them + appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see; + where is Mouldy?</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—Here, an't please you.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—What think you, Sir John? A good limbed + fellow: young, strong, and of good friends.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Is thy name Mouldy?</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—Yea, an't please you.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—'Tis the more time thou wert used.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! + Things that are mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, + Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, Sir John?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yes, prick him.</p> + + <p><i>Mouldy</i>.—I was pricked well enough before, an' you + could have let me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one + to do her husbandry and her drudgery; you need not to have + pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know + you where you are? For the next, Sir John; let me + see.—Simon Shadow?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yea, marry, let me have him to sit + under. He's like to be a cold soldier.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Where's Shadow?</p> + + <p><i>Shadow</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Shadow, whose son art thou?</p> + + <p><i>Shadow</i>.—My mother's son, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy + father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Thomas Wart!</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Where's he?</p> + + <p><i>Wart</i>.—Here, sir!</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Is thy name Wart?</p> + + <p><i>Wart</i>.—Yea, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Thou art a very ragged wart.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir + John?</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—It were superfluous; for his apparel is + built upon his back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick + him no more.</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can + do it; I commend you well.—Francis Feeble.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What trade art thou, Feeble?</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I'm a woman's tailor, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou + make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a + woman's petticoat?</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I will do my good will, sir; you can have + no more.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Well said, good woman's tailor! Well + said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful + dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor + well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—I would Wart might have gone, too, + sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I would thou wert a man's tailor, that + thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, + most forcible Feeble.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—It shall suffice, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. + Who is next?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—Here, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick + me Bullcalf till he roar again.</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—O Lord! Good my lord + captain,—</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What, dost thou roar before thou art + pricked?</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—What disease hast thou?</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a + gown. We will have away with thy cold. Is here all?</p> + + <p><i>Shallow</i>.—Here is two more than your number. You + must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me + to dinner.</p> + + <p><i>Falstaff</i>.—Come, I will go drink with you.</p> + + <p>(<i>Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Bullcalf</i>.—(<i>Approaching Bardolph</i>.) Good + Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry + ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd + as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; and yet for mine own part, sir, + I do not care; but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine + own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did + not care, for my own part, so much.</p> + + <p><i>Bardolph</i>.—(<i>Pocketing the money</i>.) Go to; + stand aside.</p> + + <p><i>Feeble</i>.—By my troth, I care not.</p> + + <p>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="copper_i" + id="copper_i">A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.</a></h4> + + <p>AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER.</p> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—The scene opens in the lodgings of + Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering + under, what he terms, "A temporary pressure of pecuniary + liabilities," and is out looking for something to turn up.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which + she is holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, + and various of the children are scattered about the floor.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling + of creditors;—at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe + in her arms:—</p> + + <p>(<i>Mrs. Micawber</i>.) Well, I wonder how many more times + they will be calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. + Micawber's creditors won't give him time, they must take the + consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking now! I believe + that's Mr. Heep's knock. It <i>is</i> Mr. Heep! Come in, Mr. + Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Is Mr. Micawber in?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone + out. We make no stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind + telling you Mr. Micawber's affairs have reached a crisis. With + the exception of a heel of Dutch cheese, which is not adapted to + the wants of a young family,—and including the + twins,—there is nothing to eat in the house.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—How dreadful! (<i>Aside</i>.) The very man + for my purpose. (<i>Explanation</i>. At this moment there is a + noise heard on the landing. Micawber himself rushes into the + room, slamming the door behind him.)</p> + + <p><i>Micawber</i>.—(<i>Not seeing Heep</i>.) The clouds + have gathered, the storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has + fallen on the devoted head of Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, + the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in my misery!</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—I'll never desert my Micawber!</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must + be so, Cato!" But no man is without a friend when he is possessed + of courage and shaving materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my + razors! (<i>Recovers himself</i>) sh—sh! We are not alone! + (<i>Gayly</i>) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see you, my young + friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, if I + had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would + have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will + pardon the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made + sensitive by a recent collision with a minion of the + law,—in short, with a ribald turncock attached to the + waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been cut off. + Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of + laudanum!</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell + me the amount of your indebtedness?</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—It is only a small matter for nutriment, + beef, mutton, etc., some trifle, seven and six pence + ha'penny.</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—I'll pay it for you.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—My dear friend! You overpower me with + obligation! Shall I admit the officer? (<i>Turns and goes to the + door, opens it</i>.) Enter myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of + a solvent debtor and a lady. (<i>Heeps pays the officer and + dismisses him</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no + objection to giving me your I.O.U. for the amount.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—Certainly not. I am always ready to put my + name to any species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings + upward. Excuse me, Heep, I'll write it. (<i>Goes through motion + of writing it on leaf of memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to + Heep</i>.) I suppose this is renewable on the usual term?</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—Better. You can work it out. I come to + offer you the position of clerk in my partner's office—the + firm of Wickfield and Heep.</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I + may have no hesitation in saying something has at last turned + up!</p> + + <p><i>Heep</i>.—You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I + should like to speak a few words to your husband in private.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. Mic</i>.—Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and + prosper!</p> + + <p><i>Mic</i>.—My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an + unlimited extent! Ah, the sun has again risen—the clouds + have passed—the sky is clear, and another score may be + begun at the butcher's.—Heep, precede me. Emma, my love. + <i>Au Revoir</i>.</p> + + <p>(<i>A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber</i>.)</p> + <hr /> + + <h4><a name="copper_ii" + id="copper_ii">A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD.</a></h4> + <pre> + CHARACTERS. + + OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, + + HAM PEGGOTTY, + + DAVID COPPERFIELD. +</pre> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—The scene is the interior of the + "Old Ark"; the time is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet + inside the old ark all is snug and comfortable. The fire is + burning brightly on the hearth, and Mother Gummidge sits by it + knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little Em'ly home from her + work,—and the old fisherman sits smoking his evening pipe + by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth and + Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard + and David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him.</p> + + <p><i>Old Peg</i>.—Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, + Mas'r Davy, you're the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of + yours if it's wet and draw right up to the fire. Don't you mind + Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's a-thinkin' of the old 'un. + She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when there's a storm + a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. Well, now, + I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (<i>He lights a + candle and puts it on the table by the window</i>.) Theer we are! + Theer we are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, + you're a-wonderin' what that little candle is for, ain't yer? + Well, I'll tell yer. It's for my little Em'ly. You see, the path + ain't o'er light or cheerful arter dark, so when I'm home here + along the time that Little Em'ly comes home from her work, I + allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the table in + the winder, and it serves two purposes,—first, Em'ly sees + it and she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," + fur if I ain't here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now + you're laughin' at me, Mas'r Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a + babby. Well, I don't know but I am. (<i>Walks towards table</i>.) + Not a babby to look at, but a babby to consider on. A babby in + the form of a Sea Porky-pine.</p> + + <p>See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say—"Em'ly's + lookin' at me! Little Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she + is! (<i>He goes to the door to meet her; the door opens and Ham + comes staggering in</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and + will die fur even now! She's gone!</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Gone!!</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Gone! She's run away! And think how she's + run away when I pray my good and gracious God to strike her down + dead, sooner than let her come to disgrace and shame.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must + have proof—proof.</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Read that writin'.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—No! I won't read that + writin'—read it you, Mas'r Davy. Slow, please. I don't know + as I can understand.</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—(<i>Reads</i>) "When you see this I shall + be far away."</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur + away! My Little Em'ly fur away! Well?</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—(<i>Reads</i>) "Never to come back again + unless he brings me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we + were to be married, but try to think of me as if I had died long + ago, and was buried somewhere. My last love and last tears for + Uncle."</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Who's the man? What's his name? I want + to know the man's name.</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, + that I know.</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—What! You don't mean his name's + Steerforth, do you?</p> + + <p><i>Ham</i>.—Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a + cursed villain!</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help + me on with it, Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat.</p> + + <p><i>David</i>.—Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty?</p> + + <p><i>Peggotty</i>.—I'm a goin' to seek fur my little + Em'ly. First, I'm going to stave in that theer boat and sink it + where I'd a drownded him, as I'm a living soul; if I'd a known + what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, and thought I was doin' + right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly throughout the + wide wurrety!</p> + <hr /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + + + <h4><a name="shaughraun" + id="shaughraun">A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN.</a></h4> + + <p><i>Introduction</i>.—This scene introduces the following + characters:—Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, + devil-may-care, true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually + in a scrape from his desire to help a friend and his love of fun; + his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of + the parish priest.</p> + + <p>It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put + the kettle on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, + enters.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see + if that vagabond of mine has been around this way.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't + he a home of his own?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—The Shebeen is his home when he is not + in jail. His father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same + way.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—I thought your husband was drowned at + sea?</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—And bless him, so he was.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' + drink.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—The best of men he was, when he was + sober—a betther never drhawed the breath o' life.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—But you say he never was sober.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Niver! An' Conn takes afther him!</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther + Conn.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin + him! You a good dacent gurl, and desarve the best of + husbands.