Fourth Reader

Just before sunset the sky became as dark as if it had been covered with a thick cloud. I was much astonished at this sudden darkness, but much more when I found it caused by a bird of a monstrous size that came flying towards me. I remembered that I had often heard sailors speak of a miraculous bird called the roc, and concluded that the great dome which I so much admired must be its egg. In a few moments the bird alighted, and sat over the egg. As I perceived her coming, I crept close to the egg, so that I had before me one of her legs, which was as large as the trunk of a tree. I tied myself strongly to it with my turban, in hopes that the roc, next morning, would carry me with her out of this desert island.

As soon as it was daylight, the bird flew away and carried me so high that I could not discern the earth. She afterwards descended with so much rapidity that I almost lost my senses. But when I found myself on the ground, I speedily untied the knot. I had scarcely done so, when the roc, having taken up a large serpent in her bill, flew away.

The spot where I found myself was surrounded on all sides by mountains, that seemed to reach above the clouds, and so steep that there was no possibility of getting out of the valley. This was a new perplexity. When I compared this place with the desert island from which the roc had brought me, I found that I had gained nothing by the change.

As I walked through the valley, I saw that it was strewed with diamonds, some of which were of a surprising size. I took pleasure in looking upon them; but shortly saw at a distance a great number of serpents, so large that the smallest of them was capable of swallowing an elephant. The sight of these serpents greatly terrified me, and very much diminished the satisfaction I had derived from the diamonds.

I spent the day in exploring the valley, as I found that the serpents retired in the daytime to their dens, where they hid themselves from their enemy, the roc. When night came on, I went into a cave, and secured the entrance, which was low and narrow, with a great stone. I ate part of my provisions, but the serpents, which began hissing around me, put me into such extreme fear, that I could not sleep. When the sun rose, they disappeared and I came out of the cave trembling. I can justly say that I walked upon diamonds, without feeling any desire to touch them. At last I sat down, and, notwithstanding my fears, not having closed my eyes during the night, fell asleep. But I had scarcely shut my eyes when something that fell near by with a great noise awaked me. This was a large piece of raw meat, and at the same time I saw several others fall on the rocks in different places.

I had always regarded as fabulous the stories I had heard sailors and others relate of the valley of diamonds, and of the devices employed by merchants to obtain the jewels. Now I found that they had stated nothing but the truth. The fact is, that the merchants come to the neighborhood of this valley when the eagles have young ones, and throw great joints of meat into the valley; the diamonds upon whose points the joints fall stick to them. The eagles, which are stronger in this country than anywhere else, pounce upon these pieces of meat, and carry them to their nests on the precipices of the rock, to feed their young. The merchants at this time run to the nests, disturb and drive off the eagles by their shouts, and take away the diamonds that stick to the meat.

Until I perceived the device, I had concluded it to be impossible for me to escape from the valley which I regarded as my grave; but now I changed my opinion, and began to think upon the means of my deliverance. I collected the largest diamonds I could find, and put them into the leather bag in which I had carried my provisions. Then I took the largest of the pieces of meat, tied it close round me with the cloth of my turban, and laid myself upon the ground with my face downwards, the bag of diamonds being made fast to my girdle.

I had scarcely placed myself in this position when the eagles came. Each of them seized a piece of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me up, with the piece of meat to which I was fastened, carried me to his nest on the top of the mountain. The merchants immediately began their shouting to frighten the eagles; and when they had obliged them to quit their prey, one of them came to the nest where I was. He was much alarmed when he saw me; but recovering himself, instead of inquiring how I came thither, began to quarrel with me, and asked why I stole his goods. “You will treat me,” I replied, “with more civility, when you know me better. Do not be uneasy; I have diamonds enough for you and myself, more than all the other merchants together. Whatever they have they owe to chance, but I selected for myself in the bottom of the valley those which you see in this bag.” I had scarcely done speaking, when the other merchants came crowding about us, much astonished to see me. They were much more surprised, however, when I told them my story.

They conducted me to their encampment, and, when I had opened my bag, they were struck with wonder at the largeness of my diamonds, and confessed that in all the places they had visited they had never seen any of such size and perfection. I spent the night with them, and related my story a second time, for the satisfaction of those who had not heard it. I could not moderate my joy when I found myself delivered from the dangers I have mentioned. I thought myself in a dream, and could scarcely believe myself safe once more.

The merchants continued for several days to throw their pieces of meat into the valley, and when each was satisfied with the diamonds that had fallen to his lot, we left the place. We took shipping at the first port we reached, and finally landed at Bussorah, from whence I proceeded to Bagdad. There I immediately gave large presents to the poor, and lived honorably upon the vast riches I had gained with so much trouble and danger.

– The “Arabian Nights’ Entertainment.”

THE DAFFODILS

I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o’er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host of golden daffodilsBeside the lake beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky wayThey stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glanceTossing their heads in sprightly dance.The waves beside them danced, but theyOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gayIn such a jocund company:I gazed – and gazed – but little thoughtWhat wealth the show to me had brought:For oft, when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fillsAnd dances with the daffodils.– William Wordsworth.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA’S HALLS

The harp that once through Tara’s hallsThe soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Tara’s wallsAs if that soul were fled.So sleeps the pride of former days,So glory’s thrill is o’er,And hearts that once beat high for praise,Now feel that pulse no more!No more to chiefs and ladies brightThe harp of Tara swells;The chord alone that breaks at night,Its tale of ruin tells.Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,The only throb she givesIs when some heart indignant breaks,To shew that still she lives.– Thomas Moore.

THE HEROINE OF VERCHÈRES

Among the many incidents that are preserved of Frontenac’s second administration, none is so well worthy of record as the defence of the fort at Verchères by the young daughter of the seignior. Some years later the story was written down from the heroine’s own recital.

Verchères is on the south shore of the St. Lawrence, about twenty miles below Montreal. A strong blockhouse stood outside the fort, and was connected with it by a covered way.

On the morning of the twenty-second of October, 1692, the inhabitants were at work in the fields, and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, an old man of eighty, and a number of women and children. The seignior was on duty at Quebec, and his wife was at Montreal. Their daughter Madeleine, fourteen years of age, was at the landing-place, not far from the gate of the fort, with a hired man. Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at work, and an instant after, the man cried out, “Run, Miss, run! here come the Iroquois!” She turned and saw forty or fifty of them at the distance of a pistol-shot. “I ran for the fort. The Iroquois who chased me, seeing that they could not catch me alive before I reached the gate, stopped and fired at me. The bullets whistled about my ears, and made the time seem very long. As soon as I was near enough to be heard, I cried out, ‘To arms! To arms!’ At the gate I found two women weeping for their husbands, who had just been killed. I made them go in, and then I shut the gate. I next thought what I could do to save myself and the few people who were with me.

“I went to inspect the fort, and found that several palisades had fallen down, and left openings by which the enemy could easily get in. I ordered them to be set up again, and helped to carry them myself. When the breaches were stopped, I went to the blockhouse where the ammunition was kept, and here I found the two soldiers, one hiding in a corner, and the other with a lighted match in his hand. ‘What are you going to do with that match?’ I asked. He answered, ‘Light the powder and blow us all up.’ ‘You are a miserable coward,’ said I; ‘go out of this place.’ I spoke so resolutely that he obeyed.

“I then threw off my bonnet; and after putting on a hat and taking a gun, I said to my two brothers: ‘Let us fight to the death. We are fighting for our country and our religion. Remember, our father has taught you that gentlemen are born to shed their blood for the service of God and the King.’ ”

The boys, who were twelve and ten years old, aided by the soldiers, whom her words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from the loopholes upon the Iroquois. They, ignorant of the weakness of the garrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place, and occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in the neighboring fields.

Madeleine ordered a cannon to be fired, partly to deter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of the soldiers, who were hunting at a distance. Presently a canoe was seen approaching the landing-place. It contained a settler named Fontaine, and his family, who were trying to reach the fort. The Iroquois were still near, and Madeleine feared that the newcomers would be killed if something were not done to aid them. She appealed to the soldiers, but finding their courage was not equal to the attempt, she herself went to the landing-place, and was able to save the Fontaine family. When they were all landed, she made them march before her in full sight of the enemy. They put so bold a face on that the Iroquois thought they themselves had most to fear.

“After sunset a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied with snow and hail. The Iroquois were meanwhile lurking about us; and I judged by their movements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, they would climb into the fort under cover of the darkness. I assembled all my troops, that is to say, six persons, and spoke thus to them: ‘God has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies, but we must take care not to fall into their snares to-night. I will take charge of the fort with an old man of eighty, and you, Fontaine, with our two soldiers, will go to the blockhouse with the women and children, because that is the strongest place. If I am taken, don’t surrender, even if I am cut to pieces and burned before your eyes. The enemy can’t hurt you in the blockhouse, if you make the least show of fight.’

“I placed my young brothers on two of the bastions, the old man on the third, while I took the fourth; and all night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cries of ‘All’s well’ were kept up from the blockhouse to the fort, and from the fort to the blockhouse. The Iroquois thought the place was full of soldiers, and were completely deceived, as they confessed afterwards.

“I may say with truth that I did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four hours, but kept always on the bastion, or went to the blockhouse to see how the people there were behaving. I always kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encouraged my little company with the hope of speedy succor.

“We were a week in constant alarm, with the enemy always about us. At last a lieutenant arrived in the night with forty men. I was at the time dozing, with my head on the table. The sentinel told me that he heard a voice from the river. I went up at once to the bastion and asked, ‘Who are you?’ One of them answered, ‘We are Frenchmen, who come to bring you help.’

“I caused the gate to be opened, placed a sentinel there, and went down to the river to meet them. As soon as I saw the officer, I saluted him, and said, ‘Sir, I surrender my arms to you.’ He answered gallantly, ‘They are already in good hands.’

“He inspected the fort and found everything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. ‘It is time to relieve them, sir,’ said I; ‘we have not been off our bastions for a week.’ ”

– Francis Parkman.

THE SLAVE’S DREAM

Beside the ungather’d rice he lay,His sickle in his hand;His breast was bare, his matted hairWas buried in the sand;Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,He saw his native land.Wide through the landscape of his dreamsThe lordly Niger flow’d;Beneath the palm-trees on the plainOnce more a king he strode,And heard the tinkling caravansDescend the mountain road.He saw once more his dark-eyed queenAmong her children stand;They clasp’d his neck, they kiss’d his cheeks,They held him by the hand:A tear burst from the sleeper’s lids,And fell into the sand.And then at furious speed he rodeAlong the Niger’s bank;His bridle-reins were golden chains,And, with a martial clank,At each leap, he could feel his scabbard of steel,Smiting his stallion’s flank.Before him, like a blood-red flag,The bright flamingoes flew;From morn till night he follow’d their flight,O’er plains where the tamarind grew,Till he saw the roof of Kaffir huts,And the ocean rose to view.At night he heard the lion roar,And the hyena scream,And the river-horse, as he crush’d the reeds,Beside some hidden stream;And it pass’d, like a glorious roll of drums,Through the triumph of his dream.The forests, with their myriad tongues,Shouted of liberty;And the blast of the desert cried aloud,With a voice so wild and free,That he started in his sleep, and smiledAt their tempestuous glee.He did not feel the driver’s whip,Nor the burning heat of day,For death had illumined the land of sleep,And his lifeless body layA worn-out fetter, that the soulHad broken and thrown away!– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE SONG OF THE CAMP

“Give us a song,” the soldiers cried,The outer trenches guarding,When the heated guns of the camps alliedGrew weary of bombarding.The dark Redan, in silent scoff,Lay, grim and threatening, under;And the tawny mound of the MalakoffNo longer belched its thunder.There was a pause. A guardsman said,“We storm the forts to-morrow;Sing while we may, another dayWill bring enough of sorrow.”They lay along the battery’s side,Below the smoking cannon;Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,And from the banks of Shannon.They sang of love, and not of fame;Forgot was Britain’s glory;Each heart recalled a different name,But all sang “Annie Laurie.”Voice after voice caught up the song,Until its tender passionRose like an anthem, rich and strong, —Their battle-eve confession.Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,But, as the song grew louder,Something upon the soldier’s cheekWashed off the stains of powder.Beyond the darkening ocean burnedThe bloody sunset’s embers,While the Crimean valleys learnedHow English love remembers.And once again a fire of hellRained on the Russian quarters,With scream of shot – and burst of shell,And bellowing of the mortars.And Irish Nora’s eyes are dimFor a singer, dumb and gory;And English Mary mourns for himWho sang of “Annie Laurie.”Sleep, soldiers still in honored restYour truth and valor wearing;The bravest are the tenderest, —The loving are the daring.– Bayard Taylor.The tree does not fall at the first stroke.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED

As Theseus was skirting the valley along the foot of a lofty mountain, a very tall and strong man came down to meet him, dressed in rich garments. On his arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck a collar of jewels. He came forward, bowing courteously, held out both his hands, and spoke: —

“Welcome, fair youth, to these mountains; happy am I to have met you! For what is greater pleasure to a good man than to entertain strangers? But I see that you are weary. Come up to my castle, and rest yourself awhile.”

“I give you thanks,” said Theseus; “but I am in haste to go up the valley.”

“Alas! you have wandered far from the right way, and you cannot reach the end of the valley to-night, for there are many miles of mountain between you and it, and steep passes, and cliffs dangerous after nightfall. It is well for you that I met you, for my whole joy is to find strangers, and to feast them at my castle, and hear tales from them of foreign lands. Come up with me and eat the best of venison, and drink the rich red wine, and sleep upon my famous bed, of which all travellers say that they never saw the like. For whatsoever the stature of my guest, however tall or short, that bed fits him to a hair, and he sleeps on it as he never slept before.”

And he laid hold on Theseus’s hands, and would not let him go.

Theseus wished to go forward, but he was ashamed to seem churlish to so hospitable a man; and he was curious to see that wondrous bed; and besides, he was hungry and weary. Yet he shrank from the man, he knew not why; for though his voice was gentle and fawning, it was dry and husky, and though his eyes were gentle, they were dull and cold like stones. But he consented, and went with the man up a glen which led from the road, under the dark shadow of the cliffs.

As they went up, the glen grew narrower, and the cliffs higher and darker, and beneath them a torrent roared, half seen between bare limestone crags. Around them was neither tree nor bush, while from the white peaks of the mountain the snow-blasts swept down the glen, cutting and chilling, till a horror fell on Theseus as he looked round at that doleful place. He said at last, “Your castle stands, it seems, in a dreary region.”

“Yes; but once within it, hospitality makes all things cheerful. But who are these?” and he looked back, and Theseus also. Far below, along the road which they had left, came a string of laden beasts, and merchants walking by them.

“Ah, poor souls!” said the stranger. “Well for them that I looked back and saw them! And well for me, too, for I shall have the more guests at my feast. Wait awhile till I go down and call them, and we shall eat and drink together the livelong night. Happy am I, to whom Heaven sends so many guests at once!”

He ran back down the hill, waving his hand and shouting to the merchants, while Theseus went slowly up the steep path. But as he went up he met an aged man, who had been gathering driftwood in the torrent bed. He had laid down his fagot in the road, and was trying to lift it again to his shoulder. When he saw Theseus, he called to him and said, —

“O fair youth, help me up with my burden, for my limbs are stiff and weak with years.”

Then Theseus lifted the burden on his back. The old man blessed him, and then looked earnestly upon him and said, —

“Who are you, fair youth, and wherefore travel you this doleful road?”

“Who I am my parents know; but I travel this doleful road because I have been invited by a hospitable man, who promises to feast me and to make me sleep upon I know not what wondrous bed.”

Then the old man clapped his hands together and cried: —

“Know, fair youth, that you are going to torment and to death, for he who met you is a robber and a murderer of men. Whatsoever stranger he meets, he entices him hither to death; and as for this bed of which he speaks, truly it fits all comers, yet none ever rose alive off it, save me.”

