McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Part 30

NOTES.--The incident related in this poem is one of actual occurrence, and took place at the battle of Sempach, fought in 1386 A.D., between only 1,300 Swiss and a large army of Austrians. The latter had obtained possession of a narrow pa.s.s in the mountains, from which it seemed impossible to dislodge them until Arnold von Winkelried made a breach in their line, as narrated.

Rinaldo is a knight in Ta.s.so's "Jerusalem Delivered" (Canto XVIII, 17-40), who enters an enchanted wood, and, by cutting down a tree in spite of the nymphs and phantoms that endeavor in every way to stop him, breaks the spell; the Christian army are thus enabled to enter the grove and obtain timber for their engines of war.

LXI. THE ENGLISH SKYLARK.

Elihu Burritt (b. 1810, d. 1879). "the learned blacksmith," was born in New Britain, Conn. His father was a shoemaker. Having received only a limited amount of instruction at the district school, he was apprenticed to a blacksmith about 1827. During his apprenticeship he labored hard at self-instruction. He worked at his trade many years, from ten to twelve hours each day, but managed, in the meantime to acquire a knowledge of many ancient and modern languages. He made translations from several of these, which were published in the "American Eclectic Review." In 1844 he commenced the publication of "The Christian Citizen." His leading literary works are "Sparks from the Anvil," "A Voice from the Forge," "Peace Papers," and "Walks to John o' Groat's House." From the last of these the following selection is abridged.

1. Take it in all, no bird in either hemisphere equals the English lark in heart or voice, for both unite to make it the sweetest, the happiest, the welcomest singer that was ever winged, like the high angels of G.o.d's love.

It is the living ecstasy of joy when it mounts up into its "glorious privacy of light."

2. On the earth it is timid, silent, and bashful, as if not at home, and not sure of its right to be there at all. It is rather homely withal, having nothing in feather, feature, or form to attract notice. It is seemingly made to be heard, not seen, reversing the old axiom addressed to children when getting noisy.

3. Its mission is music, and it floods a thousand acres of the blue sky with it several times a day. Out of that palpitating speck of living joy there wells forth a sea of twittering ecstasy upon the morning and evening air. It does not ascend by gyrations, like the eagle and birds of prey. It mounts up like a human aspiration.

4. It seems to spread its wings and to be lifted straight upwards out of sight by the afflatus of its own happy heart. To pour out this in undulating rivulets of rhapsody is apparently the only motive of its ascension. This it is that has made it so loved of all generations.

5. It is the singing angel of man's nearest heaven, whose vital breath is music. Its sweet warbling is only the metrical palpitation of its life of joy. It goes up over the rooftrees of the rural hamlet on the wings of its song, as if to train the human soul to trial flights heavenward.

6. Never did the Creator put a voice of such volume into so small a living thing. It is a marvel--almost a miracle. In a still hour you can hear it at nearly a mile's distance. When its form is lost in the hazy lace work of the sun's rays above, it pours down upon you all the thrilling semitones of its song as distinctly as if it were warbling to you in your window.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ec'sta-sy, overmastering joy, rapture. 2. Ax'i-om, a self-evident truth. 3. Pal'pi-tat-ing, throbbing, fluttering. Wells, pours, flows. Gy-ra'tions, circular or spiral motions. 4. Af--fla'tus, breath, inspiration. Un'du-la-ting, rising and falling like waves.

Rhap'so-dy, that which is uttered in a disconnected way under strong excitement. Gen-er-a'tion, the ma.s.s of beings at one period. 5.

Met'ric-al, arranged in measures, as poetry and music. Roof 'tree, the beam in the angle of a roof, hence the roof itself. Ham'let, a little cl.u.s.ter of houses.

LXII. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.

William Collins (b. 1721, d. 1759) was born at Chichester, England. He was educated at Winchester and Oxford. About 1745, he went to London as a literary adventurer, and there won the esteem of Dr. Johnson. His "Odes"

were published in 1746, but were not popular. He was subsequently relieved from pecuniary embarra.s.sment by a legacy of 2,000 Pounds from a maternal uncle; but he soon became partially insane, and was for some time confined in an asylum for lunatics. He afterwards retired to Chichester, where he was cared for by his sister until his death.

1. How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mold, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

2. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There honor comes a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there!