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Them's the only ones that gets the worst. + More betoken yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Conn niver did an honest day's work in + his life—but dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' + sportin', and love-makin'.</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—Sure, that's how the quality pass their + lives.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—That's it. A poor man that sports the + sowl of a gintleman is called a blackguard.</p> + + <p>(<i>At this moment Conn appears in the doorway</i>.)</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—(<i>At left</i>.) Some one is talkin' about + me! Ah, Moya, Darlin', come here. (<i>Business as if he reached + out his hands to Moya as he comes forward to meet her, and passes + her over to his left so he seems to stand in center between Moya + on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right</i>.) Was the old Mother + thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word that comes + out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (<i>Laughing as he shakes his + finger at his mother</i>.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it + this very minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two + arms about ye. But she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an + old him that's got a duck for a chicken. Howld your whist now + Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a kiss.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? + The polls have been in the cabin today about ye. They say you + stole Squire Foley's horse.</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and + sound in his paddock this minute.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—But he says you stole it for the day to + go huntin'?</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to + run away wid a man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never + die in sin, but this was the way of it. I was standin' by owld + Foley's gate, whin I heard the cry of the hounds coming across + the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, my dear, spread out like + the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye ever seen a + sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the + churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the + ground! Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over + the gate besoide me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to + her. Divil a word I said to her, nor she to me, for the hounds + had lost their scent, we knew by their yelp and whine as they + hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox went by us. I + leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to the + whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole + field came roaring past.</p> + + <p>The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," + says I, "ye divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head + an' into her mouth. Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was + quiet in a minute. "Come home, now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw + my leg across her.</p> + + <p>Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than—Whoo! Holy + Rocket! she was over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds + loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; "Come back you thafe of the world, + where you takin' me to?" as she carried me through the huntin' + field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of the hounds, + Squire Foley himself.</p> + + <p>He turned the color of his leather breeches.</p> + + <p>"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my + brown mare?"</p> + + <p>"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!"</p> + + <p>"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire.</p> + + <p>"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!"</p> + + <p><i>Moya</i>.—(<i>Laughing</i>.) And what did he say to + that, Conn?</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just + then we took a stone wall together an' I left him behind in the + ditch.</p> + + <p><i>Mrs. O'K</i>.—You'll get a month in jail for + this.</p> + + <p><i>Conn</i>.—Well, it was worth it.</p>BOUCICAULT. + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 10491-h.htm or 10491-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10491/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Practice Book + +Author: Leland Powers + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10491] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +PRACTICE +BOOK + + +LELAND POWERS SCHOOL + + + +1909 + + + + +IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. + + * * * * * + +My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of +copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & +Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which +is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company +for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, +entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for +the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts +from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are +used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin +& Company, publishers of their works. + +The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal +Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are +taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here +reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company. + +LELAND POWERS. + + + + +INDEX + + * * * * * + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, _Richard Burton_ + +BROOK, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CAVALIER TUNES _Robert Browning_ + I. Give a Rouse. + II. Boot and Saddle. + +COLUMBUS _Joaquin Miller_ + +COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +CONSERVATIVE, A _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_ + +EACH AND ALL _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +ELAINE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +ELOQUENCE _Daniel Webster_ + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION + +FEZZIWIG BALL, THE _Charles Dickens_ + +FIVE LIVES _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +GREEN THINGS GROWING _Dinah Mulock Craik_ + +HERVE RIEL _Robert Browning_ + +IF WE HAD THE TIME _Richard Burton_ + +LADY OF SHALOTT, THE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ + +LAUGHING CHORUS, A + +LIFE AND SONG _Sidney Lanier_ + +LOCHINVAR _Sir Walter Scott_ + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE _S.T. Coleridge_ + +MY LAST DUCHESS _Robert Browning_ + +MY STAR _Robert Browning_ + +PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from _Robert Browning_ + I. Day. + II. The Year's at Spring. + +RHODORA, THE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from _Robert Browning_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. _Charles Dickens_ + +SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV--"Falstaff's Recruits" _William Shakespeare_ + +SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN _Boucicault_ + +SELF-RELIANCE _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + +TALE, THE--From The Two Poets of Croisic _Robert Browning_ + +TRUE USE OF WEALTH, THE _John Ruskin_ + +TRUTH AT LAST _Edward Rowland Sill_ + +WORK _John Ruskin_ + + + + +EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION. + + +The exercises under each chapter have _primarily_ the characteristics +of that chapter, and _secondarily_ the characteristics of the other +two chapters. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +VITALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Power, Largeness, +Freedom, Animation, Movement_. + + +1. "Ho! strike the flag-Staff deep, Sir Knight--ho! scatter flowers, fair + maids: + Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades." + + * * * * * + +2. "Awake, Sir King, the gates unspar! + Rise up and ride both fast and far! + The sea flows over bolt and bar." + + * * * * * + +3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with +the laws of man and the justice of heaven." + + * * * * * + +4. "Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, + And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat, + And heard the priest chant the Magnificat." + + * * * * * + +5. "Then the master, + With a gesture of command, + Waved his hand; + And at the word, + Loud and sudden there was heard + All around them and below + The sound of hammers, blow on blow, + Knocking away the shores and spurs. + And see! she stirs! + She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel + The thrill of life along her keel, + And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, + She leaps into the ocean's arms!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Under his spurning feet, the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind, + Like an ocean flying before the wind." + + * * * * * + +7. "The wind, one morning sprang up from sleep, + Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap! + Now for a madcap galloping chase! + I'll make a commotion in every place!'" + + * * * * * + +8. "O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!" + + * * * * * + +9. "It is done! + Clang of bell and roar of gun! + Send the tidings up and down. + How the belfries rock and reel! + How the great guns, peal on peal, + Fling the joy from town to town!" + + * * * * * + +10. "O sacred forms, how proud you look! + How high you lift your heads into the sky! + How huge you are, how mighty and how free! + Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile + Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms, + Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear + Of awe divine." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MENTALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Reflection_ OR +_Processes_ OF _Thought, Clearness, Definiteness_. + + +1. "Beyond the street a tower,--beyond the tower a moon,--beyond the moon +a star,--beyond the Star, what?" + + * * * * * + +2. "Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all; + Carve every word before you let it fall; + Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, + Try overhard to roll the British R; + Do put your accents in the proper spot; + Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?' + And when you stick on conversation's burrs, + Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs." + + * * * * * + +3. "To be, or not to be; that is the question:-- + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; + Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, + And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,-- + No more:" + + * * * * * + +4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first +characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls +itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's +sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of." + + * * * * * + +5. "_Brutus_. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. + + _Lucius_. I will, my lord. (_Exit_.) + + _Brutus_. It must be by his death: and for my part, + I know no cause to spurn at him, + But for the general. He would be crown'd:-- + How that might change his nature, there's the question. + It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; + And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:-- + And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, + That at his will he may do danger with." + + * * * * * + +6. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word +was God. The same was in the beginning with God." + + * * * * * + +7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously, +comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of +his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a _fine_ art, and +good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. +Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, +all beauty is in the long run only _fineness_ of truth, or what we +call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within." + + * * * * * + +8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, +under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called +cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit, +and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. +These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and +for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the +power of the others latent in him, and his own patent." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MORALITY. + + +MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF _Purpose, Love, Harmony, +Poise, Values_. + +1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at +thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly +waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf +of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, +'In Heaven's name, No!'" + + * * * * * + + +2. "Flower in the crannied wall, + I pluck you out of the crannies;-- + Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, + Little flower--but if I could understand + What you are, root and all, and all in all, + I should know what God and man is." + + + * * * * * + +3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun +shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with +a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his +sunny heart." + + * * * * * + +4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am; though for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;" + + * * * * * + +5. "Listen to the water-mill; + Through the livelong day, + How the clicking of its wheels + Wears the hours away! + Languidly the autumn wind + Stirs the forest leaves, + From the fields the reapers sing, + Binding up their sheaves; + And a proverb haunts my mind, + As a spell is cast; + 'The mill can never grind + With the water that is past.'" + + * * * * * + +6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good +steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called +evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead." + + * * * * * + +7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At +sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse +attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been +completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which +some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their +being washed off by the waves. + +"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. +The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of +shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its +sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been +over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie +whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the +waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end." + + * * * * * + +8. "Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea; + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home." + + * * * * * + +9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the +mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the +world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God." + + + + +EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION. + + + +1. "O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful voices!-- + Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, + Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, + Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops." + + * * * * * + +2. "The combat deepens. On, ye brave, + Who rush to glory or the grave! + Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, + And charge with all thy chivalry! + + "Ah! few shall part where many meet! + The snow shall be their winding sheet, + And every turf beneath their feet + Shall be a soldier's sepulcher." + + * * * * * + +3. "Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! + Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near + More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear! + Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame! + Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! + Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!" + + * * * * * + +4. "Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? + Came not faint whispers near? + No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh + Amid the foliage sere." + + * * * * * + +5. "Her giant form + O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, + Majestically calm, would go, + Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! + But gentler now the small waves glide, + Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. + So stately her bearing, so proud her array, + The main she will traverse for ever and aye. + Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast. + Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!" + + * * * * * + +6. "Hark! distant voices that lightly + Ripple the silence deep! + No; the swans that, circling nightly, + Through the silver waters sweep. + + "See I not, there, a white shimmer? + Something with pale silken shrine? + No; it is the column's glimmer, + 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine." + + * * * * * + +7. "Hark, below the gates unbarring! + Tramp of men and quick commands! + ''Tis my lord come back from hunting,' + And the Duchess claps her hands. + + "Slow and tired came the hunters; + Stopped in darkness in the court. + 'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! + To the hall! What sport, what sport.' + + "Slow they entered with their master; + In the hall they laid him down. + On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, + On his brow an angry frown." + + * * * * * + +8. "Now clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, + Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,-- + Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, + Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,-- + Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables, + Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on; + Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas, + Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words." + + + + +SELECTIONS. + + * * * * * + + + +HERVE RIEL. + + +On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, +Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! +And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, +Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, +Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + +'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; +First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; + Close on him fled, great and small, + Twenty-two good ships in all; + And they signalled to the place, + "Help the winners of a race! +Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + +Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; +"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they: +"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, +Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, +Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, +Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, + And with flow at full beside? + Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. + Reach the mooring? Rather say, + While rock stands or water runs, + Not a ship will leave the bay!" + + Then was called a council straight. + Brief and bitter the debate: +"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow +All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, + For a prize to Plymouth Sound?-- + Better run the ships aground!" + (Ended Damfreville his speech.) + "Not a minute more to wait! + Let the captains all and each +Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! + France must undergo her fate. + Give the word!"--But no such word + Was ever spoke or heard; +For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these +A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? + No such man of mark, and meet + With his betters to compete! +But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- +A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. + +And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve Riel; +"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? +Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell +On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, +'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues? +Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? + Morn and eve, night and day, + Have I piloted your bay, +Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. +Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! +Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! + Only let me lead the line, + Have the biggest ship to steer, + Get this 'Formidable' clear, + Make the others follow mine, +And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, + Right to Solidor, past Greve, + And there lay them safe and sound; + And if one ship misbehave,-- + Keel so much as grate the ground, +Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Herve Riel. + + Not a minute more to wait. + "Steer us in, then, small and great! +Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. + "Captains, give the sailor place! + He is Admiral, in brief." + Still the north-wind, by God's grace! + See the noble fellow's face + As the big ship with a bound, + Clears the entry like a hound, +Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! + See, safe through shoal and rock, + How they follow in a flock. +Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, + Not a spar that comes to grief! + The peril, see, is past, + All are harbored to the last, +And just as Herve Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate, + Up the English come, too late. + + So, the storm subsides to calm; + They see the green trees wave + On the heights o'erlooking Greve. + Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. + "Just our rapture to enhance, + Let the English rake the bay, + Gnash their teeth and glare askance + As they cannonade away! +Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" +Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! + Out burst all with one accord, + "This is Paradise for hell! + Let France, let France's king, + Thank the man that did the thing!" + What a shout, and all one word, + "Herve Riel!" + As he stepped in front once more, + Not a symptom of surprise + In the frank blue Breton eyes, + Just the same man as before. + + Then said Damfreville, "My friend, + I must speak out at the end, + Though I find the speaking hard. + Praise is deeper than the lips; + You have saved the King his ships, + You must name your own reward. + Faith, our sun was near eclipse! + Demand whate'er you will, + France remains your debtor still +Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!" + + Then a beam of fun outbroke + On the bearded mouth that spoke, + As the honest heart laughed through + Those frank eyes of Breton blue: + "Since I needs must say my say, + Since on board the duty's done, +And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?-- + Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- + Since the others go ashore-- + Come! A good whole holiday! +Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" + That he asked, and that he got--nothing more. + Name and deed alike are lost: + Not a pillar nor a post + In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; + Not a head in white and black + On a single fishing-smack, +In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack +All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. + Go to Paris; rank on rank + Search the heroes flung pell-mell + On the Louvre, face and flank! +You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel. + So, for better and for worse, + Herve Riel, accept my verse! + In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more +Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore! + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +LOCHINVAR. + +I. + +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,-- +Through all the wild border his steed was the best! +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,-- +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + + +II. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none. +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love and a dastard in war +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + + +III. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, +'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + + +IV. + +"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied; +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + + +V. + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up; +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; +"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar. + + +VI. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret and her father did fume, +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + + +VII. + +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung +So light to the saddle before her he sprung: +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + + +VIII. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee; +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? + +SIR WALTER SCOTT. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES. + +1. "DAY." + +Day! +Faster and more fast; +O'er night's brim, day boils at last: +Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim +Where spurting and suppressed it lay, +For not a froth-flake touched the rim +Of yonder gap in the solid gray, +Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; +But forth one wavelet, then another curled, +Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, +Rose, reddened, and its seething breast +Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. + +Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee, +A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, +The least of thy gazes or glances, +(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) +One of thy choices or one of thy chances, +(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) +--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure, +Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hillside's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + +THE FEZZIWIG BALL. + +Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed +to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious +waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of +benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial +voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!" + +A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came +briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice. + +"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, +Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can +say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!" + +Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't +have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. +Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life +forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel +was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry +and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. + +In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and +made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. +Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, +beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they +broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In +came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her +brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after +another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some +pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they +all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other +way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of +affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong +place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all +top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result +was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, +cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of +porter especially provided for that purpose. + +There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and +there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold +Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince +pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after +the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." +Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; +with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty +pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who +_would_ dance, and had no notion of walking. + +But if they had been twice as many,--four times,--old Fezziwig would have +been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, she +was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light +appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the +dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become +of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through +the dance,--advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, +corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,--Fezziwig +"cut,"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs. + +When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. +Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking +hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or +her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, +they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the +lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop. + + * * * * * + + + +THE BROOK. + +I. + +I come from haunts of coot and hern, + I make a sudden sally, +And sparkle out among the fern, + To bicker down a valley. + + +II. + +By thirty hills I hurry down, + Or slip between the ridges; +By twenty thorps, a little town, + And half a hundred bridges. + + +III. + +I chatter over stony ways, + In little sharps and trebles, +I bubble into eddying bays, + I babble on the pebbles. + + +IV. + +With many a curve my banks I fret + By many a field and fallow, +And many a fairy foreland set + With willow-weed and mallow. + + +V. + +I chatter, chatter, as I flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + +VI. + +I wind about and in and out, + With here a blossom sailing, +And here and there a lusty trout, + And here and there a grayling. + + +VII. + +And here and there a foamy flake + Upon me as I travel +With many a silvery water-break + Above the golden gravel. + + +VIII. + +I steal by lawns and grassy plots, + I slide by hazel covers, +I move the sweet forget-me-nots + That grow for happy lovers. + + +IX. + +I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, + Among my skimming swallows; +I make the netted sunbeam dance + Against my sandy shallows. + + +X. + +I murmur, under moon and stars + In brambly wildernesses, +I linger by my shingly bars, + I loiter round my cresses. + + +XI. + +And out again I curve and flow + To join the brimming river; +For men may come, and men may go, + But I go on forever. + + * * * * * + + + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + +A LAUGHING CHORUS. + +[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, +Burdett & Company.] + + +Oh, such a commotion under the ground + When March called, "Ho, there! ho!" +Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, + Such whispering to and fro. +And "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked; + "'Tis time to start, you know." +"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; + "I'll follow as soon as you go." +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, + "When I hear the bluebirds sing." +And straight thereafter Narcissus cried, + "My silver and gold I'll bring." +"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, + "The Hyacinth bells shall ring." +And the violet only murmured, "I'm here," + And sweet grew the breath of spring. +Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came + Of laughter soft and low +From the millions of flowers under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + +Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days, + Imprisoned in walls of brown, +They never lost heart though the blast shriek loud, + And the sleet and the hail came down, +But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, + Or fashioned her beautiful crown; +And now they are coming to brighten the world, + Still shadowed by winter's frown; +And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!" + In a chorus soft and low, +The millions of flowers hid under the ground-- + Yes--millions--beginning to grow. + + * * * * * + + + +CAVALIER TUNES. + + +1. GIVE A ROUSE. + +King Charles, and who'll do him right now? +King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? +Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, +King Charles! + +Who gave me the goods that went since? +Who raised me the house that sank once? +Who helped me to gold I spent since? +Who found me in wine you drank once? + + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + +To whom used my boy George quaff else, +By the old fool's side that begot him? +For whom did he cheer and laugh else, +While Noll's damned troopers shot him. + +_Cho_. King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +II. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + +Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! +Rescue my castle before the hot day +Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; +Many's the friend there, will listen and pray +"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay!" + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + +Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, +Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundhead's array: +Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + +Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, +Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! +I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + +_Cho_. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE. + +From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward through the fields a mile to +the little village of Shottery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, +Shakespeare's sweetheart and wife. + + +How often in the summer tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan +Stepped blithsomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne! + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer-stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who should say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path wheron I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn poet and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne! + + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +GREEN THINGS GROWING. + + +The green things growing, the green things growing, +The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! +I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, +Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. + +Oh the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! +How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; +In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight +Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. + +I love, I love them so--my green things growing! +And I think that they love me, without false showing; +For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, +With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. + +And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing, +Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing: +Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be, +Many, many a summer of my green things growing! + +But if I must be gathered for the angels' sowing, +Sleep out of sight a while like the green things growing, +Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn, +If I may change into green things growing. + +DINAH MULOCK CRAIK. + + * * * * * + + + +THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. + + +1. There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths; namely, that they +are stewards or ministers of whatever talents are entrusted to them. Only, +is it not a strange thing that while we more or less accept the meaning of +that saying, so long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its +meaning in its own terms? You know the lesson is given us under the form +of a story about money. Money was given to the servants to make use of: +the unprofitable servant dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, +we in our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of course +money doesn't mean money--it means wit, it means intellect, it means +influence in high quarters, it means everything in the world except +itself. + +2. And do you not see what a pretty and pleasant come-off there is for +most of us in this spiritual application? Of course, if we had wit, we +would use it for the good of our fellow-creatures; but we haven't wit. Of +course, if we had influence with the bishops, we would use it for the good +of the church; but we haven't any influence with the bishops. Of course, +if we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but +we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort +or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't +possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own. + +3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that +the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any +other--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money; +and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of +tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth +and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for +the Giver,--our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for +it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that +is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say, +is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent; +but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is a +due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it. + +4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the +very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of +that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man +richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and +more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious +than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that +calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others +lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are these +not talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among the +most distinguished and influential of mental gifts? + +5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use +a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from +some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind +to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain? +You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or +lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble +neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or +the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow +thrust himself up to a table where some hungry children are being fed, and +reach his arm over their heads and take their bread from them. + +6. But you are not the least indignant, if, when a man has stoutness of +thought and swiftness of capacity, and, instead of being long-armed only, +has the much greater gift of being long-headed--you think it perfectly +just that he should use his intellect to take the bread out of the mouths +of all the other men in the town who are in the same trade with him; or +use his breadth and sweep of sight to gather some branch of the commerce +of the country into one great cobweb, of which he is himself the central +spider, making every thread vibrate with the points of his claws, and +commanding every avenue with the facets of his eyes. You see no injustice +in this. + +7. But there is injustice; and, let us trust, one of which honorable men +will at no very distant period disdain to be guilty. In some degree, +however, it is indeed not unjust; in some degree it is necessary and +intended. It is assuredly just that idleness should be surpassed by +energy; that the widest influence should be possessed by those who are +best able to wield it; and that a wise man at the end of his career, +should be better off than a fool. But for that reason, is the fool to be +wretched, utterly crashed down, and left in all the suffering which his +conduct and capacity naturally inflict? Not so. + +8. What do you suppose fools were made for? That you might tread upon +them, and starve them, and get the better of them in every possible way? +By no means. They were made that wise people might take care of them. That +is the true and plain fact concerning the relations of every strong and +wise man to the world about him. He has his strength given him, not that +he may crush the weak, but that he may support and guide them. In his own +household he is to be the guide and the support of his children; out of +his household he is still to be the father, that is, the guide and +support, of the weak and the poor; not merely of the meritoriously weak +and the innocently poor, but of the guilty and punishably poor; of the men +who ought to have known better--of the poor who ought to be ashamed of +themselves. + +9. It is nothing to give pension and cottage to the widow who has lost her +son; it is nothing to give food and medicine to the workman who has broken +his arm, or the decrepit woman wasting in sickness. But it is something to +use your time and strength in war with the waywardness and thoughtlessness +of mankind to keep the erring workman in your service till you have made +him an unerring one; and to direct your fellow-merchant to the opportunity +which his dullness would have lost. + +10. This is much; but it is yet more, when you have fully achieved the +superiority which is due to you, and acquired the wealth which is the +fitting reward of your sagacity, if you solemnly accept the responsibility +of it, as it is the helm and guide of labor far and near. For you who have +it in your hands, are in reality the pilots of the power and effort of the +State. It is entrusted to you as an authority to be used for good or evil, +just as completely as kingly authority was ever given to a prince, or +military command to a captain. And according to the quantity of it you +have in your hands, you are arbiters of the will and work of the nation; +and the whole issue, whether the work of the State shall suffice for the +State or not, depends upon you. + +11. You may stretch out your sceptre over the heads of the laborers, and +say to them, as they stoop to its waving, "Subdue this obstacle that has +baffled our fathers; put away this plague that consumes our children; +water these dry places, plough these desert ones, carry this food to those +who are in hunger; carry this light to those who are in darkness; carry +this life to those who are in death;" or on the other side you may say: +"Here am I; this power is in my hand; come, build a mound here for me to +be throned upon, high and wide; come, make crowns for my head, that men +may see them shine from far away; come, weave tapestries for my feet, that +I may tread softly on the silk and purple; come, dance before me, that I +may slumber; so shall I live in joy, and die in honor." And better than +such an honorable death it were, that the day had perished wherein we were +born. + +12. I trust that in a little while there will be few of our rich men, who, +through carelessness or covetousness, thus forfeit the glorious office +which is intended for their hands. I said, just now, that wealth ill-used +was as the net of the spider, entangling and destroying; but wealth +well-used, is as the net of the sacred Fisher who gathers souls of men out +of the deep. A time will come--I do not think it is far from us--when this +golden net of the world's wealth will be spread abroad as the flaming +meshes of morning cloud over the sky; bearing with them the joy of the +light and the dew of the morning, as well as the summons to honorable and +peaceful toil. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +LIFE AND SONG. + + +[This poem is taken from "The Poems of Sidney Lanier," copyrighted 1891, +and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.] + + +If life were caught by a clarionet, + And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, +Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, + And utter its heart in every deed, + +"Then would this breathing clarionet + Type what the poet fain would be; +For none o' the singers ever yet + Has wholly lived his minstrelsy, + +"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, + Or utterly bodied forth his life, +Or out of life and song has wrought + The perfect one of man and wife; + +"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song + Might each express the other's all, +Careless if life or art were long + Since both were one, to stand or fall: + +"So that the wonder struck the crowd, + Who shouted it about the land: +_His song was only living aloud, + His work, a singing with his hand_!" + +SIDNEY LANIER. + + * * * * * + + + +ELOQUENCE. + + +1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when +great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is +valuable in speech farther than as it is connected with high intellectual +and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities +which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in +speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, +but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every +way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, +and in the occasion. + +2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may +aspire to it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the +outbreaking of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. +The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied +contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and +the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the +decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, +and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels +rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. + +3. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear +conception, outrunning deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm +resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the +eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right +onward to his object,--this, this is eloquence; or rather it is something +greater and higher than all eloquence,--it is action, noble, sublime, +god-like action. + +DANIEL WEBSTER. + + * * * * * + + + +TRUTH AT LAST. + + +Does a man ever give up hope, I wonder,-- +Face the grim fact, seeing it clear as day? +When Bennen saw the snow slip, heard its thunder +Low, louder, roaring round him, felt the speed +Growing swifter as the avalanche hurled downward, +Did he for just one heart-throb--did he indeed +Know with all certainty, as they swept onward, +There was the end, where the crag dropped away? +Or did he think, even till they plunged and fell, +Some miracle would stop them? Nay, they tell +That he turned round, face forward, calm and pale, +Stretching his arms out toward his native vale. +As if in mute, unspeakable farewell, +And so went down.--'Tis something if at last, +Though only for a flash, a man may see +Clear-eyed the future as he sees the past, +From doubt, or fear, or hope's illusion free. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +WORK. + + +1. What is wise work, and what is foolish work? What the difference +between sense and nonsense, in daily occupation? There are three tests of +wise work:--that it must be honest, useful and cheerful. + +It is _Honest_. I hardly know anything more strange than that you +recognize honesty in play, and do not in work. In your lightest games, you +have always some one to see what you call "fair-play." In boxing, you must +hit fair; in racing, start fair. Your English watchword is +"fair-_play_," your English hatred, "foul-_play_." Did it never +strike you that you wanted another watchword also, "fair-_work_," and +another and bitterer hatred,--"foul-_work_"? + +2. Then wise work is _Useful_. No man minds, or ought to mind, its +being hard, if only it comes to something; but when it is hard and comes +to nothing, when all our bees' business turns to spiders', and for +honey-comb we have only resultant cobweb, blown away by the next +breeze,--that is the cruel thing for the worker. Yet do we ever ask +ourselves, personally, or even nationally, whether our work is coming to +anything or not? + +3. Then wise work is _Cheerful_, as a child's work is. Everybody in +this room has been taught to pray daily, "Thy Kingdom come." Now if we +hear a man swearing in the streets we think it very wrong, and say he +"takes God's name in vain." But there's a twenty times worse way of taking +His name in vain than that. It is to _ask God for what we don't +want_. If you don't want a thing don't ask for it: such asking is the +worst mockery of your King you can insult Him with. If you do not wish for +His kingdom, don't pray for it. But if you do, you must do more than pray +for it; you must work for it. And, to work for it, you must know what it +is. + +4. Observe, it is a Kingdom that is to come to us; we are not to go to it. +Also it is not to come all at once, but quietly; nobody knows how. "The +Kingdom of God cometh not with observation." Also, it is not to come +outside of us, but in our hearts: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Now +if we want to work for this Kingdom, and to bring it, and to enter into +it, there's one curious condition to be first accepted. We must enter into +it as children, or not at all; "Whosoever will not receive it as a little +child shall not enter therein." And again, "Suffer little children to come +unto me, and forbid them not, _for of such is the Kingdom of +Heaven_." + +5. Of _such_, observe. Not of children themselves, but of such as +children. It is the _character_ of children we want and must gain. It +is modest, faithful, loving, and because of all these characters it is +cheerful. Putting its trust in its father, it is careful for +nothing--being full of love to every creature, it is happy always, whether +in its play or in its duty. Well, that's the great worker's character +also. Taking no thought for the morrow; taking thought only for the duty +of the day; knowing indeed what labor is, but not what sorrow is; and +always ready for play--beautiful play. + +JOHN RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + + + +EXTRACT FROM "THE RING AND THE BOOK." + + +Our human speech is naught, +Our human testimony false, our fame +And human estimation words and wind. +Why take the artistic way to prove so much? +Because, it is the glory and good of Art, +That Art remains the one way possible +Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. +How look a brother in the face and say +"Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, +Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, +And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith!" +Say this as silvery as tongue can troll-- +The anger of the man may be endured, +The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him +Are not so bad to bear--but here's the plague, +That all this trouble comes of telling truth, +Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, +Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, +Nor recognizable by whom it left; +While falsehood would have done the work of truth. +But Art,--wherein man nowise speaks to men, +Only to mankind,--Art may tell a truth +Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought, +Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. +So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, +Beyond mere imagery on the wall,-- +So, note by note, bring music from your mind, +Deeper than ever the Adante dived,-- +So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, +Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. + + + * * * * * + +SELF-RELIANCE. + + +1. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in +your private heart is true for all men,--that is genius. + +Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the +inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our first thought is rendered +back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of +the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and +Milton is that they all set at naught books and tradition, and spoke not +what men but what _they_ thought. + +2. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which +flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament +of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because +it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; +they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. + +3. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They +teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored +inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. +Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what +we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with +shame our own opinion from another. + +4. There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the +conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must +take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the wide +universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but +through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to +till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he +knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. + +5. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression +on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without +preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that +it might testify of that particular ray. + +6. We but half express ourselves, and we are ashamed of that divine idea +which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and +of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his +work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put +his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done +otherwise shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not +deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no +invention, no hope. + +7. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the +place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your +contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, +and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying +their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their +heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. + +8. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same +transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, +not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers and +benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort and advancing on Chaos and the +Dark. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +RHODORA. + +ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THIS FLOWER? + + +In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, +I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, +Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, +To please the desert and the sluggish brook. +The purple petals, fallen in the pool, +Made the black water with their beauty gay; +Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, +And court the flower that cheapens his array. +Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why +This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, +Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, +Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: +Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! +I never thought to ask, I never knew: +But in my simple ignorance, suppose +The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + * * * * * + + + +EACH AND ALL. + + +Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, +Of thee from the hill-top looking down; +The heifer that lows in the upland farm, +Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; +The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, +Deems not that great Napoleon +Stops his horse, and lists with delight, +Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; +Nor knowest thou what argument +Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. +All are needed by each one; +Nothing is fair or good alone. + +I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, +Singing at dawn on the alder bough; +I brought him home, in his nest, at even; +He sings the song, but it cheers not now, +For I did not bring home the river and sky;-- +He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye. + +The delicate shell lay on the shore; +The bubbles of the latest wave +Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, +And the bellowing of the savage sea +Greeted their safe escape to me. +I wiped away the weeds and foam, +I fetched my sea-born treasures home; +But the poor, unsightly, noisome things +Had left their beauty on the shore +With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. + +The lover watched his graceful maid, +As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, +Nor knew her beauty's best attire +Was woven still by the snow-white choir. +At last she came to his hermitage, +Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;-- +The gay enchantment was undone; +A gentle wife, but fairy none. + +Then I said, "I covet truth; +Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; +I leave it behind with the games of youth:"-- +As I spoke, beneath my feet +The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, +Running over the club-moss burrs; +I inhaled the violet's breath; +Around me stood the oaks and firs; +Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; +Over me soared the eternal sky, +Full of light and of deity; +Again I saw, again I heard, +The rolling river, the morning bird;-- +Beauty through my senses stole; +I yielded myself to the perfect whole. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON + + * * * * * + + + +COLUMBUS. + + +[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, +copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.] + +Behind him lay the gray Azores, + Behind the gates of Hercules; +Before him not the ghost of shores, + Before him only shoreless seas. +The good mate said, "Now must we pray, + For lo! the very stars are gone. +Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!" + "Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +"My men grow mutinous by day, + My men grow ghastly pale and weak." +The stout mate thought of home; a spray + Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, + If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" +"Why, you shall say at break of day, + 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" + +They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, + Until at last the blanched mate said: +"Why, now, not even God would know + Should I and all my men fall dead. +These very winds forget their way, + For God from these dread seas has gone. +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"-- + He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" + +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: + "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. +He curls his lips, he lies in wait + With lifted teeth as if to bite! +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: + What shall we do when hope is gone?" +The words leapt like a leaping sword, + "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" + +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, + And peered through darkness. Ah, that night +Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- + A light! A light! A light! A light! +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! + It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, +He gained a world; he gave that world + Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" + +JOAQUIN MILLER. + + * * * * * + + + +MY LAST DUCHESS. + +FERRARA. + + +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said. +"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace--all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked +Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked +My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this +"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat +The Count your Master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretence +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +"THE TALE." + + +What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time +--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or rhyme, +Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, +While your shoulder propped my head. + +Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, +That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, +Went where such like used to go, +Singing for a prize, you know. + +Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing, but play the lyre; +Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing; I desire, +Sir, you keep the fact in mind +For a purpose that's behind. + +There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, +--Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound +Sung or played amiss: such ears +Had old judges, it appears! + +None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune +Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, +Sure to smile "In vain one tries +Picking faults out: take the prize!" + +When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? +Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir--who had guessed +Such ill luck in store?--it happed +One of those same seven strings snapped. + +All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada"? Pooh!) +--Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew +With its little heart on fire +Lighted on the crippled lyre. + +So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string +Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling +Fiery heart forth, sound the note +Wanted by the throbbing throat? + +Ay and, ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, +Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed +Saves the singer from defeat +With her chirrup low and sweet. + +Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent +"Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? +Why, we took your lyre for harp, +So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + +Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? +That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son +Finds his Lotte's power too spent +For aiding soul development. + +No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, +Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir! I hope you understand!) +--Said "Some record there must be +Of this cricket's help to me!" + +So he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; +On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; +Never more apart you found +Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + +That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know +Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, +All so learned and so wise +And deserving of a prize! + +If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, +Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt +Sweet and low, when strength usurped +Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + +"For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- +With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made +'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain +Never to be heard again,-- + +"Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place +Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass +Asked the treble to atone +For its somewhat sombre drone." + +But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls +To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him a girl's +"Love" comes aptly in when gruff +Grows his singing. (There, enough!) + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE. + + +Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star +In his steep course? So long he seems to pause +On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc! +The Arve and Arveiron at thy base +Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, +Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, +How silently! Around thee, and above, +Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, +An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it +As with a wedge. But when I look again +It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, +Thy habitation from eternity. + +O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee +Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, +Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer +I worshipped the Invisible alone. +Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,-- +So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- +Thou, the mean while wast blending with my thought. +Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; +Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, +Into the mighty vision passing--there, +As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. + +Awake, my soul! not only passive praise +Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, +Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, +Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! +Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn! + +Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! +O, struggling with the darkness all the night, +And visited all night by troops of stars, +Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- +Companion of the morning-star at dawn, +Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn +Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise! +Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? +Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? +Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + +And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! +Who called you forth from night and utter death, +From dark and icy caverns called you forth, +Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, +Forever shattered, and the same forever? +Who gave you your invulnerable life, +Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, +Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? +And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- +"Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?" + +Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow +Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- +Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, +And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! +Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! +Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven +Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun +Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers +Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + +"God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, +Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" +"God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice +Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds +And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, +And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!" + +Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! +Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! +Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! +Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! +Ye signs and wonders of the elements! +Utter forth "God!" and fill the hills with praise! + +Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks +Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard +Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene +Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- +Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou +That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low +In adoration, upward from thy base +Slow traveling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, +Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud +To rise before me,--rise, oh, ever rise! +Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! +Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, +Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, +Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, +And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, +Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. + +S.T. COLERIDGE. + + * * * * * + + + +MY STAR. + + +All that I know + Of a certain star +Is, it can throw + (Like the angled spar) +Now a dart of red, + Now a dart of blue, +Till my friends have said + They would fain see, too + +My star that dartles the red and the blue! +Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled; +They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. +What matter to me if their star is a world? +Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + + + +A CONSERVATIVE. + + +The garden beds I wandered by + One bright and cheerful morn, +When I found a new-fledged butterfly + A-sitting on a thorn, +A black and crimson butterfly, + All doleful and forlorn. + +I thought that life could have no sting + To infant butterflies, +So I gazed on this unhappy thing + With wonder and surprise, +While sadly with his waving wing + He wiped his weeping eyes. + +Said I, "What can the matter be? + Why weepest thou so sore? +With garden fair and sunlight free + And flowers in goodly store--" +But he only turned away from me + And burst into a roar. + +Cried he, "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! +Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, +Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + +At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; +Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, +"You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + +"I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" +And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm; +"I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + +O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! +I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- +The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. + +CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN. + + * * * * * + + + +FIVE LIVES. + + +Five mites of monads dwelt in a round drop +That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun. +To the naked eye they lived invisible; +Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell +Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky. + + One was a meditative monad, called a sage; +And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought: +"Tradition, handed down for hours and hours, +Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world, +Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence, +When I am very old, yon shimmering dome +Come drawing down and down, till all things end?" +Then with a weazen smirk he proudly felt +No other mote of God had ever gained +Such giant grasp of universal truth. + + One was a transcendental monad; thin +And long and slim in the mind; and thus he mused: +"Oh, vast, unfathomable monad-Souls! +Made in the image"--a hoarse frog croaks from the pool-- +"Hark! 'twas some god, voicing his glorious thought +In thunder music! Yea, we hear their voice, +And we may guess their minds from ours, their work. +Some taste they have like ours, some tendency +To wiggle about, and munch a trace of scum." +He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas +That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone. + + One was a barren-minded monad, called +A positivist; and he knew positively: +"There is no world beyond this certain drop. +Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream +Of their faint gleams, and noises from without, +And higher and lower; life is life enough." +Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily +He seized upon an atom of bug and fed. + + One was a tattered monad, called a poet; +And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: +"Oh, the little female monad's lips! +Oh, the little female monad's eyes! +Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!" + + The last was a strong-minded monadess, +Who dashed amid the infusoria, +Danced high and low, and wildly spun and dove +Till the dizzy others held their breath to see. + + But while they led their wondrous little lives +AEonian moments had gone wheeling by. +The burning drop had shrunk with fearful speed; +A glistening film--'twas gone; the leaf was dry. +The little ghost of an inaudible squeak +Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone; +Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox +Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, +Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still. + +EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. + + * * * * * + + + +THE COMING OF ARTHUR. + +[_Abridged_.] + + +LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, +Had one fair daughter, and none other child; +And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, +Guinevere, and in her his one delight. + + For many a petty king ere Arthur came +Ruled in this isle and, ever waging war +Each upon other, wasted all the land; +And still from time to time the heathen host +Swarm'd over seas, and harried what was left. +And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, +Wherein the beast was ever more and more, +But man was less and less. . . . + + * * * * * + + And thus the land of Cameliard was waste, +Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, +And none or few to scare or chase the beast; +So that wild dog and wolf and boar and bear +Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, +And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. + + * * * * * + + . . . . . And King Leodogran +Groan'd for the Roman legions here again +And Caesar's eagle. . . . . + + * * * * * + +He knew not whither he should turn for aid. + + But--for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, + . . . . . . . . . --the King +Sent to him, saying, 'Arise and help us thou! +For here between the man and beast we die.' + + And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, +But heard the call and came; and Guinevere +Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass; +But since he neither wore on helm or shield +The golden symbol of his kinglihood, +But rode, a simple knight among his knights, +And many of these in richer arms than he, +She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw, +One among many, tho' his face was bare. +But Arthur, looking downward as he past, +Felt the light of her eyes into his life +Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd +His tents beside the forest. Then he drave +The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd +The forest, letting in the sun, and made +Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight +And so returned. + + For while he linger'd there, +A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts +Of those great lords and barons of his realm +Flashed forth and into war; for most of these, +Colleaguing with a score of petty kings, +Made head against him crying: "Who is he +That should rule us? Who hath proven him +King Uther's son?" + + And, Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt +Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, +Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere, +And thinking as he rode: "Her father said +That there between the man and beast they die. +Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts +Up to my throne and side by side with me? +What happiness to reign a lonely king? + + * * * * * + + . . . . But were I join'd with her, +Then might we live together as one life, +And reigning with one will in everything +Have power on this dark land to lighten it, +And power on this dead world to make it live." + + * * * * * + + When Arthur reached a field of battle bright +With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world +Was all so clear about him that he saw +The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, +And even in high day the morning star. + + * * * * * + + . . . . But the Powers who walk the world, +Made lightnings and great thunders over him, + And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, +And mightier of his hands with every blow, +And leading all his knighthood, threw the kings. + + * * * * * + +So like a painted battle the war stood +Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, +And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. + + * * * * * + + Then quickly from the foughten field he sent + . . . . . . . . . Sir Bedivere + . . . . . . . . . to King Leodogran, +Saying, "If I in aught have served thee well, +Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." + + Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart +Debating--"How should I that am a king, +However much he holp me at my need, +Give my one daughter saving to a king, +And a king's son"?--lifted his voice, and call'd +A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom +He trusted all things, and of him required +His counsel: "Knowest thou aught of Arthur's birth?" + + * * * * * + +Then while the King debated with himself, + + * * * * * + + . . . . . there came to Cameliard, + + * * * * * + +Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent; +Whom . . . . . . . . the King +Made feast for, as they sat at meat: + + * * * * * + +'Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men +Report him! Yea, but ye--think ye this king-- +So many those that hate him, and so strong, +So few his knights, however brave they be-- +Hath body enow to hold his foeman down?' + + 'O King,' she cried, 'and I will tell thee: few, +Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him; +For I was near him when the savage yells +Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat +Crowned on the dais, and all his warriors cried, +"Be thou the King, and we will work thy will +Who love thee," Then the King in low deep tones, +And simple words of great authority, +Bound them by so straight vows to his own self +That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some +Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, +Some flush'd, and others dazed, as one who wakes +Half blinded at the coming of a light. + +'But when he spake, and cheer'd his Table Round +With large, divine, and comfortable words, +Beyond my tongue to tell thee--I beheld +From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash +A momentary likeness of the King; + + * * * * * + + 'And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit +And hundred winters are but as the hands +Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. + + 'And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, +Who knew a subtler magic than his own-- +Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. +She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, +Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist +Of incense curl'd about her, and her face +Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; +But there was heard among the holy hymns +A voice as of the waters, for she dwells +Down in a deep--calm, whatsoever storms +May shake the world--and when the surface rolls, +Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.' + + Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought +To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd, +Fixing full eyes of question on her face, +'The swallow and the swift are near akin, +But thou art closer to this noble prince, +Being his own dear sister;' + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . 'What know I? +For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, +And dark in hair and eyes am I; . . + . . . . yea and dark was Uther too, +Wellnigh to blackness; but this king is fair +Beyond the race of Britons and of men. + + 'But let me tell thee now another tale: + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . . . on the night +When Uther in Tintagil past away +Moaning and wailing for an heir, Merlin +Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe, + + * * * * * + +Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps +It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof +A dragon wing'd and all from stem to stern +Bright with a shining people on the decks, +And gone as soon as seen. . . . . . He + . . . . . .watch'd the great sea fall, +Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, +Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep +And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged +Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame: +And down the wave and in the flame was borne +A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet, +Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried, "The King!" + + * * * * * + +And presently thereafter follow'd calm, +Free sky and stars: "And this same child," he said, +"Is he who reigns." . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . . . And ever since the Lords +Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, +So that the realm has gone to wrack; but now, +This year, when Merlin--for his hour had come-- +Brought Arthur forth, and sat him in the hall, +Proclaiming, "Here is Uther's heir, your King," +A hundred voices cried: "Away with him! +No king of ours!" . . . . . + + * * * * * + + . . . . Yet Merlin thro' his craft, +And while the people clamor'd for a king, +Had Arthur crown'd; but after, the great lords +Banded, and so brake out in open war. + + * * * * * + + . . . . and Merlin in our time +Hath spoken also, . . . . . +Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, +But pass, again to come, and then or now +Utterly smite the heathen under foot, +Till these and all men hail him for their king.' + + . . . . . King Leodogran rejoiced, +But musing 'Shall I answer yea or nay?' +Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, +Dreaming a slope of land that ever grew, +Field after field, up to a height, the peak +Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, +Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope +The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, +Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, +In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, +Stream'd to the peak, and mingled with the haze +And made it thicker; while the phantom king +Sent out at times a voice; and here or there +Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest +Slew on and burnt, crying, 'No king of ours, +No son of Uther, and no king of ours;' +Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze +Descended, and the solid earth became +As nothing, but the king stood out in heaven, +Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent + + * * * * * + +Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. + + Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved +And honor'd most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth +And bring the Queen, and watched him from the gates: +And Lancelot past away among the flowers-- +For then was latter April--and return'd-- +Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. +To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, +Chief of the church in Britain, and before +The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King +That morn was married, while in stainless white, +The fair beginners of a noble time, +And glorying in their vows and him, his knights +Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. +Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, +The sacred altar blossom'd white with May, +The sun of May descended on their King, +They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, +Roll'd incense, and there past along the hymns +A voice as of the waters, while the two +Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love. +And Arthur said, 'Behold, thy doom is mine. +Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!' +To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, +'King and my Lord, I love thee to the death!' +And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake: +'Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world +Other, and may the Queen be one with thee, +And all this Order of thy Table Round +Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!' + + * * * * * + +And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King:-- + + '_Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May!! +Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll'd away! +Blow thro' the living world--"Let the King reign_!" + + '_Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? +Flash brand and lance, fall battle-axe on helm, +Fall battle-axe, and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + '_Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard +That God hath told the King a secret word. +Fall battle-axe and flash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, +The king is king, and ever wills the highest. +Clang battle-axe, and clash brand! Let the King reign_! + + * * * * * + + '_The King will follow Christ, and we the King, +In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. +Fall battle-axe, and clash brand! "Let the King reign_!" + + +And Arthur and his knighthood for a space +Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King +Drew in the petty princedoms under him, +Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame +The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +ELAINE. + + +Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, +Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, +High in her chamber up a tower to the east +Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; +Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray +Might strike it, and awaken her with the gleam; +Then fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it +A case of silk, and braided thereupon +All the devices blazon'd on the shield +In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, +A border fantasy of branch and flower, +And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. +Nor rested thus content, but day by day +Leaving her household and good father, climb'd +That eastern tower, and entering barr'd the door, +Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, +Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, +Now made a pretty history to herself +Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, +And every scratch a lance had made upon it, +Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; +That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; +That at Cearleon; this at Camelot; +And ah, God's mercy what a stroke was there! +And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God +Broke the Strong lance and roll'd his enemy down, +And saved him; so she lived in fantasy. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON + + * * * * * + + + +THE LADY OF SHALOTT. + +PART I. + + +On either side the river lie +Long fields of barley and of rye, +That clothe the wold and meet the sky; +And thro' the field the road runs by + To many-tower'd Camelot +And up and down the people go, +Gazing where the lilies blow +Round an island there below, + The Island of Shalott. + +Willows whiten, aspens quiver, +Little breezes, dusk and shiver +Thro' the wave that runs for ever +By the island in the river + Flowing down to Camelot. +Four gray walls, and four gray towers, +Overlook a space of flowers, +And the silent isle imbowers + The lady of Shalott. + +By the margin, willow-veil'd, +Slide the heavy barges trail'd +By slow horses; and unhail'd +The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd + Skimming down to Camelot: +But who hath seen her wave her hand? +Or at the casement seen her stand? +Or is she known in all the land, + The Lady of Shalott? + +Only reapers, reaping early +In among the bearded barley, +Hear a song that echoes cheerly, +From the river winding clearly, + Down to tower'd Camelot; +And by the moon the reaper weary, +Piling sheaves in uplands airy, +Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy + Lady of Shalott." + + +PART II. + +There she weaves by night and day +A magic web with colors gay. +She has heard a whisper say, +A curse is on her if she stay + To look down to Camelot. +She knows not what the curse may be, +And so she weaveth steadily, +And little other care hath she, + The Lady of Shalott. + +And moving thro' a mirror clear +That hangs before her all the year, +Shadows of the world appear. +There she sees the highway near + Winding down to Camelot; +There the river eddy whirls, +And there the surly village-churls, +And the red cloaks of market-girls, + Pass onward from Shalott. + +Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, +An abbot on an ambling pad, +Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, +Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, + Goes by to tower'd Camelot; +And sometimes thro' the mirror blue +The knights come riding two and two; +She hath no loyal knight and true, + The Lady of Shalott. + +But in her web she still delights +To weave the mirror's magic sights, +For often thro' the silent nights +A funeral, with plumes and lights, + And music, went to Camelot: +Or when the moon was overhead, +Came two young lovers lately wed: +"I am half sick of shadows" said + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART III. + +A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, +He rode between the barley sheaves, +The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, +And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot. +A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd +To a lady in his shield, +That sparkled on the yellow field, + Beside remote Shalott. + +The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, +Like to some branch of stars we see +Hung in the Golden Galaxy. +The bridle bells rang merrily + As he rode down to Camelot; +And from his blazon'd baldric slung +A mighty silver bugle hung, +And as he rode his armor rung, + Beside remote Shalott. + +All in the blue unclouded weather +Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. +The helmet and the helmet-feather +Burned like one burning flame together, + As he rode down to Camelot; +As often through the purple night, +Below the starry clusters bright, +Some bearded meteor, trailing light, + Moves over still Shalott. + +His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; +On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; +From underneath his helmet flow'd +His coal-black curls as on he rode, + As he rode down to Camelot. +From the bank and from the river +He flashed into the crystal mirror, +"Tirra lirra" by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot. + +She left the web, she left the loom, +She made three paces thro' the room, +She saw the water-lily bloom, +She saw the helmet and the plume, + She looked down to Camelot. +Out flew the web and floated wide; +The mirror cracked from side to side; +"The curse is come upon me," cried + The Lady of Shalott. + + +PART IV. + +In the stormy east-wind straining, +The pale yellow woods are waning, +The broad stream in his banks complaining, +Heavily the low sky raining + Over tower'd Camelot; +Down she came and found a boat +Beneath a willow left afloat, +And round about the prow she wrote + The Lady of Shalott. + +And down the river's dim expanse +Like some bold seer in a trance, +Seeing all his own mischance-- +With a glassy countenance + Did she look to Camelot. +And at the closing of the day +She loosed the chain, and down she lay; +The broad stream bore her far away, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Lying, robed in snowy white +That loosely flew to left and right-- +The leaves upon her falling light-- +Thro' the noises of the night + She floated down to Camelot; +And as the boat-head wound along +The willowy hills and fields among, +They heard her singing her last song, + The Lady of Shalott. + +Heard a carol, mournful, holy, +Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, +Til' her blood was frozen slowly, +And her eyes were darken'd wholly, + Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. +For ere she reached upon the tide +The first house by the water-side, +Singing in her song she died. + The Lady of Shalott. + +Under tower and balcony, +By garden-wall and gallery, +A gleaming shape she floated by, +Dead-pale between the houses high, + Silent into Camelot. +Out upon the wharfs they came, +Knight and burgher, lord and dame, +And round the prow they read her name + _The Lady of Shalott_. + +Who is this? and what is here? +And in the lighted palace near +Died the sound of royal cheer; +And they crossed themselves for fear, + All the knights at Camelot: +But Lancelot mused a little space; +He said "She has a lovely face; +God in his mercy lend her grace, + The Lady of Shalott." + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + + + +IF WE HAD THE TIME. + + +If I had the time to find a place +And sit me down full face to face + With my better self, that cannot show + In my daily life that rushes so: +It might be then I would see my soul +Was stumbling still towards the shining goal, + I might be nerved by the thought sublime,-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to let my heart +Speak out and take in my life a part, + To look about and to stretch a hand + To a comrade quartered in no-luck land; +Ah, God! If I might but just sit still +And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, + I think that my wish with God's would rhyme-- + If I had the time! + +If I had the time to learn from you +How much for comfort my word could do; + And I told you then of my sudden will + To kiss your feet when I did you ill; +If the tears aback of the coldness feigned +Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,-- + Brothers, the souls of us all would chime, + If we had the time! + +RICHARD BURTON. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. +"FALSTAFF'S RECRUITS." + + +_Introduction_.--Sir John Falstaff has received a commission from the +King to raise a company of soldiers to fight in the King's battles. After +drafting a number of well-to-do farmers, whom he knows will pay him snug +sums of money rather than to serve under him, he pockets their money and +proceeds to fill his company from the riff-raff of the country through +which he passes. + +The scene is a village green before Justice Shallow's house. The Justice +has received word from Sir John that he is about to visit him, and desires +him to call together a number of the villagers from which recruits may be +selected. + +These villagers are now grouped upon the green, with Justice Shallow +standing near. + +Bardolph, Sir John Falstaff's corporal, enters and addresses Justice +Shallow. + +_Bardolph_.--Good morrow, honest gentlemen. I beseech you, which is +Justice Shallow? + +_Shallow_.--I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, +and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure +with me? + +_Bardolph_.--My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir +John Falstaff, a tall gentlemen, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. + +_Shallow_.--He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. +How doth the good Knight now? Look! here comes good Sir John. _(Enter +Falstaff_.) Give me your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. +By my troth you look well and bear your years very well; welcome, good Sir +John. + +_Falstaff_.--I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. +Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me with half a +dozen sufficient men? + +_Shallow_.--Marry have we, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Let me see them, I beseech you. + +_Shallow_.--Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let +me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so; yea, marry +sir.--Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do +so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Here, an't please you. + +_Shallow_.--What think you, Sir John? A good limbed fellow: young, +strong, and of good friends. + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Mouldy? + +_Mouldy_.--Yea, an't please you. + +_Falstaff_.--'Tis the more time thou wert used. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are +mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. +Shall I prick him, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--Yes, prick him. + +_Mouldy_.--I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let +me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and +her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter +to go out than I. + +_Shallow_.--Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you +are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.--Simon Shadow? + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to +be a cold soldier. + +_Shallow_.--Where's Shadow? + +_Shadow_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Shadow, whose son art thou? + +_Shadow_.--My mother's son, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. +Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer. + +_Shallow_.--Thomas Wart! + +_Falstaff_.--Where's he? + +_Wart_.--Here, sir! + +_Falstaff_.