“Why?” asked Theseus, astonished.

“Because, if a man be too tall for it, he lops his limbs till they be short enough, and if he be too short, he stretches his limbs till they be long enough; but me only he spared, seven weary years agone, for I alone of all fitted his bed exactly, so he spared me, and made me his slave. Once I was a wealthy merchant, and dwelt in a great city; but now I hew wood and draw water for him, the tormentor of all mortal men.”

Then Theseus said nothing; but he ground his teeth together.

“Escape, then,” said the old man; “for he will have no pity on thy youth. But yesterday he brought up hither a young man and a maiden, and fitted them upon his bed; and the young man’s hands and feet he cut off, but the maiden’s limbs he stretched until she died, and so both perished miserably – but I am tired of weeping over the slain. He is called Procrustes, the stretcher. Flee from him; yet whither will you flee? The cliffs are steep, and who can climb them? and there is no other road.”

But Theseus laid his hand upon the old man’s mouth, and said, “There is no need to flee;” and he turned to go down the pass.

“Do not tell him that I have warned you, or he will kill me by some evil death,” the old man screamed after him down the glen; but Theseus strode on in his wrath.

He said to himself: “This is an ill-ruled land. When shall I have done ridding it of monsters?” As he spoke, Procrustes came up the hill, and all the merchants with him, smiling and talking gayly. When he saw Theseus, he cried, “Ah, fair young guest, have I kept you too long waiting?”

But Theseus answered, “The man who stretches his guests upon a bed and hews off their hands and feet, what shall be done to him, when right is done throughout the land?”

Then the countenance of Procrustes changed, and his cheeks grew as green as a lizard, and he felt for his sword in haste. But Theseus leaped on him, and cried: —

“Is this true, my host, or is it false?” and he clasped Procrustes around waist and elbow, so that he could not draw his sword.

“Is this true, my host, or is it false?” But Procrustes answered never a word.

Then Theseus flung him from him, and lifted up his dreadful club; and before Procrustes could strike him, he had struck and felled him to the ground. And once again he struck him; and his evil soul fled forth, and went down into the depths squeaking, like a bat into the darkness of a cave.

Then Theseus stripped him of his gold ornaments, and went up to his house, and found there great wealth and treasure, which he had stolen from the passers-by. And he called the people of the country, whom Procrustes had spoiled a long time, and divided the treasure among them, and went down the mountains, and away. – Charles Kingsley.

CHINOOK

Mildly through the mists of nightFloats a breath of flowers sweet,Warmly through the waning lightWafts a wind with perfumed feet,Down the gorge and mountain brook,With the sound of wings – Chinook!By no trail his spirits go,Through the mountain-passes high,Where the moon is on the snowAnd the screaming eagles fly,Where the yawning canyon roarsWith memories of misty shores.On still prairies, mountain-locked,Frost lies white upon the grass,But where the witch of winter walked,Now the summer’s masquers pass;And at May’s refreshing breathTender flowers rose from death.And the breeze, that on the CoastWakened softly at the morn,Is on snowy prairies lostWhen the twilight pales forlorn;Sweet Chinook! who breathes betimesSummer’s kiss in winter climes.– Ezra Hurlburt Stafford.

THE IVY GREEN

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,That creepeth o’er ruins old!Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,In his cell so lone and cold.The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,To pleasure his dainty whim;And the mouldering dust that years have madeIs a merry meal for him.Creeping where no life is seen,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.Fast he stealeth on though he wears no wings,And a staunch old heart has he;How closely he twineth, how tight he clingsTo his friend, the huge Oak Tree!And slyly he traileth along the ground,And his leaves he gently waves,As he joyously hugs, and crawleth around,The rich mould of dead men’s graves.Creeping where grim death has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,And nations have scattered been,But the stout old Ivy shall never fadeFrom its hale and hearty green.The brave old plant in its lonely daysShall fatten upon the past,For the stateliest building man can raiseIs the Ivy’s food at last.Creeping on where time has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.– Charles Dickens.