LXIII. THE RAINBOW.

John Keble (b. 1792. d. 1866) was born near Fairfax, Gloucestershire, England. He graduated at Oxford with remarkably high honors, and afterwards was appointed to the professorship of poetry in that university. Since his death, Keble College, at Oxford, has been erected to his memory. In 1835, he became vicar of Hursley and rector of Otterbourne, and held these livings until his death. His most famous work is "The Christian Year," a collection of sacred poems.

1. A fragment of a rainbow bright Through the moist air I see, All dark and damp on yonder height, All bright and clear to me.

2. An hour ago the storm was here, The gleam was far behind; So will our joys and grief appear, When earth has ceased to blind.

3. Grief will be joy if on its edge Fall soft that holiest ray, Joy will be grief if no faint pledge Be there of heavenly day.

LXIV. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS.

Daniel Webster (b. 1782, d. 1852) was born in Salisbury, N.H. He spent a few months of his boyhood at Phillips Academy, Exeter, but fitted for college under Rev. Samuel Wood, of Boscawen, N.H. He graduated from Dartmouth College in 1801. He taught school several terms, during and after his college course. In 1805, he was admitted to the bar in Boston, and practiced law in New Hampshire for the succeeding eleven years. In 1812, he was elected to the United States House of Representatives. In 1816, he removed to Boston, and in 1827 was elected to the United States Senate, which position he held for twelve years. In 1841, he was appointed Secretary of State. He returned to the Senate in 1845. In 1850, he was reappointed Secretary of State and continued in office until his death. He died at his residence, in Marshfield, Ma.s.s. Mr. Webster's fame rests chiefly on his state papers and speeches. As a speaker he was dignified and stately, using clear, pure English. During all his life he took great interest in agriculture, and was very fond of outdoor sports.

1. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that, in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends."

The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and blinded to her own interest, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why then should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or security to his own life and his own honor!

Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is not he, our venerable colleague, near you, are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws?

2. If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We NEVER shall submit! Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before G.o.d, of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him in every extremity with our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or t.i.ttle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised, for the defense of American liberty; may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him.

3. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off the Declaration of Independence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. Nations will then treat with us, which they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England herself will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct toward us has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that course of things, which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former, she would regard as the result of fortune; the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why, then, do we not change this from a civil to a national war? And since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory.

4. If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people--the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies; and I know that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and can not be eradicated. Sir, the Declaration of Independence will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and b.l.o.o.d.y war for the restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the spirit of life.

5. Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn, and the solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them see it who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support.

6. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see--I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to see the time this declaration shall be made good. We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously and on the scaffold.

Be it so: be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a FREE country.

7. But whatever may be our fate, be a.s.sured--be a.s.sured that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present I see the brightness of the future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed tears,--copious, gushing tears; not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of grat.i.tude, and of joy.

8. Sir, before G.o.d I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves the measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of G.o.d, it shall by my dying sentiment; independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Rec-on-cil-i-a'tion, renewal of friendship. Col'league (pro. kol'leg), an a.s.sociate in some civil office. Pro-scribed', doomed to destruction, put out of the protection of the law. Pre-des'tined, decreed beforehand. Clem'en-cy, mercy, indulgence.

Notes.--Mr. Webster, in a speech upon the life and character of John Adams, imagines some one opposed to the Declaration of Independence to have stated his fears and objections before Congress while deliberating on that subject. He then supposes Mr. Adams to have replied in the language above.

1. The quotation is from "Hamlet," Act V, Scene 2.

You, sir, who sit in that chair. This was addressed to John Hanc.o.c.k, president of the Continental Congress. Our venerable colleague refers to Samuel Adams. After the battles of Concord and Lexington, Governor Gage offered pardon to all the rebels who would lay down their arms, excepting Samuel Adams and John Hanc.o.c.k.

LXV. THE RISING.

Thomas Buchanan Read (b. 1822, d. 1872) was born in Chester County, Pennsylvania. In 1839 he entered a sculptor's studio in Cincinnati, where he gained reputation as a portrait painter. He afterwards went to New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, and, in 1850, to Italy. He divided his time between Cincinnati, Philadelphia, and Rome, in the latter years of his life. Some or his poems are marked by vigor and strength, while others are distinguished by smoothness and delicacy. The following selection is abridged from "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies."

1. Out of the North the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies.