Various
Fourth Reader
THE DAISY
There is a flower, a little flower,
With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.
The prouder beauties of the field
In gay but quick succession shine,
Race after race their honors yield,
They flourish and decline.
But this small flower, to Nature dear,
While moons and stars their courses run,
Wreathes the whole circle of the year,
Companion of the sun.
It smiles upon the lap of May,
To sultry August spreads its charms,
Lights pale October on his way,
And twines December’s arms.
The purple heath, and golden broom,
In moory mountains catch the gale,
O’er lawns the lily spreads perfume,
The violet in the vale;
But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox’s den.
Within the garden’s cultured round,
It shares the sweet carnation’s bed;
And blooms in consecrated ground
In honor of the dead.
The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue fly bends its pensile stem
Light o’er the skylark’s nest.
’Tis Flora’s page: in every place,
In every season, fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.
On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise:
The rose has but a summer reign,
The daisy never dies.
– James Montgomery.
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain. – Dickinson.
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT
Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home, —
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene, – one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on:
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
– John Henry Newman.
To him that wills, ways are not wanting.
ESCAPE FROM A PANTHER
By this time Elizabeth Temple and Louisa had gained the summit of the mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued their course under the shade of the trees. Their conversation was entirely occupied with the little incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall pine, and every shrub or flower, called forth some simple expression of admiration.
In this manner they proceeded along the margin of the precipice, when Elizabeth suddenly started, and exclaimed, – “Listen! there are the cries of a child on this mountain! Is there a clearing near us, or can some little one have strayed from its parents?”
“Such things frequently happen,” returned Louisa. “Let us follow the sounds: it may be a wanderer starving on the hill.” More than once Elizabeth was on the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa caught her by the arm, and, pointing behind them, cried, —
“Look at the dog!”
Brave had been their companion from the time the voice of his young mistress lured him from his kennel to the present moment. His advanced age had long before deprived him of his activity; and when his companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the ground, and await their movements, with his eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill accorded with the character of a protector.
But when aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, through fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner that would have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known his good qualities.
“Brave!” she said. “Be quiet, Brave! what do you see, fellow?”
At the sound of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at all diminished, began to increase. He stalked in front of the ladies, and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire by a short, surly barking.
“What does he see?” said Elizabeth. “There must be some animal in sight.”
Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa standing with her face whitened to the color of death, and her finger pointing upwards. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the direction indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and glaring eyes of a female panther, fixed on them and threatening to leap.
“Let us fly,” exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow.
There was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an extremity. She fell on her knees by the side of the inanimate Louisa, encouraging their only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, by the sound of her voice.
“Courage, Brave!” she cried, her own tones beginning to tremble, “courage, courage, good Brave!”
A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now appeared, dropping from the branches of a sapling. This vicious creature approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with the ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the bark of a tree with its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat; and then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling and scratching the earth, it would attempt the manifestations of anger that rendered its parent so terrific.
All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, short tail erect, his body drawn backwards on its haunches, and his eyes following the movements of both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the growling of the three becoming more horrid at each moment, until the younger beast, overleaping its intended bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries and struggles, but they ended, almost as soon as commenced, by the cub appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws of Brave with a violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly as to render it completely senseless.
Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her blood was warming with the triumph of the dog, when she saw the form of the old panther in the air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech to the back of the mastiff. No words can describe the fury of the conflict that followed. It was a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied by loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in the result.
So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff, which were its constant aim, old Brave, though torn with her talons, and stained with his own blood, that already flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious foe like a feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again with his jaws distended and a dauntless eye.
But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff for such a struggle. In everything but courage he was only the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound than ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted in a favorable position on the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of blood, and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wildcat to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and stillness that succeeded announced the death of poor Brave.
Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of His creation; and it would seem that some such power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe; next, to scent her luckless cub. From the latter examination she turned, however, with her eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, her tail lashing her sides furiously, and her claws projecting inches from her broad feet.
Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy. Her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror.
The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination, when a rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the organs than to meet her ears. “Hist! hist!” said a low voice, “stoop lower, girl; your bonnet hides the creature’s head.”
It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance with this unexpected order that caused the head of the girl to sink on her bosom. Then she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth, tearing the twigs and branches within her reach. At the next instant Leather-Stocking rushed by her, and called aloud: —
“Come in, Hector; come in; ’tis a hard-lived animal, and may jump again.”
The brave hunter fearlessly maintained his position, notwithstanding the violent bounds of the wounded panther, until his rifle was again loaded, when he stepped up to the animal, and, placing the muzzle close to her head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.
– James Fenimore Cooper.
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
HUNTING SONG
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear!
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling.
Merrily, merrily mingle they;
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming,
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green:
Now we come to chant our lay;
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
To the greensward haste away!
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made
When ’gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay;
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Louder, louder chant the lay,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay!”
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we.
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk?
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!
– Sir Walter Scott.
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed:
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o’er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea!
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave’s foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared —
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band; —
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood’s land?
There was woman’s fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood’s brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? —
They sought a faith’s pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found, —
Freedom to worship God!