--Is thy name Wart? + +_Wart_.--Yea, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Thou art a very ragged wart. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! Shall I prick him down, Sir John? + +_Falstaff_.--It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his +back and the whole frame stands upon pins; prick him no more. + +_Shallow_.--Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it; I commend +you well.--Francis Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--What trade art thou, Feeble? + +_Feeble_.--I'm a woman's tailor, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes +in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? + +_Feeble_.--I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. + +_Falstaff_.--Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous +Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous +mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master +Shallow. + +_Feeble_.--I would Wart might have gone, too, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend +him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. + +_Feeble_.--It shall suffice, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? + +_Shallow_.--Peter Bullcalf, o' the green. + +_Falstaff_.--Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. + +_Bullcalf_.--Here, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till +he roar again. + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord! Good my lord captain,-- + +_Falstaff_.--What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? + +_Bullcalf_.--O Lord, sir! I'm a diseased man. + +_Falstaff_.--What disease hast thou? + +_Bullcalf_.--A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have +away with thy cold. Is here all? + +_Shallow_.--Here is two more than your number. You must have but four +here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. + +_Falstaff_.--Come, I will go drink with you. + +(_Exit Sir John and Justice Shallow_.) + +_Bullcalf_.--(_Approaching Bardolph_.) Good Master Corporate +Bardolph, stand my friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings in French +crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I'd as lief be hanged, sir, as to go; +and yet for mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am +unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my friends; +else, sir, I did not care, for my own part, so much. + +_Bardolph_.--(_Pocketing the money_.) Go to; stand aside. + +_Feeble_.--By my troth, I care not. + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +AT THE LODGINGS OF MR. AND MRS. MICAWBER. + + +_Introduction_.--The scene opens in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. +Micawber. Mr. Micawber at this time is suffering under, what he terms, "A +temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities," and is out looking for +something to turn up. + +Mrs. Micawber is at home attending to the twins, one of which she is +holding in her arms, the other is in the cradle near by, and various of +the children are scattered about the floor. + +Mrs. Micawber has been bothered all the morning by the calling of +creditors;--at last she exclaims, as she trots the babe in her arms:-- + +(_Mrs. Micawber_.) Well, I wonder how many more times they will be +calling! However, it's their fault. If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give +him time, they must take the consequences. Oh! there is some one knocking +now! I believe that's Mr. Heep's knock. It _is_ Mr. Heep! Come in, +Mr. Heep. We are very glad to see you. Come right in. + +_Heep_.--Is Mr. Micawber in? + +_Mrs. Mic_.--No, Mr. Heep. Mr. Micawber has gone out. We make no +stranger of you, Mr. Heep, so I don't mind telling you Mr. Micawber's +affairs have reached a crisis. With the exception of a heel of Dutch +cheese, which is not adapted to the wants of a young family,--and +including the twins,--there is nothing to eat in the house. + +_Heep_.--How dreadful! (_Aside_.) The very man for my purpose. +(_Explanation_. At this moment there is a noise heard on the landing. +Micawber himself rushes into the room, slamming the door behind him.) + +_Micawber_.--(_Not seeing Heep_.) The clouds have gathered, the +storm has broken, and the thunderbolt has fallen on the devoted head of +Wilkins Micawber! Emma, my dear, the die is cast. All is over. Leave me in +my misery! + +_Mrs. Mic_.--I'll never desert my Micawber! + +_Mic_.--In the words of the immortal Plato, "It must be so, Cato!" +But no man is without a friend when he is possessed of courage and shaving +materials! Emma, my love, fetch me my razors! (_Recovers himself_) +sh--sh! We are not alone! (_Gayly_) Oh, Mr. Heep! Delighted to see +you, my young friend! Ah, my dear young attorney-general, in prospective, +if I had only known you when my troubles commenced, my creditors would +have been a great deal better managed than they were! You will pardon the +momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent +collision with a minion of the law,--in short, with a ribald turncock +attached to the waterworks. Emma, my love, our supply of water has been +cut off. Hope has sunk beneath the horizon! Bring me a pint of laudanum! + +_Heep_.--Mr. Micawber, would you be willing to tell me the amount of +your indebtedness? + +_Mic_.--It is only a small matter for nutriment, beef, mutton, etc., +some trifle, seven and six pence ha'penny. + +_Heep_.--I'll pay it for you. + +_Mic_.--My dear friend! You overpower me with obligation! Shall I +admit the officer? (_Turns and goes to the door, opens it_.) Enter +myrmidon! Hats off, in the presence of a solvent debtor and a lady. +(_Heeps pays the officer and dismisses him_.) + +_Heep_.--Now, Mr. Micawber, I suppose you have no objection to +giving me your I.O.U. for the amount. + +_Mic_.--Certainly not. I am always ready to put my name to any +species of negotiable paper, from twenty shillings upward. Excuse me, +Heep, I'll write it. (_Goes through motion of writing it on leaf of +memo, book. Tears it out and hands it to Heep_.) I suppose this is +renewable on the usual term? + +_Heep_.--Better. You can work it out. I come to offer you the +position of clerk in my partner's office--the firm of Wickfield and +Heep. + +_Mic_.--What! A clerk! Emma, my love, I believe I may have no +hesitation in saying something has at last turned up! + +_Heep_.--You will excuse me, Mrs. Micawber, but I should like to +speak a few words to your husband in private. + +_Mrs. Mic_.--Certainly! Wilkins, my love, go on and prosper! + +_Mic_.--My dear, I shall endeavor to do so to an unlimited extent! +Ah, the sun has again risen--the clouds have passed--the sky is clear, and +another score may be begun at the butcher's.--Heep, precede me. Emma, my +love. _Au Revoir_. + +(_A gallant bow to Mrs. Micawber_.) + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD. + + CHARACTERS. + + OLD FISHERMAN PEGGOTTY, + + HAM PEGGOTTY, + + DAVID COPPERFIELD. + +_Introduction_.--The scene is the interior of the "Old Ark"; the time +is evening. The rain is falling outside, yet inside the old ark all is +snug and comfortable. The fire is burning brightly on the hearth, and +Mother Gummidge sits by it knitting. Ham has gone out to fetch little +Em'ly home from her work,--and the old fisherman sits smoking his +evening pipe by the table near the window. They are expecting Steerforth +and Copperfield in to spend the evening. Presently a knock is heard and +David enters. Old Peggotty gets up to greet him. + +_Old Peg_.--Why! It's Mas'r Davy? Glad to see you, Mas'r Davy, you're +the first of the lot! Take off that cloak of yours if it's wet and draw +right up to the fire. Don't you mind Mawther Gummidge, Mas'r Davy; she's +a-thinkin' of the old 'un. She allers do be thinkin of the old 'un when +there's a storm a-comin' up, along of his havin' been drowned at sea. +Well, now, I must go and light up accordin' to custom. (_He lights a +candle and puts it on the table by the window_.) Theer we are! Theer we +are! A-lighted up accordin' to custom. Now, Mas'r Davy, you're a-wonderin' +what that little candle is for, ain't yer? Well, I'll tell yer. It's for +my little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't o'er light or cheerful arter +dark, so when I'm home here along the time that Little Em'ly comes home +from her work, I allers lights the little candle and puts it there on the +table in the winder, and it serves two purposes,--first, Em'ly sees it and +she says: "Theer's home," and likewise, "Theer's Uncle," fur if I ain't +here I never have no light showed. Theer! Now you're laughin' at me, Mas'r +Davy! You're a sayin' as how I'm a babby. Well, I don't know but I am. +(_Walks towards table_.) Not a babby to look at, but a babby to +consider on. A babby in the form of a Sea Porky-pine. + +See the candle sparkle! I can hear it say--"Em'ly's lookin' at me! Little +Em'ly's comin'!" Right I am for here she is! (_He goes to the door to +meet her; the door opens and Ham comes staggering in_.) + +_Ham_.--She's gone! Her that I'd a died fur, and will die fur even +now! She's gone! + +_Peggotty_.--Gone!! + +_Ham_.--Gone! She's run away! And think how she's run away when I +pray my good and gracious God to strike her down dead, sooner than let her +come to disgrace and shame. + +_Peggotty_.--Em'ly gone! I'll not believe it. I must have +proof--proof. + +_Ham_.--Read that writin'. + +_Peggotty_.--No! I won't read that writin'--read it you, Mas'r Davy. +Slow, please. I don't know as I can understand. + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "When you see this I shall be far away." + +_Peggotty_.--Stop theer, Mas'r Davy! Stop theer! Fur away! My Little +Em'ly fur away! Well? + +_David_.--(_Reads_) "Never to come back again unless he brings +me back a lady. Don't remember, Ham, that we were to be married, but try +to think of me as if I had died long ago, and was buried somewhere. My +last love and last tears for Uncle." + +_Peggotty_.--Who's the man? What's his name? I want to know the man's +name. + +_Ham_.--It warn't no fault of yours, Mas'r Davy, that I know. + +_Peggotty_.--What! You don't mean his name's Steerforth, do you? + +_Ham_.--Yes! His name is Steerforth, and he's a cursed villain! + +_Peggotty_.--Where's my coat? Give me my coat! Help me on with it, +Mas'r Davy. Now bear a hand theer with my hat. + +_David_.--Where are you going, Mr. Peggotty? + +_Peggotty_.--I'm a goin' to seek fur my little Em'ly. First, I'm +going to stave in that theer boat and sink it where I'd a drownded him, as +I'm a living soul; if I'd a known what he had in him! I'd a drownded him, +and thought I was doin' right! Now I'm going to seek fur my Little Em'ly +throughout the wide wurrety! + + * * * * * + + + +A SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN. + + +_Introduction_.--This scene introduces the following +characters:--Conn, the Shaughraun, a reckless, devil-may-care, +true-hearted young vagabond, who is continually in a scrape from his +desire to help a friend and his love of fun; his mother, Mrs. O'Kelly; his +sweetheart, Moya Dolan, niece of the parish priest. + +It is evening. Moya is alone in the kitchen. She has just put the kettle +on the fire when Mrs. O'Kelly, Conn's mother, enters. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Is it yourself, Moya? I've come to see if that vagabond +of mine has been around this way. + +_Moya_.--Why should he be here, Mrs. O'Kelly? Hasn't he a home of his +own? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The Shebeen is his home when he is not in jail. His +father died o' drink, and Conn will go the same way. + +_Moya_.--I thought your husband was drowned at sea? + +_Mrs. O'K_.--And bless him, so he was. + +_Moya_.--Well, that's a quare way o' dying o' drink. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--The best of men he was, when he was sober--a betther +never drhawed the breath o' life. + +_Moya_.--But you say he never was sober. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Niver! An' Conn takes afther him! + +_Moya_.--Mother, I'm afeared I shall take afther Conn. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him! You a good +dacent gurl, and desarve the best of husbands. + +_Moya_.--Them's the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken +yoursilf, Mrs. O'Kelly. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Conn niver did an honest day's work in his life--but +dhrinkin' and fishin', an' shootin', an' sportin', and love-makin'. + +_Moya_.--Sure, that's how the quality pass their lives. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--That's it. A poor man that sports the sowl of a +gintleman is called a blackguard. + +(_At this moment Conn appears in the doorway_.) + +_Conn_.--(_At left_.) Some one is talkin' about me! Ah, Moya, +Darlin', come here. (_Business as if he reached out his hands to Moya as +he comes forward to meet her, and passes her over to his left so he seems +to stand in center between Moya on left and Mrs. O'Kelly on right_.) +Was the old Mother thryin' to make little o' me? Don't you belave a word +that comes out o' her! She's jealous o' me. (_Laughing as he shakes his +finger at his mother_.) Yes, ye are! You're chokin' wid it this very +minute! Oh, Moya darlin', she's jealous to see my two arms about ye. But +she's proud o' me. Oh, she's proud o' me as an old him that's got a duck +for a chicken. Howld your whist now Mother! Wipe your mouth and give me a +kiss. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--Oh, Conn, what have you been afther? The polls have been +in the cabin today about ye. They say you stole Squire Foley's horse. + +_Conn_.--Stole his horse! Sure the baste is safe and sound in his +paddock this minute. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--But he says you stole it for the day to go huntin'? + +_Conn_.--Well, here's a purty thing, for a horse to run away wid a +man's characther like this! Oh, Wurra! may I never die in sin, but this +was the way of it. I was standin' by owld Foley's gate, whin I heard the +cry of the hounds coming across the tail of the bog, an' there they wor, +my dear, spread out like the tail of a paycock, an' the finest dog fox ye +ever seen a sailin' ahead of thim up the boreen, and right across the +churchyard. It was enough to raise the inhabitints out of the ground! +Well, as I looked, who should come and put her head over the gate besoide +me but the Squire's brown mare, small blame to her. Divil a word I said to +her, nor she to me, for the hounds had lost their scent, we knew by their +yelp and whine as they hunted among the gravestones. When, whist! the fox +went by us. I leapt upon the gate, an' gave a shriek of a view-halloo to +the whip; in a minute the pack caught the scent again, an' the whole field +came roaring past. + +The mare lost her head entoirely and tore at the gate. "Stop," says I, "ye +divil!" an' I slipt a taste of a rope over her head an' into her mouth. +Now mind the cunnin' of the baste, she was quiet in a minute. "Come home, +now," ses I. "aisy!" an' I threw my leg across her. + +Be jabbers! No sooner was I on her back than--Whoo! Holy Rocket! she was +over the gate, an' tearin' afther the hounds loike mad. "Yoicks!" ses I; +"Come back you thafe of the world, where you takin' me to?" as she carried +me through the huntin' field, an' landed me by the soide of the masther of +the hounds, Squire Foley himself. + +He turned the color of his leather breeches. + +"Mother o'Moses!" ses he, "Is that Conn, the Shaughraun, on my brown +mare?" + +"Bad luck to me!" ses I, "It's no one else!" + +"You sthole my horse," ses the Squire. + +"That's a lie!" ses I, "for it was your horse sthole me!" + +_Moya_.--(_Laughing_.) And what did he say to that, Conn? + +_Conn_.--I couldn't stop to hear, Moya, for just then we took a stone +wall together an' I left him behind in the ditch. + +_Mrs. O'K_.--You'll get a month in jail for this. + +_Conn_.--Well, it was worth it. + +BOUCICAULT. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Practice Book, by Leland Powers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRACTICE BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 10491.txt or 10491.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10491/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Leonard D Johnson and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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