– Felicia Dorothea Hemans.
AN ESKIMO HUT
On the slope, fifty yards from the beach, in the midst of rocks and boulders, stood the settlement – two stone huts, twenty yards apart! These huts were in shape much like an old-fashioned country clay oven, square in front, and sloping back into the hill, now covered with snow, and, until after entering, I could not discover of what material they were made. To get inside, I was obliged to crawl on my hands and knees through a covered passage about twelve feet long. The chief, upon hearing my footsteps, came out to welcome me, which he did by patting me on the back and grinning in my face. Preceding me with a smoking torch, which was a piece of burning moss saturated with fat, he advanced through these low, narrow passages, tramping over several snarling dogs and half-grown puppies.
After making two or three turns, I observed at last a bright light streaming down through a hole, into which my guide elevated his body; and then, moving to one side, he made room for his guest. I found myself in a den in which I could not stand upright, but which was crowded with human beings of all ages and sizes. I was received with a hilarious shout which assured me of welcome. Like a flock of sheep crowding into a pen, they packed themselves in the corners to make room for me on the only seat which I could discover. I had come to gratify my own curiosity, but theirs was even more rapacious than mine, and must be first satisfied. Everything I had on and about me underwent the closest examination.
My long beard greatly excited their interest and admiration. Being themselves without beards, or at most having only a few stiff hairs upon the upper lip and the point of the chin, I could readily appreciate their curiosity. They touched it and stroked it, patting me all the while on the back, and hanging on my arms, legs, and shoulders. They were greatly puzzled over my woollen clothing, and could not comprehend of what kind of skins it was made. The nearest that I could approach to a description was that it grew on an animal looking like a hare. That it was not skin, I could not make them understand.
During these incidents I found leisure to examine the hut. The whole interior was about ten feet in diameter and five and a half feet high. The walls were made of stones, moss, and the bones of whale, narwhal, and other animals. They were not arched, but drawn in gradually from the foundation, and capped by long slabs of slate-stone, stretching from side to side.
The floor was covered with thin, flat stones. Half of this floor, at the back part of the hut, was elevated a foot. This elevation served both as bed and seat, being covered with dry grass, over which were spread bear and dog skins. At the corners in front were similar elevations, under one of which lay a number of pups, with their mother, and under the other was stowed a joint of meat. The front of the hut was square, and through it, above the passageway, opened a window; a square sheet of strips of dried intestine, sewed together, admitted the light.
The hole of entrance in the floor was close to the front wall, and was covered with a piece of sealskin. The walls were lined with seal or fox skins, stretched to dry. In the cracks between the stones were thrust whipstocks, and bone pegs on which hung coils of harpoon lines. On one side of me sat an old woman, and on the other side a young one, each busily engaged in attending to a smoky, greasy lamp. A third woman sat in a corner, similarly occupied.
The lamps were made of soapstone, and in shape much resembled a clam-shell, being about eight inches in diameter. The cavity was filled with oil, and on the straight edge a flame was burning quite brilliantly. The wick which supplied fuel to the flame was of moss. The only business of the women seemed to be to prevent the lamps from smoking, and to keep them supplied with blubber, large pieces of which were placed in them, the heat of the flame trying out the oil. About three inches above this flame, hung, suspended from the ceiling, an oblong square pot of the same material as the lamp, in which something was slowly simmering. Over this was suspended a rack made of bear-rib bones lashed together crosswise, on which were placed to dry, stockings, mittens, and other articles of clothing.
The inmates had no other fire than was supplied by the lamps, nor did they need any. The hut was absolutely hot. So many persons crowded into so small a space would, of themselves, keep the place warm. I counted eighteen, and may, very probably, have missed two or three small ones. Centring each around its own particular lamp and pot were three families, one of which was represented by three generations. These three families numbered, in all, thirteen individuals; but besides these there were some visitors from the other hut.
The air of the place was insufferable, except for a short time. There may have been a vent-hole, but I did not see any. I perspired as if in the tropics. Perceiving this, the company invited me to dispense with part of my clothing. I declined, however, the intended courtesy, telling them that I must go back to my people.
First, however, I must have something to eat. This was an invitation which I feared; and now that it had come, I knew that it would be unwise to decline it. They laughed heartily when I thanked them in their own language in reply to their invitation to eat; and immediately a not very beautiful young damsel poured some of the contents of one of the before-mentioned pots into a skin dish, and after sipping it, to make sure, as I supposed, that it was not too hot, she passed it to me over a group of heads. At first my courage forsook me; but all eyes were fixed upon me, and it would have been highly impolitic to shrink. I therefore shut my eyes, swallowed the dose, and retired. I was afterwards told that it was their great delicacy, which had been proffered to me; but, even then, it was well that I was ignorant of what it was composed. – Isaac Hayes.
YOUNG LOCHINVAR
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west!
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broad-sword, he weapons 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.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Esk 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.
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among 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)
“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”
“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.”
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 lips and a tear in her eye;
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar —
“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.
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.”
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 scaur!
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting ’mong Græmes 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 you e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
– Sir Walter Scott